View Full Version : Fanfiction of the Month (February): Pressure

January 22nd, 2006, 8:42 PM
Hey all, I'm new. Well, here, anyway. But I am not new to fanficion...ing. Yeah. In fact, I've been a member of a certain other forum for a year now, and have decided to broaden my horizons. This is actually my... hmmm... fifth fanfic. So, that means that this shouldn't be too bad, right? XD Here goes nothing...


She ran as far as she could from the coming force. It pounded ferociously on her hood while her feet dipped into the puddles of water that dotted the street. The cold, yet satisfying liquid chilled her legs with a chill of forgiveness, a rite of passage after the deed was done.

The task was complete yet an unfulfilled emotion ran up to meet her mind- it was not over. A sudden flash of piercing light created a bright panorama of white in the black night, nearly shaking her of balance as she ran. She still ran- there was nothing stopping her from her escape and the nature could try to shake her and still have no effect.

Rain was her friend, yet an enemy as well who often tore down her defenses and led to many a mistake. It was because of mistakes like these that she ran like she did then. Problems that could not be solved, memories that could not be erased… they fell as did the incoming raindrops. But as painful as the weather could be, it also was a guide to new pastures and healing when in need. Her petals often needed the nourishment of a night’s rain, but now they were hidden to await the morning. Like a plant, she needed it, but also could be overfed.

The escape was required. She could not have stayed there and waited for fate. A wild one was born to roam, as her father had told her at a young age, and a young girl with enough passion and drive could chase dreams into the sunset long after the day had ended. This day had ended, and the sun had crept down behind the mountainside. It was time, her internal clock chimed, time to grow into the future that was laid before her. Escape from it was inevitable.

As another flash of lightning clashed into vision, bringing the day’s features into the night’s being, she stopped. That second, she took in the sights that were hidden by the dark’s shadow, the objects that were taken from the world at dusk. That second she also saw the rain in mid fall. The thought that all those drops would soon become one with others in the same puddle brought a tear to her eye and reminded her of what had occurred. The light then faded and she began her dash once more.

The thoughts in her mind were filled with reminders of the night prior to her escape; they were all fighting and connecting things quickly, piecing together her past and her future. It was often that such a thing happened during the rain.

Her hood had become sopping wet with the rain, and her head was ridden with the streaks of cold water that ran down to the pull-strings of her sweatshirt. The way the drops congregated in the material of her clothing was a perfect symbol of the nature of the night. But watching the others fly helplessly into the concrete and smattering into miniscule pieces of their former being brought a separate feeling; one of a completely different emotion. What had happened had its two sides, she supposed. But most everything does…

Her hair had finally met with the rain obstructing her vision of the path in front of her, and attached itself to her forehead. This may have bothered her in the past, but she had the will and strength at the time that it was as if just another raindrop had hit her shoulder. Just another one of the many. The deep growl of thunder then rumbled in the distance and shook her vocal chords, causing herd deep breaths to become shaky and coarse as she ran. It, as with the rain, was something that attempted to change her being but failed. She just kept going. Saying that she was simply on a roll was an understatement.

With a swift glance to her left she saw a bench that stood alone in the pouring rain, its wood doused with water, posing a threat to anyone who dared to sit on it. But she looked upon it with pity rather than fear. Nonetheless she sat on its steady foundation and leaned back onto its cold upright.

From the seat she could watch the rain fall swiftly yet calmly as it dropped in groups of three, sometimes four; it had definitely calmed down since her initial escape. As did she- she at last thought it was needed to take a rest from her rush. It was rare that her mind change that quickly, from a desperate hope to escape to reasoning for rest… it even impressed her. She shook out her blond hair, although it blended into the background enough where it was impossible to tell, and drew out the water that plagued it. It was messed now, but she had other things on her mind. It was as it should have been. The weather… the event… her mind. Not as I planned, she thought, but amazingly perfect.

The woman nodded downwards and released a small giggle. Her hair was soon enough doused once more in the rain. The rain she loved.


It flew with the starlight emblazoned within its eyes, yet knew deep in its heart that the fire was almost done burning. The majestic blaze of flames that trailed the Moltres’ every movement lit up the night and created a red-orange blur in the sky where it flew, as if a painter was gently applying a coat of red to a black, empty canvas. It was captivating to the people below, yet reprimanding, as they all knew the true meaning of its existence.

The Moltres was there as a guardian and the sole protector of the small, dusty town. It led a calm life in which it watched the townspeople from above and peered into their lives from its usual post on the top of the cathedral. With circular black eyes that pierced down into the desert-like surrounding it took the responsibility of serving the town as its omniscient angel. If there was something that it did not know in its powerful mind, it was something that never existed. It was only a matter of getting into that tightly concealed mind that was an issue.

As the creatures final flaps of its grand wings led to the last stop on its roundabout tour of town, the Moltres’ orange-white feathers ruffled slightly. It at last grasped its aged talons onto the wooden cross above the stoic cathedral and rested. And it did this every day, as long as there was life in its soul and people in the town of Tyreville, it would do just that. But there was always human disturbance.

That exact cycle was interrupted on a dry summer day in late June. The Moltres did not show up that day and the townspeople all gathered outside their doors, all looking up at the church tower in pure hope. Their faces quickly became saddened as the day drifted on without their graceful deity on its post. There was no explanation. There was no account of why it made its departure or by what means it left. Just a town without a protector, though spiritual was all its protecting was.

The years flew in Tyreville and the town was eventually deserted as most of the small towns of Johto were by the year 1992. It had become a home to the metropolis, the home to the innovative and the new. But the town did not completely lose its life. It became a farming community, with family-owned businesses and a feeling of family togetherness as only a tightly-knit community could provide. But that sense of pride was gone… that sense of protection was gone… and the only thing the people saw after that dry summer day was rain and clouds. Dark monstrous clouds, clouds that either pained the villagers or brought them inspiration.

And inspiration was a lacking emotion these days.


Chapter One- Capturing Moments

Time. A path through which all passes and all occurs. As it trickles by hour after hour and day after day, things are forgotten and things are remembered. Dangerous things. Time can make a day last an eternity and make a year last for a fleeting second. Its command must be followed, but not necessarily obeyed; one can watch the time but others may ignore it completely. It can be employed as a rigid guideline or as a loose guardrail to gently nudge when one goes astray. But I never saw it as a true restriction until today.
-June 11th, 1992

This journal is a curse and a blessing, I thought as I tossed aside my almost inkless pen and met my forehead to the cold birch of my desk. The day’s events had practically swallowed my soul, and I was unable to put them in words that did not have a philosophical aura about them. I lifted my head off the surface and sat staring at that same photo on the wall, framed in a stark blue border. Inside that little flat world was my own self, donned in the most casual pair of jeans and sweatshirt and bearing a rather bored countenance. Next to my blankness was my father, his shaggy appearance, beard and all, taking all the attention (rightfully) away from the otherwise dull picture. That same picture, every day. At least it was good for a laugh.

