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Stories Write a story to catch Pokemon. A Grader will then decide if it catches or not.

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Old 07-18-2006, 05:17 PM
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Default Write for the catch.

Write for the catch.

Chapter 1

Two years ago, if anyone asked who Chris Hall was, they would be frowned upon. However, as Chris Hall became a world class writer of innovative novels and a supreme poet of passionate poems, the intriguing questions asked became stronger. He wasn’t exactly the school example of a famous writer or poet. No one knew what he looked like, even his editor and manager didn’t have a clue. He never appeared to sign his books and poetry in bookstores, nor did he star in TV talk shows. Everyone wanted to know the person behind the name, so much in fact that the well-known program 60 minutes promised a reward for the person telling the world who Chris Hall really was.

It was a wet night in August, when Chris saw his next deadline creep slowly toward him. Frustrated at his own incapability, he desperately tried to get something decent on paper. After scribbling down a sentence or two, he got fed up with all of it, and scratched them out. He wildly moved his arm across the table, knocking over the hot, steamy cup of coffee. Chris rolled with his eyes, before standing up to clean up the mess. “Great. Exactly what I needed,” he moaned, before letting out a deep sigh.

He walked to his small kitchen to get a clean towel. Even with his humongous writer’s fee, he didn’t allow him to live above his stand. So he currently owned a small apartment in the heart of the biggest city of the country, while being able to afford a penthouse suite and a gigantic villa. Chris hated attention, and he being bothered by people wanting stuff, who would probably forget him once he was back to the anonymity created by not being famous anymore. Chris didn’t even touch the money on his writer’s account, fearing that some bank employee might expose him.

All in all, Chris Hall was a very paranoid and skeptic human being who had lived a double life. Returning with the cloth he had found in the back of an oak wooden cupboard, he started to clean up the mess he had caused. Having a bad day was one thing, but having it combined with a massive attack of writer’s block was something completely different. Chris sighed again. He didn’t feel like writing tonight, just like he had felt the previous two weeks. With the poorly encouraging thought of having better luck the next morning, he closed his manuscript, moved the chair, and walked to his small bedroom with a long yawn.

The next morning was as dark as the previous day. The light of the sun seemed to be trying hard to pierce through the dense clouds, but just like Chris’ good humor it failed miserably. Somewhere breakfast and lunch, Chris forced himself to go out of the confinements of his tiny apartment, and start roaming the city for inspiration. He tried squandering through the main shopping streets, mentally writing down ideas, which he almost immediately erased. No, this wasn’t helping. Shaking his head, he kept walking onward, until he had reached a small park. His mood brightened when he saw the sturdiness of the children playing. Even in bad weather, they kept playing with the poorly conditioned swings and slides. It must be great to be a child, and not worry about stupid things like salary and prestige. Chris continued his walk, seeking intensively for anything good to use in his upcoming line of poems.

Suddenly, all hell broke lose, when the clouds tore open, and released a stream of water on the unprotected beings below. Chris hasted into a café near him, pushing and pulling to get in there dry. The barman laughed at the sudden stream of customers. Sudden rain showers were always good for business. Usually it took over two or three drinks for them to come to the conclusion that they could wait for ever.

Chris went to a remote table in the corner of the café, waiting carelessly until a stressed waiter or waitress would finally notice him and come up to him to ask what he wanted. He would probably look into the menu first, and wait for the other to leave. Though, somehow his plans were rudely interrupted when a unknown woman took a seat next to him on the very same table.

She had a strange attractiveness surrounding her. Against all the odds of someone finding her as beautiful as hell, she wasn’t ugly either. Maybe it was the pleasant mixture of commonness and harsh reality which she was surrounded with. Her long, thin fingers ran through her already wet and sticky brown hair, spraying small drops in every direction. Chris couldn’t help himself, but to gawk at her. Her young face was as carved by harshness as it was common to see. No one would turn his head after glimpsing at it, because you knew for sure you would remember it.

Her lipstick reddened lips slowly moved apart to let out a gentle voice. The warmth was almost touchable, and the subtle accent could overpower all senses. “Hi, my name is Ty,” she said, introducing herself to the staring Chris.

Did she actually talk to him? Chris blinked ignorantly, tripping over his words, as thought and talk opposed each other. “H-Hey, I’m Chris.”

