Hello all, this is my second sort of attempt at a fanfic, and the only one I'll have posted here. I've already written all there is to be written for it, and it was originally written all as one story, divided into parts for the sake of flow. But it's a bit too much for one post, so, for the sake of the rules, I divided it into four nameless "chapters." I don't plan on making a nice little career out of fanfic writing, but I'd still appreciate feedback on this story, kind or caustic, just to improve my writing in general or what not. Thanks, and enjoy (or not, depending on your opinion).
These hours had all been spent recalling her only memory from what could be considered her childhood. She remembered a brown, sandy ground very close to her source of vision, and on this mysterious surface was an even more peculiar stone. It was a perfect oval, translucent and colored just like aquamarine, but a dynamic light seemed to be alive and dwelling inside the rock. It appeared to emanate from the center and was constantly probing the interior of the stone with its starfish-leg extensions. Then there was a miniature black arm reaching out for the stone, and the arm belonged to her. The rock was warm, with a muffled heat, as if the stone were a shell encasing a small flame of light. And then the whole arm grew warm, followed by the entire body, and then there was blackness as the heat seemed to flow out of every part of her form. She had opened her eye only as fast as a blink and saw the unwonted ground far away with a dark rock cracked into pieces upon it, becoming part of the sand. She was cold again, and felt incredibly cold on the inside, but the most fascinating, pleasant heat shone on her from somewhere above. But then there were shouts of, “She’s too thin now, bring her inside; it’s air conditioned there.” This, of course, meant nothing to her.
A Swellow crowed as it sped across the watercolored sky, and the snow was falling again, and she was on the plane of white once more. What had been inside that rock, and did it really enter her body? Was I really a small, black thing once? What was that wonderful feeling that came from above? Each of these thoughts passed through her mind, lingered awhile, then was replaced, awaiting return. But her memories were only one of the things that troubled her.
Ever since that strange memory, that only inkling of what she was like so early on, she had been afflicted with an inexplicable sadness. Each moment of her thoughts was invaded by the knowledge that the only condition on life is that it is not everlasting. So piteously then would she try to make herself feel alive because half of her rode so closely to death, but would only find an icy shell and a large and elegant, but inanimate, red ribbon. She felt dead, and the only other alternative to that was feeling cold and as good as dead. Oh, what was the mysterious warmth from so long ago?
She and Daniel followed the winter. In the cold seasons, they traveled to the center of the region, where the temperatures were safe and low, but not frigid. In the warm season, they retreated into the northern country where it was as cold as possible. It was a reverse migration from that of geese, and Daniel always complained about it. “You’ll die if we stop incessantly traveling,” he would rail. “You know, I always wanted a Gallade, that’s what that stone was meant for.” More meaningless sounds. She could only pick up on the emotion in the words, usually anger, stress, frustration, or contempt. Without words, she could only respond with a sound that reflected her own emotions. But she never did: she had never spoken in her life.
Presently, a soft sound arose somewhere in the distance behind her. Footsteps. She knew what it was, and who was making them. She only stood still and waited. Even though this place was cold, she hated to leave it, for she wished dearly to be alone and discover herself.
The sound behind her grew in proximity, volume, and definition. Now she could hear the grass being crushed down flat with each step and the squelch the snow made in response to each rising boot.
“I’m done here, Froslass,” Daniel called. “Let’s go back to town.”
Froslass knew he wanted her to come. Mechanically, she turned her hollow dress towards him and glided in his direction through the powdery snow.
“Wow, what do you do for so long in the middle of nowhere?”
---
The frost-glazed city glittered in the transient moments the afternoon sun peeked out from the cloud cover. Daniel’s dark yellow hair had some snowflakes caught in it. Each step he took forced the snow under his feet into slush. With his long jeans, huge belt buckle, padded jacket, and curving belly, he was a gigantic creature, and Froslass felt diminutive in comparison. She felt so delicate with a hollow body and the need to glide over the snow in order to travel. It was as if the red ribbon around her waist was all that held her together.
The town was a small one, seldom over one story high for any of the buildings. Dim white light wafted weakly out of four-panel windows and into the evening gloom. Several automobiles were cakes with snow and sat statuesque on the roadside. A couple bicycles could be made out leaning against the side of a grocery store a bit off. It was utterly silent and smelt of fresh precipitation. The people were inside, and had been there awhile, it seemed.
“Look, Froslass, does that restaurant look good?” Daniel inquired, letting a hand rest on Froslass’s nearest shoulder. He pointed eagerly with the index finger of the other hand. Froslass was silent. “Okay, we’ll go there.”