I rarely had time to talk with my father, with his secluded, hermit-like ways. He was often found locked tight in his room buried in the newest magazine regarding scientific fact, or more likely, scientific rumor. I was always perplexed by his interest in the other-worldly, the conspiracies… but I suppose that if I spent enough time reading up on the subject, my hereditary instinct would kick in and I would be just as enthralled about the unknown.

When the time occurred to me and my clock’s green neon glow caught my eye, I realized that my awful work out in the fields was not going to perform itself. I brought up my dark brown, stringy hair up over my sweatshirt hood and knelt down to tie the last few pesky laces that were constantly rebellious. As I rose back up, a sound caught me by complete surprise.


Oh, that’s wonderful, I thought with my (also hereditary) sarcasm in full blast, more fun for Skye…


As I entered the cluttered abyss that was my father’s office, I found myself facing a real challenge: navigating through all the junk and not breaking a few limbs in the process. Papers, books, magazines, and a multitude of random knick-knacks were scattered haphazardly across the carpet, all leading to another desk; but instead of being clean and polished-looking like the one I wrote on daily, this one was just as messed as the rest of the room.

“If you’re looking for the trouble, I’m afraid you will be disappointed,” a deep, calm voice said from in front of me. It was the ever-comforting sound of my father, facial hair and all, standing as firm as a brick wall, yet with just enough of that debility about him that the faintest wind would be capable of knocking him over. But one thing that was not wavering about him was his compassion for anyone close to him. Or his sense of humor, for that matter. He stood very still.

“No, just wondering where that noise came from, that’s- What the heck are you doing?” My voice went sharp as I noticed that his unaltered stance was due to the precariously tipped bookcase behind him, held up by a single foot. My eyes the traveled to the pile of presumably fallen clutter strewn about on the floor. There was a brief pause as my father’s pale face held fast, despite his predicament. “Should I reiterate, Dad?”

He smiled and reached his left hand back to give extra support to the bookcase.

“Just a little more research, that’s all this was.” The case shifted. “And a little problem with controlling frustration.” I watched silently as his expression tightened and the bookcase slowly rose back to its original position.

“Impressive, I have to admit,” I said quietly, as to not raise my father’s pride any higher. He took his hands and clapped them together a few times signifying a job well done.

I would have usually found this to be comical, but the whole deal made me think of how much my father’s obsession with his new conspiracy was getting slightly out of hand; if "slightly" meant daily fiascos like this one.

It started with an article in one of the many scientific digests he read devotedly, this one focusing on the more obscure of worldly truths:

The Moltres of Tyreville. It is known that there was once a time when the people would see its awe-inspiring flames in full glory, spread across the bright, sunny skies in order to protect out town and symbolize our strength. But its departure facilitated many questions about the nature of its abandonment, whether from age, tiredness, or possibly of want to travel to another town that needed it more than us.

But there is a slight possibility that the loss of the grand fire-bird was actually from unnatural sources. There is much evidence that the creature was perfectly healthy before its exit, and that illness was a rare impediment to the legendary Pokemon. Thus, it is a good bet that there is still more information to be found that will point to the retreat of Moltres to be less voluntary than we thought.
-Excerpt from “The Lost Flames”, Pokemon Science Monthly, November 1991

I watched my father flop wildly into his desk chair and instantly open a nearby magazine on his desk. My throat swelled. I walked up to him and tore away the booklet and saw his face crinkle in confusion.

“Is this about that- that- Moltres again?” I asked while my father stuttered as he gazed at his now segmented magazine. “Someday you are going to get us all in trouble with your crackpot theories on how that bird-”

“That bird is a Moltres,” he said in much darker spirits than before, “and I wish you would give it some respect for once. What I’m doing may change everyone’s opinion on how our guardian got taken away from us. There is no possible way I am just going to stand by on the sidelines and watch as our media completely botches the truth and makes us think that we were rejected by that beautiful beast.”

I leaned forward to the desk, my hair falling back in front of the hood. “What you are doing is fabricating an extreme situation to explain a tragedy that we are all still trying to figure out! Moltres would not be able to be taken by any kind of force; its willpower and pure strength would have kept everything away from it, as it had for all the years beforehand. It had to have left by its own desire… there is no other explanation for it. A legendary… is a legendary, and that’s that.”

My father looked around his office wildly, as if to focus on anything but my gaze. I could sense that feeling he had, a feeling of respect and yet discomfort over the fact that his own daughter had opposed his views. Repeatedly. I knew that my independence had always been a problem for him, as I was not the easily influenced child that every parent wishes to be blessed with. I respected his views. I loved him as a father. But his often foolhardy stubbornness on a single crazy notion or an entire foolish concept led me to taking his opinions with a grain of salt.

“Look, Skye,” he said with a light tone, “I know you have you preconceived notions of the world and of its history, but I wish that you would once, just once, take into consideration the world outside of what is taught. That big question mark that stands tall outside of everyone’s minds and beckons with an unanswerable call. It asks for you to think. It asks for you to look, explore. It asks for you, most of all, to take everything you hear and turn it upside down. You know all those facts that you know so well? Try putting them under a different light. Then come and talk to me about what is true and what isn’t.”

I took a moment to stare into those blue eyes and ponder about my father and his ways… and I smiled. There is a point where one must realize that they cannot change something. Nature must go its course, after all. I turned around and made my way towards the door, dodging things on the ground with only my instincts. I heard behind me the sound of a moving office chair; I halted, but knew it wasn’t important. I moved my right arm up to my side and gave a thumb’s up.

My symbol to my father that meant that everything was okay.


I took a step at last onto my front porch. From indoors I would have never been able to tell that outside an entire ocean of water was falling on the fields and grazing Pokemon. It seemed that all my life, all it did was rain in Tyreville, whether it was summer or winter. The overall look of the slickness of the mud and the murky gray that the rain created in the sky gave me a chill. It must have been a town thing, because rain in any other environment would have scared me indoors. It made me think.