“Short for Christopher, isn’t it? My name’s short for Tyrona, but Ty sounds nicer, don’t you think?”

Chris nodded to keep the uncontrollable drool production somewhat in check. He swallowed once, twice, heck, even a third time. He was so confused that he just started talking about the weirdest things. “So, what brought you here?”

“You mean into this place? Well, that must be the bloody rain ruining my day. However, if you meant to this seat? Well, let’s say it was the only empty seat in the house.” Ty smiled broadly, making Chris’ intestines crawl even faster.

What’s with him? Chris couldn’t remember feeling like this, since his college years. Even though that wasn’t such a long time ago, the feelings felt quite awkward to have again. Could it be? Was he really? Well, was he?

Chris and Ty kept talking for hours, while ordering drink after drink. The bald barman smiled. He was making a good day, and those two had their own benefits. After the rain had past south long ago, Chris and Ty parted their own separate ways, each carrying the other’s phone number in their pockets.

That evening, Chris wrote poems like he hadn’t done in a long while. They were passionate, intense, and truthful. The light in his pen had been reawakened, and all it took was another special person.

Near a tree by a river, there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of Aran goes around and around
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Old 07-18-2006, 05:41 PM
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Default Re: Write for the catch.

Chapter 2

“Darn it!” Chris exclaimed as he slid his chair backward. In his frustration – which he got from failing to find inspiration for another poetry book – he had knocked over the second cup of coffee in an hour.

Lady Luck certainly wasn’t on his side this month. After meeting Ty, he had gotten so much ideas and thoughts that he composed an entire poetry book in less than a day. It went into bookstores after a week, getting raving critics like there was no tomorrow. His status as the king of modern poetry had reached record heights, but there was a downside to all this.

Having a money hungry agent, who would do stuff without your consent, resulted in a new deadline. This time it was a set theme, instead of the usual ‘do-what-ever-you-want’. A festival planner had convinced his agent to make a deal involving an exclusive festival poetry book, which would have Pokemon themed poem.

Immediately, Chris had locked himself up, after realizing that Ty wouldn’t be able to help any bit. The long, interesting dates with her weren’t enough reason to tell her of the existence of his secret alter-ego.

“Maybe doing research on some Pokemon would help me to write down at least something remotely good,” he said, thinking out loud as he grabbed his coat. “Hopefully, the critics will mark me as something human, and not as an abomination.” He had almost walked out of the door without taking his prized possession with him. It was a green colored ball with a small button in the middle. His dad had given him the Pokeball when he was just a little lad, but Chris always thought it was empty. He could clearly remember the hours he had spent, trying desperately to make the creature inside it come out.

After a half an hour walk, the poet entered the area separating Goldenrod with Azalea’s forest. He knew that there were a lot of wild and potentially dangerous Pokemon living in this area, but he found captured ones to be a source of tedious thoughts. Taking the risk of getting attacked by a maddened beast, he entered their domain in search of the one, who could fulfill his desire.

After stepping through a knee high grass field for what seemed like hours, a sudden sound alerted him. Chris froze immediately. Carefully scanning the area, he discovered a lone Snubbull sitting on a rock. It was sunbathing, obviously, which was proved by the extraordinary color of its skin.

This was some sort of revelation to the ignorant Chris. Surely, he had written about anthropomorphic Pokemon in his novels, but he thought they were something from an imaginary world he created for his readers. Snubbull moaned softly as it turned around and faced the sun with another side of his body.

Chris grabbed his notebook, popped the cap of his pen, and started scribbling like a madman. Line after line appeared on the recently unwritten sheet of paper. As Snubbull kept posing, Chris kept on composing and writing. He had no clue how long he had been crouching there, maniacally scrawling his notebook full with rhyming lines and stanzas.

An ignorant passerby who looked over Chris’ shoulder would have been surprised at the quality of the poem.

Sunbath o’ Snubbull.

The wind blows gently by,
And chirping birds fly.
The sun shines vividly on the grassy earth,
While for what it’s worth,
An unlikely creature lies on a rock bed,
It tries to rest its head,
While the hot rays of the giant lamp scorch his skin.
It’s taking it easy like Huckleberry Finn.
With a strand of hay in his jaws,
Snubbull likes to sunbathe,
Until the bright lights fade.

