okay here is my third fic.... i am hoping that this one will do good and continue..... I REALLY want feedback on this one, so if you read it, and just so you know, this is not a fic centered around death like "Morals Behind a Murder" *points to those who disliked it* It is actually more of a fic abut inspiration and emotional connection! =] enjoy!
Chapter 1: A Brutal Busride!
A plume of newly arrived flora billowed up from the ground, perpetuating a feeling of warmth and comfort. The drab stems were nothing in comparison to the outstretched petals of color reaching upward to the soft haze of a morning sun. Bespeckling these wondrous sources of beauty were unnumerable amounts of Yanma, poised lightly atop the delicate flowers, staring blankly ahead.
A large hand suddenly plummeted downward, snatched the scene from beneath the girl’s eyes, and waved it mockingly in the air. “What’s this?” came the snide voice of the perpetrator, as he gazed down at the sketch. A contempt sneer slid over his face as he took in the sight of the picture.
“Give it back!” A second hand shot into the air, struggling to meet the other which was held feet above her head. She clawed furiously at the air, her fingers bent, in an effort to retrieve her drawing. “Adam that’s not funny, give it back!” The words which she tried so hard to pronounce with authority and dignity came out in a muffled squeak.
“What Ratatta girl? You say you want your little picture back?” The older boy seemed to enjoy torturing her, as most children did, and as though on cue, the multitudes of laughter sprang up from the surrounding seats. It echoed and crashed around the lone girl, bringing that familiar instinct to cry. No
, she thought. I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me cry!
But as the boisterous ridicules continued on, she wasn’t sure that she could hold the tears back. Her eyes felt as though they were a dam, struggling to suppress the myriad water from pouring over. The bus upon which the children were riding suddenly lurched to a stop, throwing the girl off balance and into a fellow student.
“God Stephanie you freak, get off of me!” the girl who she had landed on screamed, aiming a well-placed kick at the girl’s hindquarters. Stephanie was struck from behind and fell to her knees, keeping her eyes to the floor, as to not give anyone reason to pick on her any further. But these children didn’t need a reason, they found this act of torment enjoyable, and they continued to screech and cackle, watching the helpless girl fall to the ground. A burst of tears flooded her eyes, and trickled down her cheeks in small streams. When they reached the dull point of her chin, they plopped silently from her face and struck the grim-stricken flooring of the rickety bus. Stephanie felt a surge of hatred erupt from somewhere deep in her body, not towards the others but toward herself for being so weak and giving into her emotions. She had allowed these worthless bullies to see her cry, and now felt as though she had voluntarily given up her dignity, and that above all else was the hardest to accept. Stephanie saw herself now as nothing more than a frightened Caterpie, cowardice seeping from its body with every passing second.
“Get away from her!” A new voice overpowered the laughter, causing the older children to fall silent, and gaze around for the source of the outburst. Stephanie craned her neck upward, following suit with the others. A couple pairs of knees met her eyesight, but they soon cleared to show a tiny body working its way toward the back of the bus, barely distinguishable among the rest. Stephanie had expected that the mysterious-voiced person would aid her, though when she laid eyes upon the actual being, the girl realized it was about to get much worse. Struggling to find foot space in the cramped bus, the miniature figure worked its way to Steve, who held the drawing to his chest. “I said, get away from my sister!” the young boy cried, his mop of blonde hair flopping as he repeated the order.
Struggling to suppress a snicker, Steve gazed back down at the girl sobbing on the floor. “What, you gotta get your little brother to fight your battles for you? Another sneer punctured his face, giving him the look of a rotting jack-o’-lantern.
“Izzy, go away, I can handle this myself,” Stephanie sniffled, ignoring the other boy’s rude question. She spoke the words with dominance, though deep down knowing that she had no influence over the situation. The bus stopped once more, and the driver hollered something to the kids in the front, completely unaware of the scene unfolding near the back. At his words, a few stumbled from their seats and propelled themselves out the door, gracious to be home.
Seeing as the younger boy planted his feet, unwilling to move, Stephanie repeated her words, “Go Izzy, I am serious!”
“Yeah Izzy, run along and go play hopscotch with the other little kiddies in the front,” Steve said, twisting the girl’s words into something evil and nasty. “And you,” he said, turning to Stephanie. “Is this what you want? Huh?” He flapped the beautifully sketched drawing in the wafting breeze from an open window. The freckles plastered across the bridge of his nose seemed to flow into one gargantuan spot as he crinkled his brow. Steve didn’t wait for a response, but instead took it upon himself to crumble the paper into a distorted ball and tossed it down at the girl. Stephanie muffled a garbled sigh and another round of tears sprang to her eyes. She closed them and struggled to block out the incident, wishing that she were anywhere but here. A single word was distinguishable, and it rang out within the bus, causing others to turn and look in their direction.