The work was the only thing I could think of that made me slightly unhappy to live there on that family ranch. Bringing the Miltank inside, bailing the hay, dividing the crops, and a bunch of other stuff; it all blurred into one after a few hours of work. But seeing the happy face of my father and the Pokemon made every injury and strain worthwhile. As corny as it may seem, it kept me going. That feeling that I was keeping a tradition going was akin to putting logs on a bonfire. Well, if those logs went to sleep every night with back pains.

As my foot crossed the border of the dry and the wet, and small gray circles began to form on the shoe fabric, I sighed. It was days like these that I was glad to know that there was an outside. I almost wished to take my anger with my father out on the soil now beneath my feet, but its soft hold gave me such comfort that I was unable to feel the hate anymore. Maybe that was another reason I kept up my work like I did, though annoying it was… but who truly knows.

But my stress was not always so easy to relieve. Often I would fall back on my other hobby, that of photography. Pictures were a wonder to me; how light could capture life and turn it into a palpable form (at least, it would transform those intangible things like love) by a click of a button was baffling to the mind. But the joy did not come form the process, but instead the result. Those handheld replicas of my life were bits and pieces that made me… well, me. And the most enjoyable subject to capture in a moment in time were Pokemon.

Seeing them in their natural habitats was endearing, from the beautiful ebullience of their expressions to the interesting laws of their nature, especially interactions between species. I once witnessed a minute Skitty play joyfully with a Diglett, prancing through the dirt, dirtying its light pink fur. But the smile on its face was so very wide that it practically engulfed the sense of worry before it rose. Every time the brown, mole-like creature broke out above the soil and shone its tiny eyes at the feline, the Skitty would pounce- and fall on its head. Nevertheless, it kept on chasing it, its happiness never waning.

As the delightful scene ran through my mind, I couldn’t help but want to take out my camera and see if I could catch any creatures just humbly going about their business. I then held the camera, in all of its digital glory (if there is even such a term), and held it tight in my hand. It just felt abnormally warm… even with its cold metallic exterior. Of course, with the weather being like it was, the only Pokemon likely to be roaming around were some Lotad, or maybe some Psyduck, nothing that really would grab the attention of anyone.

That was my problem. My camera was ready, my mind was prepared, but interesting subjects just didn’t come about anymore. At least that was what I had thought for a long while. Oh, how my flowing mind gets in the way sometimes with its “ideas”…
...And it's over. Asleep yet? XP Review. Comment. Please??

Note: Though I am male, the main character, narrating (most of) the story is female. Just making sure yall knew that. ^_^

January 24th, 2006, 1:56 PM
This is certainly an interesting perspective. o_o; (I'm not sure the semi colon in the beginning is needed~)The main character seems like a very imaginative, creative yet orderly person...the reaction I get from this is not of one, but many. It's as if you constructed a viewpoint in which I can't give a satisfactory wording to. XD

I tend to shut up during the prologues, because I never know what to make of them. Either, I really love the perspective I get from this, especially the last sentences of every chunk of writing you produce, distinguishing them by astericks.

"Oh, how my flowing mind gets in the way sometimes with its “ideas”…"

Love it. <3. Sorry for the lack of critiques or anything like that, but please, continue~ ^_^

January 24th, 2006, 4:17 PM
Nah, lack of critique is perfectly fine. XD Thanks for reading, I'm glad you found things you liked! And YES- that semi-colon- thanks big for reminding me about this. I had fixed it before, but must have copied the version without the fix. Yeeft.


Anyhoo, yeah... fun with perspective. XD I'm not even sure I can put into words the feeling it's supposed to convey. And you're right... I did got all stylized on the last sentences before the asterisks. Hm. It just happened, I guess.

I will indeed continue this! Thank you again!

January 30th, 2006, 2:47 PM
Took a while, huh? Here's Chapter Deux...


Chapter Two: Ever-Changing Perceptions

The room was dimly lit and gray, the walls giant and confining.

A creature sat unmoved, its large feathered body at last waking from a long slumber. As its black eyes opened the flames upon it awoke as well, burning stronger than before. But when the creature scanned its new location it withdrew them quickly. The room was small and cold and without much room for it to spread its wings or even move much.

Its mind was filled with cries, screams, seemingly coming from outside but it couldn’t tell—for all it knew they could only be inside its head. It suddenly had a conscience that there were people who needed it. But knowing it was unable to help them, the Moltres was filled with pain.

A single bolted metal door stood in its way, placed in the middle of the wall it faced.

The creature took a breath and stood slightly further up on its talons.

A fury of dark red flames collected in its beak, gathering into a sphere of controlled molten energy. With a small lunge, as the room would not allow much more movement, the Moltres launched the fire and it hit the door with a mighty slam. The bird watched as the force burned into the door… slowly… slowly…

Smoke rose from the impact until at last it floated away. It revealed nothing more than a charred black circle on the metal exterior.

The Moltres sat back down on its talons and folded them under its feathers for warmth.

A single tear dripped from its tiny, glossy eye.


Friends are always strange to me. They are people who say that they are behind you no matter what... yet just end up betraying you somehow. Sure it is never life-threatening and the end result is relatively easy to solve, but… there is just something so utterly painful about believing something just to find out it was yet another lie. Things like this probably all added to that iron wall I had when making friends. Only the seriously persistent could manage to climb that defense, and would someone devote that much time to me for that?

I doubted it.

Like a lot of things.

When I pointed my camera into the short shrubs which bordered the field area of the ranch, my lens focused on a Caterpie – wait –

A shadow swept across the top of the small insect Pokemon, followed by another. The creature wrinkled its yellow-rimmed eyes and scampered away, revealing the leaf it must have been snacking on.

I brought my camera down to my waist and flipped the off switch. The days in which visitors to the ranch were common were far gone… The “shadow” then rapped on the gate adjacent to the bushes and I knew I had to face this newcomer sometime.

The knocks were getting more rapid as my feet slowly trudged towards the red gate and they almost sounded like the person was attempting to create a rhythm. Clunk clunkity clunk clunkity-clunker…

I opened the rusty gate and heard the squeal of some hinges in dire need of some oil and before me was the figure in question.

It was as if the person’s sheer presence made me look with a slight grimace at her. She was a rather tall girl of about seventeen, rivaling me surely in height but not quite in age. Her face was of a menacing sort with blue eyes that appeared as if they were fighting hard to cheer up the rest of her, and losing the fight by a wide margin. Of course seeing her entire face was difficult due to the blonde hair obscuring her forehead and the shadow given off by her hood. In other words her appearance was dreary, even for a city constantly drenched in rain.

Her thin lips opened as she looked upon me confusedly. “Um, this would be the Taylor residence… uh, right?”