Everything else was covered by Chris’ body. He kept writing onward, devouring page after page, until the little tanned Snubbull stood up, and began on his journey home.

The day was still young, when Chris decided to search for another muse. Crossing the grassy plains, he entered the dark forest between Azalea and Goldenrod. The thick branches and leafs were stopping the persistent solar rays from lighting up the forest floor, but occasionally one or two rays passed through, casting at least some light on it.

The forest was bristling of fauna running all over the place. There were Pinecos hanging down from tree branches, several insects sleeping in the bushes and low trees, and, of course, the occasional bewildered Oddish passing by.

However, Chris wasn’t looking for something normal. He was in search of something extraordinary, something new, something mind goggling. Wandering through the active forest, while being very careful not to wake up any hostile creature, he spent quite a while searching for that something.

Chris was tired from the extreme amount of walk, which he wasn’t used to. He decided to fill up his empty water bottle at a small waterfall he had seen. The sound of the rushing liquid was unexpectedly soothing, while little water drops sprinkled on his face as they splashed off of the small rocks. Chris gulped away the water directly from the waterfall, before he filled his bottle. Letting out a satisfied groan, he wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand. All of a sudden, something moved in the corner of his eye.

A gigantic antler penetrated the leafs of a bush to his side. The brushing sounds were more than enough to catch Chris’ attention. Standing motionlessly next to the falls, he saw a Stantler coming out of the undergrowth. Its gigantic antler rested on his apparently strong head and slender neck. He could have sworn that Stantlers didn’t have horns this big. He slowly grabbed his notebook, as the reindeer lowered its head to gobble up some fresh water running downstream.

Stantler’s list.

With majestic grace it bowed down;
Its skin colors a golden version of brown.
Gently swallowing it gulps the fresh water drink,
While its antlers couldn’t be seen in an eye blink.
It raised its head and moaned.
Moments later, I would have sworn it was cloned.
Out of the bushes came more of his kin.
All wetting their chin.

Chris’ leg had fallen asleep as he wrote his poem standing up straight. Unnoticeably, he moved his leg a mere inch, but it was enough to kick away a small rock. The little stone fell hard on the lower boulders, producing an awful sound. A Stantler raised its head and pricked its ear to hear where it had come from. Slowly, but with unbelievable grace, it turned around to face Chris. Standing mere yards away, Chris was attracted by the deep brown eyes of the beast, but the link wasn’t a long term one.

As the majestic creatures fled away, Chris decided to call it a day. He returned home to pen over his notes, and to send them to his editor. Tomorrow would be another day to write.

Near a tree by a river, there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of Aran goes around and around

Last edited by DaRkUmBrEoN; 07-22-2006 at 12:54 PM.
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Old 07-22-2006, 12:50 PM
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Default Re: Write for the catch.

Chapter 3

The pre-release critics were overly optimistic. Chris had climbed above anyone else with those two poems. People began to call him the king of poetry, even rivaling Shakespeare, or at best beating him. All this praise wasn’t exactly leaving Chris untouched.

It felt like a gigantic burden on his shoulder. The pressure to make his latest poetry book succeed had become even bigger than before. Dammit! Why did he have to keep doing stuff like this?

Chris remembered in his college days that he truly enjoyed writing and composing for the sheer joy it gave him, not for the attention. All this and everything he had built these past years were products of his pleasure with writing, but somehow they seemed to decrease the level and quality of the ecstasy. They were bringers of headaches and writer’s block.

He had to talk to someone about this. He grabbed the piece of paper with Ty’s phone number on it, and dialed the digits. After ringing a couple of times, the person on the other end picked the horn up. Chris’ nervousness was immediately lowered when he heard Ty’s lovely voice.

“Hello, Ty speaking.”

“Hi, Ty.”

She recognized his voice. “Hey, Chris. I was wondering when you would call back.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Life got busy, though it’s a lousy excuse.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m glad you called. What’s wrong?” Another trait he admired. Ty always knew if something was wrong.

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know if I can do it over the phone.”

“I see.” She seemed to be thinking. “I know. Why don’t you drop by my place? Maybe that’ll ease you up a bit?”

“On my way,” Chris replied with a smile on his face.

