A Second Finding (Rated T)
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January 4th, 2013 (4:48 PM).
You want the moon? I'll give you the moon.
A sequel to
Untitled (Rated T, and by T I mean do not read if you are easilly creeped out)
Why was it that I ever picked up this book? Caked in ash, smelling strongly of earth and fire, it sat alone on my father's desk. What drew me to it? The faded red binding, the brittle grey pages?
Mountain of Fire
... The title was unfamiliar to me, but why did it tug on the strings of my memory? My father, at least, had never mentioned it before. Where had he found it? But the feel so known to the touch, to my sight? And why did it fill me with such dread?
Carefully, turned the page. Dust and ash fell to the floor, landing with a sound like whispers. The words, etched hastily into the faded pages, were still legible. I brushed away more dirt, and discovered that there were places where the paper seemed burned, as if a candle had tossed embers onto the ancient pages.
The fear that this book stirred in me was not unfamiliar, though it was a sensation I had not felt in years. My thoughts drifted back to that time, that night, that book... No. That book is gone, lost in flames. I could not allow myself to think about it further. I continued to read.
I remember how that town destroyed my adolescent mind, tormented my thoughts mercilessly. I remember how it plagued my dreams at night, and how the sight of that accursed tower outside my window would make me sick. And I remember the fire in my eyes and the screaming in my head when I put the source of my insanity to end.
My mother feared for my health, and sent me to Cinnabar Island, far away from the malevolent purple town. On this island I found my father, working on genetic experiments in a brand new lab. I was to be his assistant. It seemed this work was beneficial to me. Years passed, and the ghosts that tortured my nights gradually faded away. Soon the eerie tune that constantly hummed through my scarred brain disappeared.
I never knew something like this would happen.
Time is short. Fire is raining from the skies, destroying our homes, our denizens. I have never seen such hatred, such loathing of that hand that fed. It was more monster than Pokemon now, but once it was a child that knew not of the realm of rage. Now it is demon, bent on crushing those that forced it to suffer that terrible darkness.
The lab is no more. That building was destroyed first, along with most of the researchers trapped inside, by the fires of hatred. The old house, which had already been decaying, is now completely obliterated. It was torn apart not by the mountain's fire, but with the vast power of the monster's own mind. Such power, such anger.
Only the Pokemon center remains intact, a shelter from the storm above. It is here, in the center, that I write these words.
We did not create the beast alone. Selfishness, greed, fear guided our hands, my hands. I brought the monster into existence, nursed it, raised it, taught it, then cast it away. I cast it away, like a child would a broken toy. I thrust it's innocent and free being into a world that did not want it, did not love it. I forgot it.
And now we all pay the price.
Several powerful trainers had come to out aid, hoping to subdue the threat: The dragon master, and Agatha, and the boy with the brown hair, who was even more powerful than his two companions. Would they be strong enough to overcome hate and hurt incarnate?
The very earth shook beneath my feet. Even now most of the people have fled the island, or met the same fate as the researchers. The gym leader, my childhood friend, ferries people across the waters to nearby islands. Anywhere is better than this ravaged town.
Agatha fell first. The dragon master and the boy delivered blow after blow, but their most powerful attacks did nothing. The monster could not be stopped. I watched as the dragon master fell, unable to keep up his assault. Finally, one boy alone proved no match for unlimited power. The trio fled, flying across the water on dragons and birds to meet Blaine and the other survivors. The battle is lost, and now only I remain.
It is my desire to face the monster I created. It is my desire to end this madness. I leave this book here, as a record of how Cinnabar fell, the town ravaged by the past. Read it, and learn, so that you may not repeat my mistakes.
There it ended. As to what the monster was, I had no idea. Blank pages followed these tragic words, showing no signs of further activity. What was the fate of the man in the book? What of the monster that wreaked havoc on... Cinnabar? But... did not that town still stand? Was I not standing in the very lab that was crushed under the might of the beast? I put the book down, but it still lay heavy on my mind. I left my father's office, walked through the lab. In the center of the room stood the giant test tube where we were building an even more powerful version of an ancient and mighty Pokemon. Perhaps if the beast in that story were to someday attack this town, this new Pokemon could save us where the most powerful trainers in history failed.
But really... It was just a story, wasn't it?
Joined Aug 2011
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