She did not look awfully confident. “Yes, I’m Skye Taylor, the daughter of Rich. I’m assuming you are looking for him, right?”

She stared up for a moment, her hood falling backwards and slopping some drips of water down to the ground. I thought for a moment to say to her ‘Don’t think too hard’, but recalled it; I did not want to be too harsh… yet.

“Um, sure, I’ll talk to him.” She smiled – shockingly enough. I guess those preconceived notions were just human nature. “That will do, I guess. It will get the job done… yeah.”

“Fine,” I muttered as I shut the gate she forgot to, “he’s inside.”

As the girl followed behind me down the soggy dirt road I couldn’t help but analyze the situation for a moment.

Nope. Nuh-uh.

“Wait just a bit, you,” I found myself saying as I did an about face towards the female stranger, “I would like to know first what you need. Did you really expect me to just nonchalantly lead you into my home and let you do whatever you wish? Who do you think we are, the free room-and-board Tyreville Inn?”

I must have looked idiotic with my stance and the spitfire expression on my face.

“Hm,” the girl replied half-smiling, “Maybe. At least I know now where the Tyreville asylum is.” She giggled as I nearly had a spasm with anger.

“WHY – YOU –”

“If you would just calm down and let me talk Miss Overreaction, maybe I could explain everything. Sheesh, if I knew you would be all uptight and stuff I would have skipped this house…”

“…Skipped this house? What are you, a Sentret Scout?” My mind raced with questions about this rude little brat, and I could not help but just want to walk up and—

“You remind me of my old friend, ya know.” Her voice was now quieter and of a less sharp edge. My mind halted with any questions and surprisingly just… listened. “She never let me explain to her about ignoring things.” She stopped. “Hm, I never noticed the irony there. Uh, anyways, I’m actually reporting for my high school newspaper... we’re interviewing residents about a mystery surrounding Tyreville.”

It was obvious that my brain jumped to conclusions. Thoughts of how delighted my father would be to discuss this Moltres with another interested soul entered in. I could not let his passion for this useless myth burn any brighter— I was already in a battle I could not win.

“What mystery is this interview regarding, anyways?” I asked, not noticing that the girl had already walked ahead of me.

Her dark, coated figure walked with a slight jump in her step. “Hm? Why do you care? It seemed five seconds ago you didn’t give a flying fig for anything I stood for. Um, the mystery is about some event that occurred many years ago in Tyreville. Some have said that it involved a group of cloaked men in the town square and a woman who had apparently done something very wrong. Another man down the road said that it has something to do with that said organization’s reign upon this land. I had heard once that Johto had once been ruled by a group like that, but… you know what they say about rumors.”

I released a sigh. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. This mystery at least seems unrelated to any involving legendary Pokemon. But the fact that there was so little known about the subject actually piqued my interest. I suppose that this was that curious spirit from my Dad’s side of the family rearing its head…

But then again, I had heard nothing about this before. An organization ruling all of Johto seemed far-off, as it had been a democracy since who knows when-- at least according to school books and the lot. Now I have never been a history master, but still I felt that this was a little too far-fetched. Nonetheless my father would jump all over this.


“So this is no surprise to me… Katherine was it?” my father said as the girl nodded, “I have actually heard of this before. As for information I agree with the others so far. The woman had done something regrettable, that’s for sure, and this was supposed to be the reason why the organization disbanded. There was so much uproar over the result of the trial—the murder of the woman—that the people overthrew them.”

The “reporter” was now jotting down notes on her yellow-tinged notepad with a new look of seriousness on here face. My dad’s office was still rather messy but now the centerpiece of the room, the desk, was clutter-free. He sat on one side in his leather spinning chair while the newcomer and I sat in wooden chairs on the other side.

“Wait, how did you know about this organization’s overthrow? Uh, you’re the first to mention it…” The girl looked straight at him with piercing blue eyes.

Obviously he was a little taken aback by this.

“I see that you’re awfully serious about this reporting deal,” he said withholding a laugh, “See, I read a bunch of rumor newsletters and an interesting fellow wrote an article on this in his weekly column. He says he has had this theory--”

“Theory?” I said a tad bit too loud for my own good, “I don’t think she is asking for theories. I think that the subject is proven fact, father.”

They both looked at me.

“Let’s not start this again,” he mumbled.

“I think he has a point,” the girl said, “theory or not, it makes sense. If that rule was overthrown then a democracy replaced it. The woman must have been innocent, now the only piece missing is how she opposed this organization.”

No matter how much I fought it they both had a point. This mystery was an intriguing one, and I was wrapped up in it now. But I still had this feeling in my head that theory couldn’t be relied on to solve things like this.

But who was I to know. I had the information nut and the interviewer in the same room and I was outnumbered… I suppose that the mystery was also why I was beginning to enjoy it.


Peh, 'tis short, but ole Quacka likes it that way. Review... etc. Ya know the drill. (Er, no pun intended. XD)

January 30th, 2006, 3:37 PM
It's a steady way to open up the second chapter. Not bad, albeit lacking. I just didn't feel anything.

So far, it's progressing normally. I'm really curious now, about how you're going to unveil the mystery, corresponding to the small passage with the Moltres, of course. I suppose mysteries starting in this nice and airy pace was to be expected, except for the last line. Well, whatever~ You captured my interest, at least. The tall girl, Katherine, reminds me of someone.

Grammatical wise, you need to try and fix the commas They were scattered out throughout the writing...just read it over and take more time in revising. They're trivial matters.

Another thing- use a semi colon if you know how to use one..

In other words, her appearance was dreary; even for a city constantly drenched in rain.

A semi colon often implies separate thoughts. That one could easily be replaced by a comma, connecting the two.

Nevertheless, keep going. I'm intrigued about how it's going to turn out. =D

January 30th, 2006, 3:59 PM
Thank you (times two thousand)! ^_^ I'm really glad you've chose to weather through my nonsense... thanks for sticking around.

YES. I know, this chapter was a bit lacking... I'm not sure why it ended up like this. There was a lot of set-up that I had to do here, so I guess that kinda watered everything down. Whoops. And a lot of people are saying that Katherine reminds them of someone... and usually she's not well-liked... XD Oh well. I suppose that's a good sign..?

And commas.... oh boy, commas... I have an old habit about too many commas. So for this (especially in the first chapter), I used them a lot less- but then a reviewer told me that there weren't enough. >_<; Obviously I'm kinda confused. So for chapter two it does seem that there are too many, huh? A cruel cycle.