“See you soon then. Bye.”

“Bye,” Chris said, before he hung up.

He had been to Ty’s place a couple of times before, though he never went any further than the front door. Little creatures were playing rugby in his belly as he thought about how she had decorated her home.

He took a cab and gave the driver the address. After a ten minute drive, the cab stopped in front of Ty’s little apartment in the suburbs. Hastily, Chris paid and tipped the cabby, before walking up the small staircase to the front door. Next to door did four small buttons, each resembled the apartments in the building. He had to press a button, before Ty would open the front door.

After climbing the stairs to the third floor, he knocked on Ty’s door. She seemed to be fiddling with some of the locks she had, judging by the metallic sounds echoing through the oak wooden door. She greeted him into her cozy little quarters with a warm ‘hi’, as she closed the door behind him.

The room was brightly lit by oversized, curtained windows, and had a lot of contrasting but warm colors. Everything in the living room breathed out an air of comfort and relaxation. The pastel blue cough on the magenta carpet was covered with yellowish cushions. She had a large flat screen television set wired to an amazing surround sound system. Chris wondered whether they should rent a movie and watch it here. Of course, he could get a superior system than the one she had, but that wasn’t the problem.

“Sit down,” she said, patting on a cushioned seat next to her on the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

Chris took off his coat, hung it up, and walked slowly to the couch. He looked at Ty with her sweet facial expressions, but he couldn’t see what she was thinking. He sat down, just when Ty stood up. “I’m going to get us something to drink.” With that, she walked toward the kitchen, which was built as an expansion onto the living room, so Chris could see her rattling coffee cups.

She brought two cups filled with freshly made, hot, damping coffee and a cookie tray, before she sat down next to Chris. With examining eyes, she looked into his, before opening her mouth. “So, what’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed deeply, stirring his cup of coffee with a tea spoon. “The people I work with are getting too demanding. They think I’m some sort of wizard, because I’m good at what I do, so they say.”

“What’s wrong with that? I wish they admired me.”

“Believe me, it’s not all it’s cut out to be. Each time I deliver a project, they come knocking on my door screaming for more. Plus, each time they do it faster and demand more.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’ll tell you the exact same thing a good friend of mine once said to me when someone was paying a little bit too much attention to me. She said: ‘Screw them. If they really are that interested in you, they can live with the fact that you do stuff in live at your own pace. If they can’t handle it, then they’re not worth your attention.’

“Smart friend you have,” Chris laughed. “She should be a guidance counselor.”

“She is.” A mischievous grin appeared on Ty’s face. “She’s currently working as a rehab worker in the state penitentiary.”

Chris laughed along with Ty. How carefree could one get? All the troubles had been brushed off his shoulders. What a great feeling to be able to sit here next to a person you like and not care what happens. Chris decided to call his agent and editor first thing in the morning to tell them of his recent decision.

Suddenly, Ty stood up, and turned to face Chris with a playful expression. “Wanna watch a DVD?” she asked.

“Hell, yeah!”

Near a tree by a river, there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of Aran goes around and around

Last edited by DaRkUmBrEoN; 07-22-2006 at 12:54 PM.
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Old 07-22-2006, 02:17 PM
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Default Re: Write for the catch.

Chapter 4

Chris had accepted to do his manager and editor one last favor, before he took over his own agenda again. Stepping into the plains between Goldenrod and Azalea once again, he grabbed his notebook to make one last poem for his last employer.

It had to be grand, something that would rock the world, something new. Chris felt revived now, like back in his college days. He began to like writing and composing for their essence, not the rewards. His way of writing had become loser, and the words flowed out of his pen like water.

By noon, he had already scribbled down six poems, which must have been the most he had done in one day lately. Chris just wanted to do one last poem to finish the bundle off. He had heard stories of a strange little creature appearing in front of you within a blink of an eye, only to disappear as fast. No one had gotten a good look, but all of the stories agreed on one thing. The creature was yellowish and small. According to the specialists, it was an Abra.

Chris had yet to see a real life Abra, but somehow he had the feeling that Lady Luck would be on his good side today. He had taken along the Pokeball he had gotten from his dad, though it was more nostalgic than useful.

