Ghost Road Blues [Story Deal]
Ghost Road Blues
Bleah, why are so many of my stories Horror or Angst? Anyways, this is also a Story Deal, with Riolu and (maybe) Scyther going to other peoplez. The title is snagged from a horror book which I have yet to read (I’ve read the last book of the series though >>), because it fits perfectly with the plot bunny for this story (no, this story isn’t based on that book). I was aiming for something between funny and scary, but it didn't quite turn out that way. Wow, I jumped around a lot, didn’t I? XD Ah well, on to the story!
One note: the narrator’s dialect is sort of a mix between Southern and African-American. Yes, the switches of various words (he goes between “was” and “were” for both singular and plural, for example) are on purpose, so please don’t knock me for that in the Grade ^^’.
~ “Oh, my soul’s achin’ fer freedom
My heart’s yearnin’ fer kindness
Yes my soul’s achin’ fer freedom
But I can’t break these chains”
-Jerma, “Deep Forest Ballad”
Man, it sucks bein’ a ghost. People can’t see ya unless they dyin’ ‘n’ can’t hear ya, neither. Well, that is unless ya wanna waste a lot o’ the limited amount o’ energy ya get when ya a’come a ghost. Ya just kinda wander ‘round, tryin’ to figure out what yer purpose is. Oh yeah, ya don’t just up ‘n’ a’come a ghost fer no reason! But the thing is ya usually don’t know why it is yer hangin’ ‘round the world o’ the livin’. Iffin ya were murdered, release sometimes don’t come ‘til after the ones what killed ya are dead ‘emselves. Iffin ya left a’hind a loved one, ya sometimes can’t “cross over” ‘til ya see ‘em happy ‘n’ safe. But there are lots o’ other reasons why ghosts are, fer lack o’ a better term, “born”. Some are real doozies, some are so damn subtle ya wouldn’t know it iffin they came right up to ya ’n’ named ‘emselves straight into yer face.
Yup, this bein’ a ghost crap sucks. But there’s one thing that can make it less o’ a pain in the metaphysical neck, ‘n’ that’s findin’ other ghosts to hang ‘round with. It don’t happen too often, ‘cause most ghosts are too busy tryin’ to figure out they “purpose” to go out makin’ friends. Hell, sometimes a ghost ain’t got enough energy to make ‘emselves visible to other ghosts! Yup, the longer a ghost is stuck here in the world o’ the still-kickin’, the more energy they loose, ‘til finally it’s all gone ‘n’ they just kinda fade ‘way into purgatory or somethin’. I ain’t got no ideas ‘bout what really happens, ‘n’ I ain’t got no intentions o’ findin’ out, neither. I’ve done realized ‘n’ fulfilled my purpose, so once I’m done here it’s on to the other side fer me!
Now listen well, ‘cause I don’t wanna waste time repeatin’ myself, ‘n’ I don’t know how long yer gonna last. Trust me, I know it seems sudden, ‘n’ maybe just a li’l rude o’ me to come intrduin’ on ya during yer final moments or whatever ya wanna call ‘em. But trust me. It’ll do ya some good to hear what I got to say. I can see that yer scared, ‘n’ I know it’s not me a-spookin’ ya. It’s the uncertainty o’ whatever waits once this is all over. But I can also tell somethin’ else: I can tell yer gonna have a purpose, just like I did. I can’t say what, but I got me a feelin’ it’ll be somethin’ big ‘n’ important.
‘N’ just in case yer wonderin’, no, I can’t wait to tell ya all this once ya’ve breathed yer last. Ghosts ain’t the most coherent creatures when they first come into the world all newborn ’n’ such. First thing yer most likely to do is go tearing off outta shock. Just ‘cause ya know it’s comin’ don’t mean yer gonna be ready when it actually happens, 'n' I don’t wanna risk losin’ ya, ‘cause I know I won’t have the time to track ya down ‘gain. I only got this one chance. Then I gotta go, ‘n’ that’ll be that.
So listen while I tell ya how I came to be like this, ‘n’ how ya came to be like this, too. Listen while I give ya some insight on what it means to be a ghost, even iffin all my combined knowledge on the subject would only fill a couple o’ pages. It’s more than I had when I a’came a ghost. Listen, ‘cause one day ya might be helpin’ another like I’m helpin’ ya now
~”I ain’t got no love
No I ain’t got no love
Said I ain’t got no love
‘Cause this ol’ heart is dead”
-Jerma, “Deep Forest Ballad”
My name is Jerma, ‘n’ I’m a Riolu. Not just any Riolu, neither; I’m different. Special, my Momma called me. Other members o’ the Forest Tribe got other names that ain’t nearly as nice-soundin’, but I ignore ‘em all. ‘Cept fer one, ‘cause it hurts to hear it. Pa, who led our Tribe, called me Blight. That’s ‘cause o’ the Jackal Priest, our Tribe’s medicine-Mon. He’s an old Lucario whose fur done gone white as fresh snow.