Whoo semi-colons! Yet again, something I probably have to work on. Funny though, I actually had a comma there, but changed it after a suggestion made by a reviewer. GAH!


pant pant.... But thanks big for stopping by. I sure hope chapter three is much better... for my sake!

February 4th, 2006, 8:09 AM
I'll wait.

Meanwhile, your fic is the FF of the month..XD Congrats.

edit- I hate stickying..so confusing.

February 9th, 2006, 10:56 PM
Thanks again Lilypi- er.... Lily for the support! yay! I feel extremely honored for this... this is huge!

AND now for something completely different: Chapter Three! You will notice that there isn't much action here, as it's mostly character development for this section of the story. Plus, I don't really delve into Katherine all that much in this chapter. It's mostly about- well, read it! Have fun... chapter THREE.


Chapter Three: Of Life and the Moon

She always told me not to cry, my mother. When I would bawl my eyes out as the world fell down around me I would receive very little relief from her. Instead of the comfort of a strong, warm hug or a reminder of her love for her only daughter she would cover her ears and utter the exact opposite of what I really needed:

"Stop it. If you're going to cry, go to your room. I don't want to hear it."

It was shattering, even moreso every time. It was as if she thought that my tears were for attention, that they fell down my face in a meaningless Croconaw-style than in the truly sorrowful emotion in which they stemmed from. I am not completely sure looking back whether this was a positive childhood experience or not. This may be why I make it so difficult to feel sorry for things now. But that would normally be a good thing, right?


I am not completely sure why I am the person I am. But all I know regarding my mother is that she still must be important to me if I can have these memories. I also still remember the day that she left.

The rain fell stronger that day.
June 12th, 1992


My house was quickly transformed from a bland ranch home into a potential Johto courtroom with the two wannabe ace reporters on the case. After having gathered a truckload of information from my father regarding the 'mystery of the week', Katherine's quest for a story still continued. I was almost going to call the police when she showed up at our rusty gate the following day, paper and pen in hand and looking awfully foolish.

Her story was that the rest of the neighborhood was not being all too kind to her 'warm and welcoming' way of interviewing. My story was that they all had two eyes and a conscience.

Whichever the story, our ranch seemed to become a second home to the budding reporter and my father continuously squealed in excitement over being able to at last express his knowledge without being judged. I could see that certain twinkle in his eyes when he engaged in a serious debate with the girl, and I could tell that he was completely immersed in his element. Kat (as she had happily suggested for us to call her), to any bystander would have appeared to be the real daughter of the man, not the shy brunette sitting in the corner playing a Game Boy.

Even though, seeing my father in such good spirits was a change for the better, especially now that I was not there to shoot down all his thought-out ideas. When I think about it, I wasn�t exactly the perfect daughter I could have been� We were almost as cold of opposites as a father and daughter could get.

"Hey Skye� are you alright? Kat's grabbing some grub for us out at the market, do you think you can tear yourself away from that flashy-thing and talk to me for a bit?"

My father's voice poured from behind me as he sat in his desk chair tilted awkwardly like a capsizing ocean liner. I turned to see his face get redder and redder until he realized his predicament and reverted back to normal sitting.

"First of all," I began turning my oaken chair around to face him, "it's not a flashy-thing; for your info I'm about to give the Metroid Queen a what-for." I stood up and switched off the device and left it on the chair. "Second, since when does she get food? I said I was going to when I-"

"Yeah, exactly, when you what? Kat's just faster than you about these things, I guess."

My mind flamed up.

"Since when do you talk about her like she lives here? Shouldn't she be at home with her own family, anyways?"

"Dear, she can't just go home, it's complicated. If you'd just talk to the girl you would know that she's actually pretty interesting."

I turned back around with a slight sneer. The day I would talk to that atrocity would be the day that she left, and at this rate neither was likely.

I was facing a window as I strolled out the door, and through it I thought I had seen a Murkrow in the tree, drenched with rain and staring up at the billowing puffs of graying clouds, but I was sure it was just my imagination. Murkrow had never been in Tyreville before. Then again, the town was having a large amount of new visitors lately.


The hallway was bleak and covered with a silvery shine, one which matched every chamber hidden elsewhere in the fortress. Footsteps rang through the building as two figures strode to the door of one such room, echoing down towards nothingness like the bellow of a Wailord in the empty sea.

"I don't understand it. All this work and he just throws it away?" One of the figures, tall and his face hidden under a low baseball cap turned towards the other. What could be seen of his face was leathery and wrinkled, the obvious sign of one who had been at his post for too much of his lifetime. The shorter one was slightly younger looking and topped with a shag of curl-plagued hair, bearing an expression full of disgust.

"Who wouldn't with a chance like this," he muttered through a pursed lip. "It's the flawless plan. Just wait and you'll see why this is the perfect way for us to find the information we want. It will pour right out of the poor guy; juicy pieces of raw data we can use to really find out who deserves the punishment."

The taller one stopped and waited for a second, his keychain attached to his belt jingling melodically as he stopped.

"Punishment? Is that the reason for this? I thought that that part would have surely been solved by now; it's been over a hundred years for God's sake! Are you sure that this isn't to see what her motivations were? No sane person just decides to oppose the press and write such a thing knowing that every villager would read it! Sure it may have been the nineteenth century but free speech was dangerous in the political climate of the times."

The other had stopped as well, and turned around to face the timid, rather shaky figure of his partner. He grinned.

"I don't think you saw the irony in what you just said." The man turned back and continued down the seemingly endless hallway. "I believe that it's the sane people who fight against the giants. It's the insane who don't take advantage of their rights."

He paused.

"Well, as much rights as there were."

The man's partner had at last noticed his departure and jogged back to his side, his hat threatening to fall off with every leap. His keys were producing an even stronger melody.

And as they passed one of the chambers, a small whine was let out by something inside it. Something which longed for the melody of another tone; of the bells.


It had quickly become late at the ranch and our visitor had finally left our humble abode. The moon was full, the Spinirak's webs were visible in the starlight, and I wasn't going to waste the opportunity for some beautiful scenery shots. My camera had been sadly gathering dust and I needed to clear my mind with some fresh air anyways. It was perfect.

I snuck quietly past my father, who had apparently fallen asleep in yet another research power-trip, and walked out of the bleak wood paneling of my home into the pristine silence of a summer night. The rain had slowed to a few sporadic drops, and the moon was more amazing than I expected, a glowing white orb of purity in the darkness. It was almost as if the night was trying to tell me that there were more than just myths and debates in life� If only I could get those two Sherlocks out here to see for themselves.

