thorn

I was inspired by Karen's lovely "blackout" piece below (I love dystopian settings so much! I'll definitely incorporate this development into our Pokemon stories) so I was all "I must write something! Preferably Pokemon related!" Didn't turn out that way because I realized that I need to hit the books for that. Seriously, I do research on the Pokemon world. I want to be accurate! I guess that's the paranoid student coming out in me. XD Because I'm on break right now til my next class, I just started a random tale that carries no significance. The first thing I wrote this year and it's not part of our worlds? Not an auspicious start...I've never been good at writing about one-shot, nameless people. ; ~ ; However, have no fear! I will continue to further the growth of our universe. Because I'm one half of Arceus and we can do that stuff ~ ;3 ...can you guess what probably triggered this tale? Haha~

The girl was on her hands and knees in the garden. Her fingers dug up clumps of earth, searching, always searching. He told her that it was buried behind a rosebush. The girl thought that she could find it after all these years. How she had thanked him! She had believed that he had changed, even when he had smiled that same little smile. His superior smile. The clue was a gift, and she knew she could never repay him. But upon entering the garden, her hopes had shriveled and been blown away like dead leaves. The garden was full of rosebushes. She had never seen so many flowers in her life. Strange, then, how they all seem to turn grotesque before her eyes. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen made her feel like throwing up.

The girl didn’t know which rosebush he had meant. She had assumed there could only be one. The town was old and sick. There was nothing that could grow here. But he had proven them all wrong. The girl couldn’t blame him, because he would only smile, and say she hadn’t asked the right questions. He always knew better than she did.

The girl never carried a watch. Her friends always scolded her for running late. She hadn’t cared then, but now she felt the hot breath of time on her neck. Seconds trickled through her fingers despite all her efforts. She leaned back and wrapped her arms around her knees, her hair stringy around her mud-stained face. The girl’s breathing came in stops and starts, as if she were trying to hold her breath, as if someone had their hands around her neck.

Drops of water soaked into the earth below her feet. The girl stared at the dirt as it darkened, not caring if it rained. She wanted it to rain, to soak her to the core. To be caught in a downpour and washed away. The girl didn’t want to be part of his game.