PancaKe
4th June 2009, 07:40 PM
After battling with writers block most of the morning, I decided to just write a short.... something... to get myself on track and get myself slowly into the writing mood again. This was just for fun, nothing to be taken too seriously. It's old, it's cliche, and lacks originality and plot line and a whole heap of other narrative features. However, I wanted to stretch my fingers, create something, and hopefully entertain people with cheap and nasty shipping fiction.
Bike
I couldn’t do anything right.
Not that I hadn’t tried to do things right. I had given everything a chance. I had tried to impress my sisters, I had tried to please my parents, I had tried to make them happy. What they expected of me, I had attempted to fulfil all expectations.
It hadn’t worked.
My father believed that true girls grew their hair long and wavy, down their backs. I had tried that. There were photographs and memories that portrayed me at home, by the beach, near the pool, with long flowing red hair, rolling down my back in sleek silky waves. Then the accident had happened, and my hair had been lost. Most if it burnt. I thought I was lucky to survive, my father had been so bitterly angry about my appearance.
Didn’t my survival make him happy?
My mother believed school wasn’t for girls. Marks didn’t matter when beauty got you further than brains. Day after day, week after week we rotated between manicure, pedicure, facials, massages, dieticians, exercise routines, and the lot. “Lose five more pounds and you’ll be great,” she encouraged. “Wear a little more makeup, dress a little more like a girl, and you’ll be stunning.” I gave it a shot. I hated the feeling of skirts, of dresses that never looked any good on my body anyway. I gave up. Sorry mum.
I couldn’t help the way I looked.
My sisters made fun of me at every chance they got. Like most older triplets, their hobbies included sticking together and collectively pointing out my obvious faults and flaws. I was painfully reminded of how “under-developed” I was in comparison, how boyish my features were, how I lacked beauty and appeal to boys. They were kind enough to inform me of the nerd I was for getting good marks in school, and more than happy to turn down the various scholarships I recieved to high schools around Kanto. It was my duty to stay on, to train, to one day be good enough to run things.
I couldn’t be good enough no matter how much I trained.
-------------
I snatched my pokeballs from my dresser drawer, threw a change of clothes into a small red backpack I had stolen from Daisy, and slipped on my shoes. My hair was starting to grow back nicely; once again long orange locks began to fall past my shoulders. Not nearly long enough to please my father, but for once, that didn’t bother me.
I was over trying to impress him.
I stopped off into the bathroom, and set the backpack down. The blades sliced open and shut, as clumps of ginger fell to the ground around me. It was liberating. It was my hair, and I owned it. It was mine to do with what I liked. I tossed the scissors down again, they landed with a loud clang. I scooped the rest of my red into a messy ponytail, not caring for how badly I had placed it on my head. It was pointing out to one side, but that was okay.
I was over trying to impress them.
I ran downstairs, not thinking to grab a jacket. The thought of getting cold in nothing but denim shorts and a yellow singlet hadn’t crossed my mind. Out to the garage, I grabbed my bike and hopped on. There was no time to think, I had to act in the moment. I didn’t want to have second thoughts; I didn’t want to feel guilty into coming back here.
I was over trying to impress everyone.
Somebody called out to me as I sped down the drive. “Where are you going?” It was one of them. Most likely, it was Daisy, probably wondering where I was going and why I had taken her backpack.
“Out!” I yelled back.
The wind whipped through my hair, a cool gentle breeze. The sun warmed my shoulders as I rode. It was liberating, more so than cutting my own hair, than cutting the expectations and the need to please my parents away from me.
I never had to go back, never wanted to go back.
---------
Now what did I have?
No future, no hope, no dreams. I had my three faithful companions, Starmie, Staryu and Goldeen, but no ambitions. I couldn’t compete in the league. Oh the humility of it all. To face Brock, Erica, Blaine, and then return home to face my family. I couldn’t award myself a gym badge, the league knew these things.
Did I really have a future?
I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was riding, clearly. Viridian City had passed me like a blur, and I found myself by the edge of the world. It was a fair distance down to the river. I got off my bike, and stared down the gorge at the rushing waters. Water had always been a protagonist in the fairy tale of my life. I laughed at the thought. The only fairy tale my life compared to was Cinderella, and even then there was no fairy godmother. Just three wicked sisters and no future other than cleaning out the fireplace.
It wouldn’t take that long, would it?
One simple jump. Not even a jump, one simple step and I was off the edge. I would fall, swiftly, smoothly. It would be as though I were flying, ready to embrace the dreams that I never had, the future I had thrown away, and the past that I was leaving behind.
It sounded marvellous.