Chris crept through the high grass in search of an Abra. He had to look very hard, but once he reached an open field, he had finally found his target. A small yellow-orange creature lay sleeping under a giant tree, or at least it seemed like it. Chris slowly snuck closer to him, grabbed his notebook, and began to write a poem about this resting Abra.

Either the little psychic creature didn’t notice him, or it didn’t bother to move. Chris liked it either way. As his leg began to tingle, he decided to work out more. Nervously he began changing his leg position, until a sudden sound reverberated through the open field. Looking down, Chris noticed that the strange Pokeball had fell out of his pocket, and smashed on top of a sharp rock.

“Ow, man,” Chris said, but he stopped complaining, when he saw what had happened to the green Pokeball. The green exterior was merely a shell to hide a small round red ball. A Pokeball inside a Pokeball was unheard of, but not impossible.

Chris’ eyes seemed to have found a new sparkle. He had gotten the sudden, irresistible urge to capture a Pokemon, like back when he was a kid. With a bit of luck, the red Pokeball would contain a Pokemon.

He opened the ball, only to be blinded by the hellish red light it produced. Even before he could see again, he heard the sound of flapping wings. However, they were not made out of feathers, but out of something else. Blinking madly to get the flashes out of his eyes, he noticed a Golbat flying in front of him. Good.

“Time to capture that sweet little thing, Golbat,” Chris said to his new Pokemon. “Use Mean Look, I think, to trap him.”

Golbat flew away with amazing speed, and with a hideous face. If Chris would have to describe it, he would have told everyone that it was the same kind of mug a bloodthirsty bully makes when he sees a gullible weenie in front of him. No one could run away from him and his powerful fists, unless they were extremely smart or extremely strong.

Abra looked frightened at Golbat’s storming face, while he tried to teleport himself out of harm’s way. It was too bad for him that it didn’t work out so well. Instead, he remained trapped in this one-sided battle, with no apparent means of escape.

Golbat hovered steadily at a few yards distance from Abra, in case he did something amazingly. His flapping bat wings were making the air tremble so badly that Chris had a hard time seeing what was going on with Abra.

“Golbat, use your Confuse Ray so that it doesn’t try anything funny.”

Golbat began to produce ultrasonic sound waves, which could really mess up the subconscious mind. Once confused, the victim would have a hard time seperating fantasy from reality. Golbat didn’t have to take its time to confuse the little Abra. Within seconds, Abra was walking around like a drunk in a shopping street on Friday night.

Chris was delighted by the events. “Golbat, try using Air Cutter.”

The bat like creature nodded and flew up to get some momentum from the drop. Golbat spread its wings and swooped down. The air moving around his wings were as sharp as a knife, ready to deliver a hard blow to Abra.

Meanwhile, Abra thought he was in some kind of flower field. He tried collecting grass, thinking he was picking up flowers from the ground. Moments later, the little creature was knocked down by Golbat’s Critical blow. However, it stood up immediately, acting as if nothing had happened.

Ah… How fun it must be to be ignorantly confused, Chris thought, while writing another line of poetry. “Golbat, finish it off with a Wing Attack.”

His Pokemon flapped his wings until it had reached the desired elevation, and then swooped down to smack the psychic creature with a fatal blow. The ground and its prey got closer each second, until they filled its eye sight.

Abra snapped out of his confusion just in time to notice what kind of danger was approaching him. Convinced that he wouldn’t be able to walk away from this freely, he came to terms with his fate. With a bit of luck, he could see the world with his new master. The pain was non-existent.

Chris noticed the fainted Abra, and walked toward it with the green Pokeball clutched in his fist. It wasn’t broken or anything, so it should do the trick. He threw the ball toward Abra, and saw how it got sucked in.

The ball wiggled, and wiggled, and wiggled. To quote a fellow famous writer by the initials D.U.: “For the love of all the babies hanging outside on the balconies in Neverland, make a decision.”

Near a tree by a river, there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of Aran goes around and around
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Old 07-25-2006, 09:33 PM
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Default Re: Write for the catch.

Story: Good story, I liked it a lot.

Description: You had good detail throughout the story.

Grammar/Spelling: Couldn't find any.

Reality: It could happen.

Lenght: Long enough for an Abra

Battle: Battle was good for the Pokemon you were facing. You can't have to long of a battle with Abra.

Overal: Abra caught.
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