First story, so bear with me! Hopefully all the lectures in Language Arts have payed off.
Going for a: Pidove
Characters Needed: 5k-10k
Characters w/Spaces: 9,633
Character w/out Spaces: 7,853
The small boy hid behind what, to him, was a mountain of cardboard and tape. He reared his head back until his neck hurt, but he was waiting for a signal from his Klink. As he watched for the large, floating cogs, worn from age and yet strikingly reflective, he thought of what he was doing in his father's workspace--he was trying to sneak into his office to get the small stuffed toy that had eluded his grasp for months now.
He thought of the torn ear, the time-worn tail, the broken seams, and the geysers of stuffing that dotted the surface of the cotton Minccino's back and stomach. He was already seven, and Mama and Papa had already told him that he was to old, but he and Fluffy, as he had dubbed the doll, had been through so much together. El Dia De Los Muertos held a concept that he didn't quite understand, and he had just hidden in his room once a year, crying and holding onto the toy as he thought of all the fun things, the happy things, the heart-warming things that he had done with those who had passed. Thinking only of good things.
The boy had only just looked back up, wiping the tears from his pudgy little cheek, when a flash of scratched steel caught his eye, and soon the joyous whirring of machinery was in the air. His Klink zoomed past him, grabbing onto his shirt by accident. The boy screamed louder than a Whismur, but then he shut his mouth, for his Papa would hear him from the next room. The Pokemon quickly switched the way it was turning, and the boy plomped onto the cold, cement floor. Oh, man, the boy thought, I'd better hurry up! So he grabbed the Klink by his side and ran straight through the corridor.
The open space flew past and soon distant walls and echoes were replaced by huge concrete sticky-notes and the the scuffle of worn-down tennis shoes. Left, right, left, left, right, straight, he thought automatically as he unconsciously slipped his hand off of the Gear Pokemon at his side and now sprinted through the stuffy hallways. The boy thought they were more like tunnels, and they were, but everyone in the building, including Papa, called them hallways, just to use pleasantries and make even more things seem nice that were, in truth, horrible. But he just kept running on, shaking off his claustrophobia and looking around. There were no doors, except to his Papa's office, so he saw a few Audino wheeling carts around in one room, one of which stopped working and ran after him, for fear that he was a burglar. But the boy took no notice. In another room he saw a Purrloin peek its pointy little head out and, just for the fun of it, padded quite silently behind the Audino. But the strangest thing the boy saw was not the cat Pokemon which he somehow knew would follow him, nor the humanlike creature lumbering behind him, crying into every room it passed. It was a Pidove, flying silently above, looking like it was chuckling at the sad little scene of the boy, his Klink, and the Pokemon in pursuit.
It was strange, seeing a Pidove cooped up in a building like this, yet it happened all the time in his house. Spearow would come up into the window-holes, the doorways on a hot, sunny day, the way they would peck at the ground for the birdseed spread out every other minute pathetic, as if they had nothing better to do that sit, eat and watch a little boy sweat so much he could drown the world twice over. And this bird was probably just the same. Would probably snatch away Fluffy once the boy got to it. Even so, he just ignored the Pidove and kept running along. Soon enough he had a tail as long as a Wailord made up of grown men and women, their veins visible through their skin, the Purrloin, now right behind the Klink, who was far ahead of the Audino and the crowd, as was his Trainer, who was just ahead of the whirring cogs of his Pokemon. There was a kaleidoscope of reflections of its glossy surface, but were torn at by physically miniscule scratches received from a nasty crash into a tree just a year back.
The boy reached the door at the end of the corridor, which he opened, letting the three Pokemon that surrounded him in with him. The Purrloin hid in the shadows, though obvious because of its swaying. His Klink slammed to a halt and switched the way it was turning. And that smug little Pidove perched on the desk, its small but sharp talons closing the gap between the desktop and the drawer handle. The bird Pokemon fluttered forward, and the drawer opened. The boy turned around, closing and locking the door just in time, as one of the men would have gotten into the office. Then there was an insistent banging on the door, then it started to cave in because of numerous Double-Edges, carried out by multiple Audino. But what was the center of the room was the open drawer, where, half-buried by dried-up pens and crumpled paper, was a little Minccino doll. The boy took it out and held it close, just cherishing the moment. Then the Purrloin climbed up slyly and snatched the toy from his hands.