They could just tell my parents that my body washed up on shore. Most likely onto Cinnabar Island. My parents would only be upset at the length of my hair, of the way my body had been mangled and had lost all traces of beauty. My parents could claim me to be an adopted child, a poor orphan they had rescued from the streets of Lavender Town who had no future. They would tell the press the stories of rags to riches, how they had made me beautiful, made me what a Waterflower should be.
It sickened me.
I stared out across the plains of Route One. The same gentle breeze that had whipped through my short and choppy hair now softly brushed through the reeds and the tall grass, causing it to sway side to side.
Well, here goes.
I looked down into the river, preparing myself. What preparation did I really need to do? I could easily take one step and end it all. I felt obliged to think something, to collect my thoughts, to clean everything up once and for all. Maybe I should’ve cleaned up my mess in the bathroom before I ran. It was all so messy.
A black shadow approached.
Something big was underwater. Jumping could wait. My instincts of being a smart fisher took over. In an instant, my rod was in the water and I was wrestling the shadow for its capture. My rod was at breaking point. I wound, I released, I wound, I released, I grunted and panted and lunged. It came flying out the water, and landed beside me, dripping and spluttering.
A boy?
He clutched the small Pokemon in his arms. A tiny, yellow, battered Pikachu in the worst condition I had ever seen. I opened my mouth to abuse the boy, but closed it abruptly. There was something so sincere, so innocent about the way he lay there. Jet black hair clung to his face, dripping. He had a League cap on. The same ones we sold at our gym. This was clearly his first day of training. I kicked him.
He stirred.
He sat up gasping. “I have to get Pikachu to safety!” he exclaimed. He got up, and leapt on my bike, putting Pikachu into the carrier basket. “Thanks!” he yelled, speeding off down the road.
I blinked.
Had that really just happened? Had I really just gone from the brink of leaping into a rushing river with no plans to swim to safety, to rescuing an ungrateful, gorgeous boy who then steals my bike? I blinked again, stunned and confused. My heart ached. What if I never saw him again? It was a big league.
It was so new and unnatural. I hadn’t felt the swelling and surging of warmth run through my body before. My heart pounded slowly and heavily, reminding me that it was still there. My chest felt as though it would burst with happiness, with relief, with glee. The sun seemed to shine brighter still.
He had my bike.
I snatched my backpack and my fishing rod, and thought for a second. A single second was all it took, before I was dashing after this kid. How would I relate to him? How would I react? What would I say to him when I caught up with him? Would I get my bike and then say goodbye? None of that mattered right now. I had a reason to stay on this side of the cliff.
I ran, hoping I would have an excuse not to say goodbye to the boy when I found him.
Bike
I couldn’t do anything right.
Not that I hadn’t tried to do things right. I had given everything a chance. I had tried to impress my sisters, I had tried to please my parents, I had tried to make them happy. What they expected of me, I had attempted to fulfil all expectations.
It hadn’t worked.
My father believed that true girls grew their hair long and wavy, down their backs. I had tried that. There were photographs and memories that portrayed me at home, by the beach, near the pool, with long flowing red hair, rolling down my back in sleek silky waves. Then the accident had happened, and my hair had been lost. Most if it burnt. I thought I was lucky to survive, my father had been so bitterly angry about my appearance.
Didn’t my survival make him happy?
My mother believed school wasn’t for girls. Marks didn’t matter when beauty got you further than brains. Day after day, week after week we rotated between manicure, pedicure, facials, massages, dieticians, exercise routines, and the lot. “Lose five more pounds and you’ll be great,” she encouraged. “Wear a little more makeup, dress a little more like a girl, and you’ll be stunning.” I gave it a shot. I hated the feeling of skirts, of dresses that never looked any good on my body anyway. I gave up. Sorry mum.
I couldn’t help the way I looked.
My sisters made fun of me at every chance they got. Like most older triplets, their hobbies included sticking together and collectively pointing out my obvious faults and flaws. I was painfully reminded of how “under-developed” I was in comparison, how boyish my features were, how I lacked beauty and appeal to boys. They were kind enough to inform me of the nerd I was for getting good marks in school, and more than happy to turn down the various scholarships I recieved to high schools around Kanto. It was my duty to stay on, to train, to one day be good enough to run things.
I couldn’t be good enough no matter how much I trained.
-------------
I snatched my pokeballs from my dresser drawer, threw a change of clothes into a small red backpack I had stolen from Daisy, and slipped on my shoes. My hair was starting to grow back nicely; once again long orange locks began to fall past my shoulders. Not nearly long enough to please my father, but for once, that didn’t bother me.
I was over trying to impress him.