I could hear the Ponyta in their stables whinny and stomp on the soil as I traveled the dirt path that led towards my favorite place to visit on our land. It was a small pond we had that was home to a few water-types and some regular visitors, such as a Hoothoot who would stare into the reflection for hours at a time. I often wondered whether flying types were that vain, or if it was just thinking about life. The latter was what I usually ended up doing on my visits instead of taking the pictures I intended to.

This time was going to be different, I told myself. As soon as I saw the sparkle on the water, I whipped out my camera and focused on a surfacing Quagsire. I held it steady and prepared the zoom lens and lowered the camera. I found myself mesmerized by the pure charm of the creature's small, innocent eyes and the odd yet captivating luster on its skin. Of course I did know the rather disgusting origin of this shine, but I tried to avoid that reality.

The poor blue creature, how it is cursed with an odd look about it and yet has a very noble heart beating in its chest. Now surely I did not know this Pokemon and may not have seen any particular examples of its personality except for this brief stare-down, but I felt a connection to it that seemed to bond us together over that little pond.

Slimy, yet gleefully unaware, why did it strike me as familiar?

I knew where this was going and I tried to stop the train before it left the station. There was no way I was going to let a simple comparison change my attitude towards that girl. Whatever the morals I found and whatever the strange ways I turned the story around there was absolutely no way I would find myself walking back into that house to make good with that lunatic.

And yet, predictably enough, I found myself doing just that. I dashed back into the house with my hair an absolute jumble in the rain and the speed. The warm air hit me like a comforting blanket as I ran through the door, all in order to fulfill a deed that I subconsciously wanted but seriously detested: To talk to Kat one on one.

I found my father's office to be much more empty than expected. There was one less person than there should have been. To make matters worse my father had turned his office chair to the window looking out, the chair actually on all four of its legs. This was quite an ominous sign.

"Dad, is Kat here?"

My tired and stressed-looking father swiveled his head and glanced at me before rushing it back to the rain-soaked window. "You missed her. She's out."

"Where exactly is 'out'? Is there a problem? Anything I should know?"

"That's pretty high talk for someone who was about as jealous as a Girafarig's behind a few hours ago. I didn't think you gave a flying fig about that girl!"

He may have been right, but I strangely was not nearly as interested at the moment about my own tastes than I was in why that girl left. Unlike me, definitely, but I would soon find out it was only going to get worse.

I stood in the office doorway and leaned on the doorsill, my feet cradled on the opposite side. "I know, I know," I said after a sigh, "you can save me the pestering for now. Just tell me where she's off to; I have some business to take care of."

I tried to ignore the sly smile forming on his face. "I'm glad you're finally listening to what your father says. Let's see..." He stroked his chin where an invisible goatee would have been. "Kat had a kind of revelation while we were researching and after mentioning something about the bell tower, she scurried off. You were in your room at the time I believe."

I stood in that relaxed position next to the door for at least another five seconds to sink it all in. I was currently doing something I knew I would end up regretting; actually responding to something in a caring way about a subject that I did not really care about at all. I suppose it was a combination of the irony and the sole weirdness of the situation that made me instinctively do it. But nevertheless, I was going out that door and to that bell tower. I was going to confront something that needed to be confronted. I was going to believe in something that I did not wish to believe.

Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was that Murkrow in the tree crowing loudly at the moon as if to question its being. I could see its shadowy figure amongst the branches quite clearly now.


DONE, done done done! How was it? Read it, review it, drink it, eat it, etc.

February 11th, 2006, 8:08 PM
And now for my review...


She ran as far as she could from the coming force. It pounded ferociously on her hood while her feet dipped into the puddles of water that dotted the street. The cold, yet satisfying liquid chilled her legs with a chill of forgiveness, a rite of passage after the deed was done.
There's a few things wrong with this opening paragraph, so I decided to quote it all at once. First, the opening sentence. Saying that she ran as far as she could from the coming force sounds very odd. Because the force is coming, that is, moving along behind her, it is hard to run "far" from it, primarily because it is constantly working to catch up. Generally, when you talk about running far from something, the "something" is stationary, allowing the character to distance themselves from it perceptibly. I think that running fast as opposed to running far is better in this instance. In the second sentence, "dipped" is not a very good word choice for the emotion that you're trying to convey. It's too delicate, too precise: if your character is running, she should be splashing heedlessly through the puddles, not daintily sticking her toes into them. The chill...chill repetition of sentence number three is very awkward.

The task was complete, yet an unfulfilled emotion ran up to meet her mind- it was not over.
What unfulfilled emotion?

A sudden flash of piercing light created a bright panorama of white in the black night, nearly shaking her off balance as she ran.

She still ran- there was nothing stopping her from her escape and the nature could try to shake her and still have no effect.
Remove the "the" between and and nature.

It was because of mistakes like these that she ran like she did then.
There's some kind of funky tenses going on here. Talking about these mistakes implies something that's happening presently, while saying "like she did" shifts back to something in the past. As her running is immediate in this scene (it's happening now, although everything is past-tense) it doesn't make sense to throw us back even farther in time.

As another flash of lightning clashed into her vision, bringing the day’s features into the night’s being, she stopped.

Her hood had become sopping wet with the rain, and her head was ridden with the streaks of cold water that ran down to the pull-strings of her sweatshirt.
Umm, "ridden?" No idea what word you were going for there, but it's not that one.

But watching the others fly helplessly into the concrete and spatter/shatter into miniscule pieces of their former being brought a separate feeling, one of a completely different emotion.
"One of a completely different emotion" is very unnecessary here. It's redundant because you've already said that a different feeling was brought on, the same thing as a completely different emotion. Again, what emotion are you talking about here?

Her hair had finally met with the rain obstructing her vision of the path in front of her, and attached itself to her forehead.
This sentence is ridiculously awkward. I had to read it three times to figure out what was going on.

This might have bothered her in the past, but she had the will and strength at the time that it was as if just another raindrop had hit her shoulder.
Okay, more sentence problems here. Take a look at the second half here, beginning "...but she had the will..." For starters, get rid of "that it was" after time--it's redundant and clunky. Next, you're missing a word or so here somewhere. Did you perhaps mean "...but she had the will and the strength at the time to shrug it off as if just..." Right now, the sentence doesn't actually say what she had the will and strength to do.

The deep growl of thunder then rumbled in the distance and shook her vocal chords, causing her deep breaths to become shaky and coarse as she ran.
I'd really prefer that you open the sentence with "A deep" instead of "The deep" but I don't think it's actually technically wrong.

With a swift glance to her left she saw a bench that stood alone in the pouring rain, its wood, doused with water, posing a threat to anyone who dared to sit on it.