"Hey," he cried, "give it back!” The Purrloin just ignored him and ran around. Klink flashed around the room, but just wasn’t fast enough. The pigeon Pokemon flew up to the top of the room, the ceiling being so high up that it seemed it didn’t exist and the room never ended vertically, or if it did it opened up into a starless midnight. The boy watched the Pidove dissapeared into the blackness, the badness. He watched the purple streaking around him with the swatch of grey visible here or there. “Hello!” he cried upwards, and to his surprise a different, soft, cloudy grey flashed every so often out of the shadowy corners of the room. “You’re really fast and so is the Purrloin, but my Klink is really, really slow…and I want my Fluffy!” He stamped, somehow miraculously catching the Purrloin. It scrambled away, though, and in a blind rage, dropped the doll and threw itself at the boy’s face. “Aaaahh!!” His cry was somewhat muffled by the feline Pokemon on his face.
Meanwhile, the Pidove was feeling, maybe just a little, though, guilty. It had caused this, and, it decided, would end it. So it swooped down low and picked up the stuffed Minccino and dropped it on the desk. Then it reopened the drawer and threw the doll into it. The cramped room was just barely big enough for the boy struggling with the Purrloin, the spinning, shiny gears that were a Klink, and itself. But what precious little space the room had left was killed with the simple swing of a door. The Klink stopped spinning, the shine gone, Purrloin and boy stopped fighting, and the little Pidove perched on the edge of the desk as it had before.
“Miho?” the man cried as he entered the room. “What are you doing? Oh, Lester, get off of him!” He plucked the Purrloin off of the boy and threw him out of the room. The Pidove stayed where she was, and the Klink and the boy started to move again, the latter of which ran to his father. “Carlos, miho, what do you—oh, no, you’re not here for Fluffy, are you?”
“Yes, Papa,” said Carlos, and his head drooped. He looked over to the bird Pokemon, and it understood that it and the Klink and its boy were unwanted by the man. So, disappointed and reluctant, the three left the room. Carlos looked back at his father.
“Love you, miho,” he said with a small, apologetic smile, and closed the door. The crowd outside the room had dissapated, and the boy, the Klink and the Pidove were the only ones left in the corridor.
“C’mon,” said the boy, and he led the floating Klink and its shinies and the hopping Pidove and its coos outside, where they lay quietly and looked at the clouds. “Sorry, guys,” said Carlos as he looked first left to Klink then right to the wild Pidove. “That I got you two into it. So sorry.” He kissed the cold metal of the Klink and stared apologetically into the Pidove’s eyes. But there was something different in the bird Pokemon’s yellow eyes. It was excitement and thanks. It had loved that thrill, and wanted to experience more of it. So it looked around and found what it was looking for. It hopped over to a spherical object with two one-over-another segments. The top was red, and the bottom was white. They were seperated by a thick black line, and on further inspection (by which picking up and turning around is meant), two white circles pushed out from the center of the black line. He dropped it as it grew bigger after he pushed in the smaller, more protruding circle in. The Pidove curiously pecked at the button again, and soon it was gone and the Poké Ball, as it was called, shaked. One, two, three, counted boy and Klink simultaniously and in their heads. Their was a clicking sound, and Pidove popped out of the Poké Ball. It had a look on its face that one would give another with incredible luck totally undeserved, that face with a turned up smile, half-closed eyes, a shake of the head, and even a slight chuckle.
“Wha…oh. OH! YAY! YAY!” The young boy had just understood that Pidove had captured itself, unwillingly, of course, and as long as Carlos had its Ball, he could have Pidove. Pidove warmed up to the idea and perched on her trainer’s shoulder. So he put the Poké Ball in his pocket and scooped up Klink, who had stopped spinning right after the CLICK! that had signalled the capture of the Pidove. “I’m gonna call you--” but the boy was stopped short by a peck to the ear, as if to say, “Call me anything but Pidove and I rip your hair out.” “—‘Pidove,’” he finished. So he, Klink and Pidove walked home, all without the one thing that had brought them together, who had comforted Carlos in all the bad times and who had been there to protect him from big bad Drowzee:
Last edited by Eleven Times; 04-17-2011 at 01:03 AM.