I stopped off into the bathroom, and set the backpack down. The blades sliced open and shut, as clumps of ginger fell to the ground around me. It was liberating. It was my hair, and I owned it. It was mine to do with what I liked. I tossed the scissors down again, they landed with a loud clang. I scooped the rest of my red into a messy ponytail, not caring for how badly I had placed it on my head. It was pointing out to one side, but that was okay.
I was over trying to impress them.
I ran downstairs, not thinking to grab a jacket. The thought of getting cold in nothing but denim shorts and a yellow singlet hadn’t crossed my mind. Out to the garage, I grabbed my bike and hopped on. There was no time to think, I had to act in the moment. I didn’t want to have second thoughts; I didn’t want to feel guilty into coming back here.
I was over trying to impress everyone.
Somebody called out to me as I sped down the drive. “Where are you going?” It was one of them. Most likely, it was Daisy, probably wondering where I was going and why I had taken her backpack.
“Out!” I yelled back.
The wind whipped through my hair, a cool gentle breeze. The sun warmed my shoulders as I rode. It was liberating, more so than cutting my own hair, than cutting the expectations and the need to please my parents away from me.
I never had to go back, never wanted to go back.
---------
Now what did I have?
No future, no hope, no dreams. I had my three faithful companions, Starmie, Staryu and Goldeen, but no ambitions. I couldn’t compete in the league. Oh the humility of it all. To face Brock, Erica, Blaine, and then return home to face my family. I couldn’t award myself a gym badge, the league knew these things.
Did I really have a future?
I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was riding, clearly. Viridian City had passed me like a blur, and I found myself by the edge of the world. It was a fair distance down to the river. I got off my bike, and stared down the gorge at the rushing waters. Water had always been a protagonist in the fairy tale of my life. I laughed at the thought. The only fairy tale my life compared to was Cinderella, and even then there was no fairy godmother. Just three wicked sisters and no future other than cleaning out the fireplace.
It wouldn’t take that long, would it?
One simple jump. Not even a jump, one simple step and I was off the edge. I would fall, swiftly, smoothly. It would be as though I were flying, ready to embrace the dreams that I never had, the future I had thrown away, and the past that I was leaving behind.
It sounded marvellous.
They could just tell my parents that my body washed up on shore. Most likely onto Cinnabar Island. My parents would only be upset at the length of my hair, of the way my body had been mangled and had lost all traces of beauty. My parents could claim me to be an adopted child, a poor orphan they had rescued from the streets of Lavender Town who had no future. They would tell the press the stories of rags to riches, how they had made me beautiful, made me what a Waterflower should be.
It sickened me.
I stared out across the plains of Route One. The same gentle breeze that had whipped through my short and choppy hair now softly brushed through the reeds and the tall grass, causing it to sway side to side.
Well, here goes.
I looked down into the river, preparing myself. What preparation did I really need to do? I could easily take one step and end it all. I felt obliged to think something, to collect my thoughts, to clean everything up once and for all. Maybe I should’ve cleaned up my mess in the bathroom before I ran. It was all so messy.
A black shadow approached.
Something big was underwater. Jumping could wait. My instincts of being a smart fisher took over. In an instant, my rod was in the water and I was wrestling the shadow for its capture. My rod was at breaking point. I wound, I released, I wound, I released, I grunted and panted and lunged. It came flying out the water, and landed beside me, dripping and spluttering.
A boy?
He clutched the small Pokemon in his arms. A tiny, yellow, battered Pikachu in the worst condition I had ever seen. I opened my mouth to abuse the boy, but closed it abruptly. There was something so sincere, so innocent about the way he lay there. Jet black hair clung to his face, dripping. He had a League cap on. The same ones we sold at our gym. This was clearly his first day of training. I kicked him.
He stirred.
He sat up gasping. “I have to get Pikachu to safety!” he exclaimed. He got up, and leapt on my bike, putting Pikachu into the carrier basket. “Thanks!” he yelled, speeding off down the road.
I blinked.
Had that really just happened? Had I really just gone from the brink of leaping into a rushing river with no plans to swim to safety, to rescuing an ungrateful, gorgeous boy who then steals my bike? I blinked again, stunned and confused. My heart ached. What if I never saw him again? It was a big league.
It was so new and unnatural. I hadn’t felt the swelling and surging of warmth run through my body before. My heart pounded slowly and heavily, reminding me that it was still there. My chest felt as though it would burst with happiness, with relief, with glee. The sun seemed to shine brighter still.
He had my bike.
I snatched my backpack and my fishing rod, and thought for a second. A single second was all it took, before I was dashing after this kid. How would I relate to him? How would I react? What would I say to him when I caught up with him? Would I get my bike and then say goodbye? None of that mattered right now. I had a reason to stay on this side of the cliff.
I ran, hoping I would have an excuse not to say goodbye to the boy when I found him.