As had she- she at last thought it was needed to take a rest from her rush.

It was rare that her mind changed that quickly, from a desperate hope to escape to reasoning for rest…
No comma after quickly.

She shook out her blond hair, although it blended into the background enough that it was impossible to tell, and drew out the water that plagued it.
If I were to be exceedingly picky, I'd say to change blond to blonde, the feminine form of the adjective, but even I usually don't go that overboard. No one probably

February 11th, 2006, 8:39 PM
I'm sooo sorry you had to review this and take time out of your busy schedule, Negrek! I know you aren't exactly a "fan of my style", so I was actually going to PM you and say that there was no need for a review... ugggh... I feel so guilty that you were reading this instead of something you enjoy. I deeply aplogize.

But anyways, thanks for the time, and for the review. I guess I do need a new thesaurus, and a new dictionary.... and a new English teacher... I hate using excuses, but he thought I had improved with this. >_<; I'm sorry that that just isn't true.

I do think that some of the things you pointed out (mostly in the prologue) are based on the fact that there is a lot of unclear subjects and events going on. That is actually on purpose. I didn't want to reveal everything in this prologue becase of the all the things it would spoil down the road. But I will try to change them anyways, for you are the smarter, older, wiser figure...

Once again I apologize. You could have been doing something much more productive than reading this junk. Now I'm feeling slightly sorry for getting FF of the Month... I most likely did not deserve it.

Now I sound whiny, don't I? Gahhhhhhhh... bleh. Oh well. Life is for living.

Maybe I can just completely change my style and plot in order to make this gramaticallly perfect. Because I most definitely read my stuff out loud. And I most definitely go over it with my aforementioned English teacher and my parents. BEFORE my post. Some may think I'm just giving excuses... ugghhh... I really don't know what to say. I'm sorry.

February 11th, 2006, 8:48 PM
I do think that some of the things you pointed out (mostly in the prologue) are based on the fact that there is a lot of unclear subjects and events going on. That is actually on purpose. I didn't want to reveal everything in this prologue becase of the all the things it would spoil down the road. But I will try to change them anyways, for you are the smarter, older, wiser figure...
Of course. What I meant when I said that, however, was that it's hard-to-read confusing. A good veiled prologue is just tantalizing enough to make you want to read more, revealing little but hinting at much. It is confusing to read, but confusing in a way that you're struggling to figure out the context and meaning of all that's being said. Your prologue comes off more in a way that it's confusing because I don't understand what you're saying.

It's not so bad. It is an improvement over Tangled Up for certain, and a good effort on your part. There's no need to be ashamed of it. If you're putting that much work into it already, then I'm sure that you'll soon be writing at a very professional level.

April 5th, 2006, 6:42 AM
It probably isn't error free but it's here... late, but here... bleeehh. Note to self- don't work yourelf ragged on the school musical and expect to come home and write. XD Note to peoples: Enjoy chapter 4. yaaaaaaa!
(And guys, it is five pages. This better be long enough for ya, or I'm going to implode! XDDD)

Chapter 4: Reflections

Those bells…

They symbolize the life of all but the death of one. That tower stood high above the town and was the climax and center of the area. Its visage was heavenly; a tall, powerful presence made even more profound by the sound of those two clanging instruments inside it. Those bells… the thought made the Moltres shiver.

Its memories were deep enough that it could taste the courage in the woman’s eyes as she stood behind that pedestal in front of a sea of her peers. How such a trial of major proportions could not shake her sturdy foundation said a lot about her character. But every person has their fault. Those eyes could not remain fearless and that firm grip on reality could easily slip; the ominous presence of that immense obelisk that was the bell tower was not helping. It became an embodiment of the sheer seriousness of the situation.

Now there was pressure.

Now there was heat.

Visible, palpable heat that could be seen in the fierce eyes of the prosecutor and in the wispy flame the woman saw on the very top of the tower. The Moltres knew why the woman cracked. It saw her fervor dissolve at the sight of its own blazing plumage.

It was the final nail in the coffin of the woman’s sanity.


I took a deep breath and readied myself to leave. Looking up at the sky I could see that the rain had momentarily stopped; a good thing due to the lack of cover through town. Yes, I was actually going to go down to that bell tower just to find out what some girl’s problem was… a questionable reason, that’s for sure, but there was not enough time in a life to continue questioning something that could never be answered. The human mind was whacked. I was living proof, standing there with a half-smile and a desire to slap the person who I apparently wanted to help deep inside.

I grabbed my dark tan messenger bag, a common accessory on my travels, which was sitting on the floor near the door. It had my camera in it, still a little wet from my excursion out to the pond, and a multitude of other handy objects for the ‘just-in-case’ times. Though Tyreville was less about surviving than it was about being ready for surprises.

For a small town, Tyreville had its share of interesting history and life. My father often referred to it as “the Last True Living City in Johto”. He said that this meant that all of the other cities were so modernized and drug down under the veil of technology and skyscrapers that they had lost their life, their community of living and breathing people and creatures. Even the wealth of history found in Azalea Town, according to him, was too bogged with tourist attractions nearby to make it truly living. Though that is definitely not what I saw when I saw the Burnt Tower for the first time.

When one walks down the streets of Tyreville, it definitely seems like it is breathing alongside you. There are the traditional street vendors hawking their wares and the children running by with flags or other toys and such. I myself have memories of happily dashing with a new toy in my hand, just enjoying youth and the warmer rain of summer… But it never lasted for very long. So neither did my recollections.

My bag by my side, I took a step outside to the dirt path. The mud had dried into a red concrete and my feet no longer squished into the dirt, which was a nice change. Small, but nice. I walked towards the gate and beside it was a dark brown-rimmed bicycle, trim with rusty metal and a tiny bell in the front. It was probably the oldest thing on the ranch, passed down to me from my father, from his father before him, and presumably much further. An heirloom it might have been but I could not find a better bike to ride. It was well-built and was from an era where quality was all that mattered, none of that style over substance junk. The seat was tattered, but when you rode it suddenly that just did not matter.

I lifted my leg and got myself on the old thing, and after a few minutes of mental and physical preparation (it definitely was not made with nineteen year old girls in mind) and a pesky twist in the chain that had to be dealt with, I finally got a rolling start and began rushing down the thankfully dry trail down to the town.

The rain may have been gone, but there was still that crisp breeze that permeated the thin black windbreaker on my back and surprised me with its chill. Nevertheless, as I pedaled furiously up the greenish-brown hill there was so much of the breeze coming at me that I became accustomed to it and it did not matter anymore. My hair got the brunt of it as well and the half-hour I had spent trying to tame its auburn tatters seemed like time I could have used for other things, like maybe putting on a few more layers. Heh.