The Jackal Priest, as I’m told, had ‘imself a bad case o’ Sight on the evenin’ I was born. The vision he saw when gripped by Sight said a darkness was gonna hit the Tribe from within. When he came outta ‘is drug-induced state (huh, they make it sound so fancy, referrin’ to gettin’ hopped up like that as Sight), he set up frenzied howlin’ ‘n’ ran all over the place. He kept screechin’ ‘bout a darkness from within ‘n’ stuff.
As the story goes, he came runnin’ into the thick, leafy den where Momma was gonna whelp me ‘n’ my siblings. He was all freaked out ‘n’ such, rantin’ that the whole Tribe had to be checked spiritually to make sure that they didn’t have no darkness in ‘em. Momma’s sisters ‘n’ grandmamma got all mad ‘n’ tried to kick ‘im out, but right at that moment Momma yowled ‘n’ started heaving. Then I was born ‘n’ apparently things went right straight to hell after that.
I was born completely black, ‘stead o’ blue like normal Riolu. My eyes was black, my tongue was black, ‘n’ even the li’l nubs o’ bone we Riolu got on the backs o’ our paws was black. I was huge, too, ‘n’ it pains me to say that I done near killed my poor Momma when she was whelpin’ me. ‘Stead o’ being a li’l bundle o’ soppy blue fur, I looked more like a cannonball with wet hair slathered on it. Maybe all this wouldn’t have mattered so much iffin I hadn’t been the first-born. But I was, ‘n’ that just made things all the worse.
I’m told that the Jackal Priest nearly had ‘imself a nice heart attack right then ‘n’ there. Then he started yappin’ ‘n’ yelpin’ ‘bout all the darkness from within bull ‘gain. He tried to have me thrown, helpless ‘n’ soaked, into the night. Momma wouldn’t let ‘im, though, ‘n’ ‘er sisters ‘n’ grandmamma wouldn’t, neither. All the other members o’ the Tribe wanted to see me gone, ‘cause the Jackal Priest’s Sight visions ain’t never supposed to be ignored. It’s said to bring bad luck on the Tribe.
Anyways, everyone was crowded around the den by now, ‘n’ like I said, they was eager to get rid o’ me. But then Pa finally came over ‘n’ started snarlin’ ‘n’ barkin’ at everyone, sayin’ ‘is first-born son ain’t goin’ nowhere. Then he looked right at the Jackal Priest ‘n’ demanded he give Pa proof that I was this darkness, ‘n’ the Priest really couldn’t do much. All he could say was that I was black ‘n’ I’d been whelped by a member o’ the Tribe. That wasn’t enough proof fer good ol’ Pa, bless ‘is heart.
Unfortunately, the bad stuff started happenin’ not too long after I was cleaned ‘n’ nursin’. Momma’s next-born, a li’l female, was born dead. My third siblin’ died a few minutes after Momma cleaned ‘im. My final siblin’ was born deformed, ‘is paws all twisted ‘n’ is head lookin’ like a half-squished melon. He lived, but it didn’t seem at all like a blessin’.
When this news spread through the Tribe ‘n’ reached the Jackal Priest, he started sayin’ that I was a curse, a plague o’ misfortune. He said I was a blight on the Tribe. By now even Momma’s sisters was anxious about getting’ rid o’ me, but Momma, ‘er grandmamma, ‘n’ Pa weren’t havin’ none o’ it. I was safe, so long as Pa ‘n’ Momma didn’t change they minds ‘n’ agree that it would be best to boot me out.
It seemed there was always some new disaster strikin’ the Tribe as I got older. Bad storms killed off the small crops o’ vegetables that was grown by the older females. A sickness struck large numbers o’ the animals the Tribe ate. This led to a famine, which was made worse by a local drought when the nearby stream suddenly went dry. Scouts would go out to patrol our territory, never to return. Bites from poisonous spiders ‘n’ snakes, which was always a danger in the deep forest to begin with, a’came so common that at least one Tribemember were dyin’ every few days. Forest predators a’came bolder ‘n’ made strikes ‘gainst even healthy Tribemembers, ‘n’ more often than not the predators won.