The girl needn’t open her eyes to find its source, for she recognized the voice to be that of her brother, probably aimed at Steve. A second sound joined the first, though this time it was the unmistakable thud of a punch. Stephanie peeled her eyelids apart and stared up at the spot that her brother had just been occupying. He was gone, and in his place was the bulk form of Steve, kneading his knuckles between his thick fingers. A moan reverberated from somewhere nearby, and upon turning in its direction, Stephanie discovered the curled form of Izzy, his hands smashed against his face, attempting to stop the flow of blood from seeping out of his nose. It was done in vain however, for small droplets of ruby liquid began to pour through his clenched fingers, and dripped down onto his clothing. How could he do that to such a young boy?
Stephanie thought, the soft tingle of rage building somewhere behind her bosom. He can not again away with this, he can’t -.”
As though working on its own, her hand slid inconspicuously to her belt, and closed around a sleek, red and white sphere. Stephanie then waited until the bumbling oaf turned his back, and then screamed, “Seedot, use Bullet Seed!”
A ball of blinding red light issued from the pokeball, blurring the vision of all that were watching. It dove and twirled around the interior of the school bus, ricocheting from the dusty windows, and then solidified into the form of an acorn that stood about a foot tall. Its glossy black eyes rolled around the room, wondering where it was, and then on command rose into the air and schreeched, ”See- Seedot!”
A barrage of circular acorns, many matching the pokemon’s shape, blasted from the Seedot’s mouth, straight toward the redheaded, balloon-shaped form of Steve. The boy, sporting bulging eyes, swiveled momentarily to face the oncoming bombardment before they struck.
“She did WHAT?” The cry of anger was mingled with disbelief as it galloped through the house, as though on horseback, penetrating all walls and closed doors in its path. Her body pressed against the doorframe, Stephanie peeked through the crack into the kitchen, passing her eyes over every inch of the old, mildew-stained room. She could barely make out the dark shape of her mother reflected from the cracked yellow linoleum. The spiraled cord dangling from the phone that the woman clutched was frayed in many places, wires curling up past the thin off-white coating. The great orange sun was visible behind the woman, sparkling a thick hazy orange as it peeked from atop the hilltops, threatening to drop at any moment.
Stephanie turned her attention back to her mother, whose ruffled, emerald dress hung in tight clumps around her figure, though hugging her hips and breast. Mrs. Nolan began to pace the room, still keeping the telephone snug against the lobe of her left ear, her entirely-too-small heels clicking nosily beneath her. A few more words were exchanged before the lady thrust the phone back onto its hanger. She then turned her head toward the sky and bellowed, seemingly to the heavens, "STEPHANIE GET IN HERE!” It amazed the girl to see such a strong, powerful voice coming from a lady as feeble as her mother, though it sent a numbing chill down her spine as well.
The girl rose to her feet, clutching her snoozing Seedot against her chest and pushed open the solid oak door, listening as it squeaked on its old, dry hinges. The room sprang into a more detailed view as she flipped the yellowed switch on the wall, instantly lightening the gloom of the kitchen. Stephanie took in the sight of the pots boiling on the stove, sending a shower of steam into the air, and with it, a pleasuring aroma.
“What the HELL were you thinking today?” the woman screamed at her daughter, not wanting to beat around the bush.
“I-,” the girl began her retort, wanting desperately to defend herself.
“”You realize that you could be tried for that, commanding your pokemon to attack a fellow human being!” Her mother shrieked furiously, not moving from the spot she had been in since Stephanie had entered. “You are lucky that poor boy’s parents decided not to press charges, or we’d be damn near foreclosure.”
“No Momma, you don’t understand,” Stephanie mumbled weakly, staring at the ground as she had done when the teasing began.
“Oh I understand perfectly well. I understand that I have raised a felon as a daughter,” Mrs. Nolan turned, focusing her attention back to the bubbling stew.
“No Momma, you DON’T understand. You don’t understand the ridicule and mockery I undergo every day at school. You don’t understand how hard it is to be picked on when there is nothing different about you. You just don’t….”
The sudden outburst seemed to shock the lady, but Stephanie felt as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from her chest, and she was not about to stop now. “ And when that boy laid a hand on Izzy, you expected me to stand for that? You should have known better, that was not the way YOU raised me to be!” Stephanie finished, breathing deeply, her cheeks red, and her eyes locked on the fidgeting form of her mother, who was apparently having a hard time coping with her words.
The girl didn’t need to hear anymore. She ambled briskly from the room, and up the creaking stairs, not looking back to see the stunned woman standing in the kitchen, spoon in hand and mouth agape.