Finally I made it into the main drag of town and found myself riding over some cobblestone. I was not going to risk the same popped tire fate as the last time I rode over them, so I stopped my bike and walked it. The inside of the town was slightly different than the view from my ranch would have suggested. It almost appeared to be a flashback to earlier times, with small shops lining the sides and streets only wide enough for the smallest of modern vehicles. The stores had dark windows soaked with a lifetime of rain that made them look older than they really were. Inside one could see baked goods, clothing, maybe some toys and the occasional barbershop. Believe it or not, the town had pretty much everything that a human could want… as long as they didn’t mind some old-fashioned service. Meaning people helping them that could easily be their grandparents. It took some getting used to.

I needed to take a short rest, so I found a bench and leaned my bike against the wall of a bookstore and sat myself down. Leaning back I crossed my arms behind my neck and stretched my legs out. It was not too long of a journey from the ranch to down here, but it was enough to make one’s muscles sore. I had made this trip many times in the past, usually to grab some food from the market or to pick up some new clothes. Then there were always the family trips we would take when I was much younger, usually down to the fountain near the bell tower. We would get some pretzels or cookies at the bakery and spend the day sitting and talking. Well, at least my parents would- I would be too jacked up on sugar and end up falling in the fountain. Dripping wet and sticky from candy… a child’s dream, I swear.

But those days were short, too. My mother’s… departure put a stop to those days of play, as my dad could care less about fun and more about research. So I found other ways to have fun, usually at home. My uncle eventually sent us a Nintendo Entertainment System, and later a Game Boy that taught me what fun was without getting me in a sticky situation. I grew up on them, and I guess you could say the gray box became a substitute mother. After all, it was there when my father wasn’t and it taught me the same basics of life.

I couldn’t help but not take refuge in my youth when I was out here in the middle of town. The old walls and decrepit buildings emanated nostalgia like nothing else. It was as if each wall was a page in a memory book, and were the pictures that threw me back to days long gone. I wished that those days had stayed a little longer than they did. I wished a lot of things could have stayed… longer than they did…


It was getting later and later as I continued my trek, and I could now see the tower above the buildings and it was just as wonderful as ever. It had been at least twenty minutes since I had gotten up off of that bench and I was almost ready for another rest. I was not exactly physically fit, having been trained with a controller for most of my life. But the tower was coming into full view as I turned the last corner with my bike in tow.

The bell tower was the symbol of Tyreville, and it was no surprise. It was the tallest building in town and the amazing cross that topped it all off was surely the most beautiful object I had ever seen. Yeah it was pretty ancient and the ‘gifts’ from passing Pidgey over the years had made it more white than wooden brown, but if you were there that rainy night when the clouds were lined in blue and the cross stood in front of it like a single silhouette, I bet you would have thought it was beautiful, too. Er, maybe.

My eyes eventually brought themselves back down to Earth and I saw a girl leaning against the wall looking straight down. Her hood was on. Yeah, who else?

She turned and saw me before I even put my bike down to start moving. Even from the distance I was from her I could see those blue eyes ignite. “Skyyyyee! You went out of your way to come all the way down here? Ho hum, I guess I’m not the crazy one.”

I tried to punch down the boiling anger. I really tried.

I took a breath and walked down to where she stood, near the door to the church beside the tower. I had tied my bike up near a light post.

“Let me get this straight,” I began as I finally reached Kat, “you’re down here… researching… something.”

She grinned and took my hand quickly. She shook it vigorously and flopped it down with apparently little regard to its life. “Congrats, you have a memory! I kinda told you yesterday that I was gonna go down here to finalize this whole mystery.”


“Yeah, you know how close we are? Apparently, right here is where it all happened.” Kat gestured up towards the sky and we both looked up at the top of the tower. I could see that this kind of made her dizzy. “Uhhhh, anyways, it was all right here.” She paused and looked back down at me, her eyes giving me that ‘logically frustrated’ look that I assumed she always had. “But you probably don’t even care, do you?”

I was all ready to give her what I had been waiting to give her for a long time. I was ready to pile on the pain and pay her back for all the annoyance she had caused. I was prepared.

“No, I’m interested, continue.” Yeah, I frustrate myself sometimes.

“Really?” Kat’s blonde hair almost caught fire, she was so ecstatic. “Okay, in that case, here’s what we basically have so far…”

Over the next, about say… ten minutes, I was given a briefing (finally) about what my father and her had been discussing. Some major discoveries had been made over this time, and they now knew that the woman in the myth was a reporter for the Tyreville newspaper at the time. They had found that the era was around the early nineteenth century, and the woman had written an article that the government heard about and quickly had to deal with. There was severely limited free speech in the society, so the woman was put under surveillance and eventual trial because of her writing.

Now it would have been an easy thing to shake off the governmental influence at the time, especially due to the fact that the people mostly sided with the woman’s point of view, and there was a sufficient enough amount of people that a revolution was an option- but it all rode on the woman’s trial. If the case was turned to their favor, which was the less likely event, they would be ready to start the attack. But something apparently occured at the trial that kept it form happening, and that something caused the woman to disappear… but what could it have been?

“So you think that there was something in the area of the trial that affected the result?” I asked after Kat had run out of breath explaining.

She swept back her hair (it had blown into her face as she exuberantly told the story with her entire body). “Exactly. I’m here to look around and see if there was some kind of distraction, like a symbol on the wall or something, that kept the woman from telling the story in enough truth that the government wouldn’t find a fault.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The people expected the trial to be easy? Are they nuts?”

“No, you see they had a lot of faith. You know that Tyreville has always been a pretty religious place, and they really thought God would guide them through this and show the pesky government what the truth really was.”

“But they didn’t stop to think about the possibility that they could lose? That completely defies any logic.”

Kat’s smile bubbled back up. “You and your logic, girl… not everything has a reason, ya know. Um, are you going to help me look around this place and scavenge for any clues?”

My sour face gave her her answer. At least it should have.

“Aww, come on, I know you wanna! I know your dad. And you’re his daughter. No mistake!”

I resorted to ignoring her; it was not going to take long for her sweetness to burn my skin.

I tried really hard. I really did.

“Fine, let’s look around I guess,” I said at long last. It would get her out of my hair.

“YAAAAAAAYYYY!” Kat jumped up and her hood flew backwards from the top of her head. She could not have been bubblier, and I could not have been more ready to punch myself.