A distant reverberation, glass shattering, the odor of fumes and melting cobble; heat, scorching and wild; enraged roars, heart-shattering screams, and a strong solitary command, “Go! Leave with him. You know what to do.”
Sudden nausea, fumes and haze, stillness; a rushing wind across darkened plains; a great burning pyre behind. A rush of images, sea-faring cliffs, the light rising on the distant horizon. A loud neigh and another lurch, the light to his left now, subdued, as if time rewinded, another jolt; darkness.
The boy swam through, searching, thinking. He felt loss, grief, an inexplicable turmoil deep within, and anger. A fiery anger unintended for a boy so young; an anger that scared the boy himself in the endless darkness. Slowly, the fire shrunk, condensed, and hidden. The darkness receded, a surgeon’s scalpel excising the last cache of memories, turning it into an echo before preserving it into the darkest depths.
The boy was dropped as far away from his past as possible; his sole guardian on the edge of passing the mortal coil. A soft whinny and an exhausted sigh came out of the once prideful unicorn. A clip-clop was her final farewell, to cut all possible ties so that he may grow without fear. Leaving the boy with only his instinctual memory of the world's most beloved, mysterious, and powerful creatures; Pokemon.
[https://i.postimg.cc/3RY1GP6V/Break-Pokeball.png]
“Child, it’s not safe to sleep out here. Come on, get up.” a well-worn scratchy voice reached my ears. Slowly opening my navy-blue eyes, I looked around. I was lying on tall vibrant grass, a sharp constant pain drilling through the back of my neck to my forehead, and an elderly man with short dusty blonde hair in a white lab coat, a buttoned up maroon shirt, and yellow-brown khaki pants was crouched over me. The voice had been this man’s, I realized. Glancing lower, I spied a red-and-white ball grasped in the man’s hand; a Pokeball, I vaguely recalled. The man was vigilant, looking around the small leafy clearing the two were in.
“Wh…ghhh”, I tried to speak, but only a rough cough came out. More hauntingly, I also somehow knew that I was in danger just lying down in tall grass. I tried to remember what had happened, but only flashes came up. Fire, screams, the wind, nausea, and then stillness. The sharp pain in my head worsened instantly until I stopped trying to recall.
“Here, drink this”, the elderly man said, removing the cap of a small canteen from inside his coat. Trying to snap out of my sudden migraine, I tilted my head forward as the lukewarm water entered my throat and started to drink as if I had been in a drought for the past week. “Careful child, you look very dehydrated. Take slow sips, a few at a time, alright?” The man gently spoke, and I cautiously followed his instructions. 3 careful long sips later, the canteen was taken away, re-capped, and attached to the man’s belt.
“Now, try to get up. Grab my hand and let’s go. It's best not to stay outside of town for too long without a Pokemon.” I nodded, knowing the man to be correct, and already feeling stronger by the second as he grabbed my hand and tried to get me to stand on my bare feet. A small bout of vertigo came and went, I had to tightly hold the offered hand before steadying. Soon, I was led out towards an opening in the forested clearing and came upon a scenic vista of rolling azure plains and scattered farmsteads; in the short distance, a small bustling town with the various sounds of men and women going about their morning.
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As we neared the small town, I spied a mix of 1 to 2 storey houses lining paved sidewalks; the dirt path turning into a small 2-lane street down the center, heading towards a small square, each cardinal direction leading to a few other streets. From my point of view, I spied a dome-like 5-storey building towards the east, colored in pastel white with a large red-and-white ‘Pokeball’ elevated above the entrance. To the west, near a wide expanse of open fields, sat a long, white, and squat building with glass floor-to-ceiling windows. I also spotted a blue kiosk tucked into the north-east of the square topped by a blue cap with a red lining.
[https://i.postimg.cc/xTcRLGxf/Pallet-Town.png]
Pallet Town
As I kept walking with the old man, I saw the various Pokemon around the town. I knew their names, remembered what they were, how they helped and threatened humanity. I knew about Pokemon. I knew about the Pokemon League; about trainers and Pokemon battling. About Pokemon breeding, contests, challenges. I started to recall moves, types, abilities, natures, evolutions, Mega Evolutions, Quattro Evolutions, Z-moves, Dynamax, Gigantamax, and Terastallization. My thoughts echoed berries, jams, vitamin supplements, nutritional information, grooming kits, potions, Pokeballs, TMs, HMs, ethers, and many many more. Everything I felt I could know about Pokemon, I could retrieve in my mind in a flash. There was no pain.
And then, as sudden as a Rapidash, I knew something about myself; I was only 16 years old. But I didn’t know my name. I didn’t know where I was. And my heart was burning with an irredeemable anger and sorrow. I realized then that I had lost something very important to me. My sudden distress caused me to stop walking and clutch at my chest with my hand. The kind elderly man that helped me get out of what was most likely a clearing used by wild Pokemon, stopped and turned around to look at me.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m just taking you to the local Officer Jenny.” the man said, his voice calm as if he was approaching a wild Abra. “From the looks of what you’re wearing and me knowing every family ‘round here, I know you're lost. The best thing we can do is get to Officer Jenny and talk with her. She’ll know what to do, child.”
Slowly, minutes passed, and I calmed down, suppressing the anxiety of my situation somehow; as if it was expected for me to always be poised, graceful. A small nod later and we started walking again. “Thank you, for helping me.” I spoke, my voice a polished cadence; my natural accent quite a bit different from what I’d been hearing from conversations throughout the street.
“Yes yes, not a problem. I am a Professor after all. Although I usually deal with wayward Pokemon rather than children, most of the time at least!” The elderly man chuckled softly as if telling an inside joke to himself. “You can call me Oak! People usually call me the Pokémon Professor, just like my grandfather! And what might your name be, child?”
I slowly looked up, my brows furrowed. I knew what a Pokemon Professor was; a very prestigious research post backed by the Global Pokemon League itself. To be called a Pokemon Professor meant to receive the highest accolade as a researcher; impossible to achieve without years of rigorous investigation into their chosen field of study on Pokemon. Yet, I could barely recall my own name or history; the only word that came to mind was…”I don’t know Professor, but you can call me Avery.”