As the days turned to weeks ‘n’ then to months, every last member o’ the Tribe feared ‘n’ hated me. Even Pa, while he still refused to let me be banished, had stopped callin’ me Jerma or Son. He started callin’ me Blight, even though it made Momma angry ‘n’ sad. She was the only one who ever cared ‘bout me as I grew older. Pa, while not mean or cruel, also didn’t treat me civil. He referred to me as a thing ‘n’ talked ‘bout me even when I was right there. He didn’t try to stop the others from pickin’ on me, he never comforted me when I got scared or sad or hurt or sick. He never spent no time with me, never really treated me like ‘is son. On the other hand, my deformed li’l brother was treated with a ridiculous ‘mount o’ reverence. Don’t get me wrong; I loved ‘im greatly. He was mentally unstable ‘cause o’ how ‘is head was all lumpy ‘n’ squished, ‘n’ he couldn’t walk ‘cause o’ how twisted ‘is paws was (whenever he tried he ended up totterin’ ‘round on ‘is ankles fer a few seconds a’fore fallin’ over), but I still loved ‘im. He was as gentle a creature as I ever seen, real quiet too. But the biggest thing wrong with ‘im was he never matured, not mentally ‘n’ emotionally. He was like a li’l pup when he got upset. He cried ‘n’ threw tantrums ‘n’ wanted to be held.
Still, I had a feelin’ that the Tribe doted on ‘im so much ‘cause they was tryin’ to spite me. They couldn’t banish me, but I could leave on my own iffin I wanted. I guessed they was tryin’ to make me feel so unloved that I just couldn’t take it no more ‘n’ ran ‘way. But I didn’t give ‘em the satisfaction, ‘n’ even though the Tribe suffered day after day, I refused to leave. They made me so miserable I decided I’d do ‘em the same way. I was Blight, the plague o’ misfortune, ‘n’ the longer I hung around ‘n’ bad things happened, the more the Tribe grew to despise me. In turn, they treated me worse, which only strengthened my resolve to stay ‘n’ cause ‘em more grief.
Don’t give me nothin’ ‘bout bein’ strong ‘n’ leavin’ ‘cause I was a curse to the Tribe, neither. I was young ‘n’ didn’t understand why I was bein’ treated so meanly, why my own Pa refused to acknowledge me or anythin’. I just wanted the Tribe to treat me nice, like I was somethin’ other than a threat ‘n’ nuisance. I never got treated with nothin’ close to respect by anyone but my Momma, though, ‘n’ eventually things in the Tribe got so bad that I did decide to leave. But only fer her; I didn’t want nothin’ bad to happen to Momma, or to my li’l brother Korma. So one evenin’ after everyone had gone to sleep, I stole off into the night.
I was two years old when I left, but I was far from ready to be on my own. I’d never been taught how to hunt or forage. I’d never been shown how to defend myself ‘gainst the various threats o’ the forest. Everythin’ I’d learned I’d learned from listenin’ ‘n’ watchin’ the lessons o’ others. This knowledge weren’t very adequate as a result, ‘n’ a day later I was hungry ‘n’ tired ‘n’ had no idea of what to do next.
~”Life ain’t no good here
Where only the silence is friendly”
-Jerma, “Life Ain’t No Good”
Yeah, I had me a real crappy childhood. One o’ the ways I coped was by singin’ ol’ sad ballads. Another o’ the ways was through Momma. She was the only decent Lucario I ever knew. Not many Lucario outside o’ the Tribe live in the deep o’ the green forest, ‘mong the huge trees ‘n’ chokin’ vines as big as Arbok. I didn’t know nothin’ other than thick carpets o’ leaf litter 'n' husks o’ fruit, didn’t know nothin’ other than the heavy smell of loam 'n' huge golden flowers that stank like rotten meat; or the cacophony o’ sounds that went on day ‘n’ night. So by the time I managed to find my way outta’ the forest, that place where sunlight ever only comes through the sky-high canopy in brief, muted streams o’ gold, I was surprised by the sudden change in scenery.
It were a new start to a new life, I’ll tell ya, a life that was harder in some ways, but better in all.
~”One day I’m gonna break free
Oh one day I’m gonna break free
I’ll break free from the chains o’ this place
‘N’ start my life ‘gain”
-Jerma, “Deep Forest Ballad”
When I came outta the forest, the first thing I saw was the sky. It were the first time I saw it; since the canopy o’ the forest is so thick; the most o’ the sky I’d ever seen was a quick glimpse here ‘n’ there when the leaves parted just so. I was so stunned by the sight that I actually froze in place, my jaws gapin’ open in awed shock. The two nine-inch long black Aura-detectin’ sacs hangin’ from the sides o’ my face trembled from the dose o’ emotion I was feelin’.
The sky was…magnificent. No, it was even stronger than that. It was glorious, breathtakin’ly ‘n’ painstakin’ly splendid. It was dark blue fer the most part, with twinklin’ stars scattered like shiny white tears all over the place. But the sky was gettin’ brighter; sunrise! Mind ya, I’d never seen one a’fore: When ya live in the deep forest, ya don’t never see things like sunrises ‘n’ sunsets. Anyways, there was a brilliant orange flamin’ on the horizon, ‘n’ that morphed into a stunnin’ pink higher up. The pink eventually darkened to a deep, rich purple, which in turn transformed into the midnight-blue o’ the dyin’ night.
Last edited by Dog of Hellsing; 06-03-2009 at 07:46 PM.