okay i have decided to try a oneshot, and it is written in a strange POV, 2nd person, i was inspired by Saffire Persian's "The Ties that Bond". Anyways, this is all new to me so i would REALLY appreciate any feedback, bad or good, and i hope you enjoy the story.......
The Morals Behind a Murder!
The soft, distant train whistle echoes around you, enticing a feeling within you to run. But you can’t, you must stay, as all pokemon do, at your trainer’s side, ready to serve them at will. You look up into the gloom of dusk into your trainer’s eyes, which have a glazed look of sorrow occupying them. She stumbles over a loose railroad tie, but regains a composed stature and continues to balance on the thin metal spokes comprising the railroad. You can hear the whistle again, this time closer, and you long to leap from your trainer’s side and run until your legs give out. No, you can’t, you remind yourself.
She looks down upon you now, surveying you with a blank look on her face. The dark flecks of freckles on her soft porcelain skin accentuate those large emerald eyes. Her hair falls in tangled curls, framing her face and giving her an unpleasant and unattractive look. You feel ashamed to have such a repulsive trainer, though, as always you must obey her and do as she wishes, and that includes staying by her side no matter what the situation may call for.
Her smooth, dark lips part to form the words, “Are you ready?” The last word however, is drown out by the monotony of the approaching train’s whistle. The shrill cry causes the ground around you to rumble in a familiar way. Rocks tumble, grasses shake, and pokemon scatter from nearby bushes, escaping into safety. Oh, how you long to be those pokemon.
The train is visible now, emerging from the black abyss of a far off tunnel. It is approaching at an alarming rate, taking no time to stop and evaluate its surroundings, after all, it had to arrive in Mauville City by nightfall, and it was already cutting it close. It is closer now, and it unleashes another deafening wail.
Your trainer takes a step forward, toward the speeding locomotive, spreading her arms out wide to catch the soft wind that blows past, ruffling her greasy black locks. She turns back for a moment with an inquisitive look splashed upon every pimpled inch of her face. You take a few shaky strides in her direction, fully aware of what she wants.
The train is upon you now, shrieking and wailing worse than ever. The rails shake wildly, tossing you off balance, and you fall to the earth. The continuous quake tosses you over the embankment, scrambling wildly to grip some sort of substance to steady yourself. A dense bush of bristles reaches out in your direction, catching you as you tumble into its midst. A cry of pain erupts from your throat, though it was unheard due to yet another loud metallic whistle. Despite the blur from the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, you glance skyward to where you had just been standing. The indistinguishable mass of the locomotive meets your gaze, flowing endlessly along the railroad before you. A thick thorn protrudes from your shoulder, as well as everywhere else on your body, though this one is causing you the most pain. Seeing as your legs ended in blunt toes, you used your mouth to pluck these uncomfortable objects from your body. A rustle of leaves springs forth into the bitter winter air as you pry yourself loose from the tangle and trot back to the railroad track.
Emptiness greets you, as it always did. Your trainer is nowhere to be seen, or heard. Oh no!
You think. Your mind’s eye works itself into a vision of your trainer, being struck from behind and tossed as though a rag doll beneath the behemoth, her limbs scattering about. The tears leak down your wrinkled turquoise skin and collect in puddles at your feet. Your chest heaves with every deep breath you take and falls in just the same fashion. Your trainer has been crushed by the train, its all your fault, you should have saved her!
A torrent of guilt falls upon you, and you fight, kick, and scream in fury at it, scratching your face and clawing desperately at your body.
The soft, mellifluous voice of your trainer floated up from the opposite embankment, seemingly angry. “Damn it Bulbasaur, it didn’t work!” You hear her clawing her way up the steep wall of dirt, and watch in pure joy as the crest of her head appears above it. You leap up and scramble madly over to her, throwing yourself upon her in a tight embrace. “Get the hell off of me!” Your trainer screams with fury at you, a tone of authority controlling her voice. It is then that you remember that she hates to be touched, by you, her parents, anyone. “C’mon,” she says simply, turning in the direction you had come and begins to walk briskly away from you, her black overcoat streaming out around her. You follow obediently, as you always do.