As usual, Daniel entered the establishment and forsook Froslass outside. She was certain he believed she enjoyed the cold, being an ice type, but she was indifferent: she hadn’t known much else. At least Daniel always brought out something for her to eat, a small meal or maybe a carefully baked Poffin.
Froslass had become accustomed to being alone. When she was, she never moved, but just stood and stared at the ground and watched the snow, letting her limp arms sway in the breezes. And now she was alone again, so she waited tranquilly.
After a long, blank time of snow falling and only the winter night air moving, Daniel came out of the restaurant. He nearly tripped over the threshold. “Hey, there’s a woman in here who wants to battle me. Show her what you can do.” A large woman promptly exited the eatery through the front door. She was tall and wide and had a periwinkle scarf wrapped multiple times around her already fat neck.
“Ah,” she said, “this should be interesting. Are we going to do this right on the street.?”
“Why not?” Daniel replied. “There’s no one out here.”
“Fine,” she uttered. “Come out here, dear, we’re ready.” A white and green creature with lean, strong legs and arms like elongated pickax heads entered with a determined expression on its face. Two red triangles jutted from its small thorax on the front and back. Its head was topped with a thin blue crest and its elliptical abdomen jutted outward. “I’m assuming you’ll be using that one over there,” the woman said, raising a heavy arm to point at Froslass.
“Yes.”
“Indeed, very interesting. Let’s get started, then.”
The woman’s companion poised itself in the center of the road. Froslass glided to the center, also, and made sure to give the other creature a wide berth.
“Make it hail, Froslass,” Daniel commanded.
Hail. She knew what that meant from hearing it so many times. Her arms instinctively rose by her sides and were parallel to the ground. By concentrating a certain way, Froslass had the power to make shards of ice fall from the clouds. She did this now, and slowly the hail came as if an invisible blade has slit open a cloud to gradually let the ice out.
“I swear,” the woman said, “you did that just to annoy me.” She bellowed a beep, stomachic laugh. “Okay, use Close Combat.”
Her partner sprinted at Froslass, holding a fist behind its head. Froslass stood her ground without flinching as the enemy charged. When the creature neared her, it let its fist drive right into, no, though the icy body. It followed with several more quick punches and a few kicks, all of them meeting the resistance of air and ending up on the other side of Froslass. She was unharmed.
“Oh, so that thing is part ghost type, huh. Shows what I know. And I thought it would be interesting before, even.”
“Icy Wind, Froslass. That should get it.”
She despised this attack. It forced her to draw up all that was frigid inside her and blow it onto the opponent. It was as if she were showing off her lifelessness. But she did it anyway, taking a deep breath and exhaling a freezing gale onto the human-like foe. That, in combination to the relentless, battering hail seemed to be taking effect on the other creature.
“That won’t be enough!” the woman yelled. “It’s time for Psychic.”
The woman’s Pokémon braced and made a face as if going through strenuous labor. Suddenly, a queer force hit Froslass as if it were coming from inside her chest, and she was knocked onto the road. Slowly, she stood up, but felt incredibly tired.
“You can do better,” Daniel said. “Use Ominous Wind.”
Dread jolted through Froslass like fire across a burning tissue; it was the horrid attack. To use it, she had to summon the half of herself that felt so close to death and fully realize it. Then she could imbue the oncoming wind with an awful, dark energy. Times like this left her in paralysis with the feeling of innate lifelessness for days. Notwithstanding, she had to obey and let her inside ghost rise into her chest like the feeling right before tears. The air turned shadowy with her power. The opponent seemed especially vulnerable to this, even falling over in the attack, but managed to erect itself afterwards, panting in exhaustion.
“That was close,” the scarf-wearing woman sighed. “Finish up with Shock Wave.” Sticking a long, thin arm in the air, the creature was able to conjure up a ball of electricity in its hand. It thrust its hand forth and a bolt emerged and struck Froslass with incredible speed. She felt weak and let her head fall forward and hang still.
“Oh, dang, that means she’s finished,” Daniel grumbled. “Get back here, Froslass.”
“Hah, good match, though,” the woman said triumphantly. “Would you like to get a drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” The woman reentered the building with her Pokémon trailing her.
“Come on,” Daniel muttered, “let’s find a bench somewhere for you to rest.” He knew completely that Froslass could not sit on a bench or at least never chose to; the only rest to be gained by a bench was by Daniel himself. But Froslass could only follow.
Daniel withdrew his hand into his coat sleeve much like the head of a frightened turtle and brushed off a seat on the bench. He sat down gingerly. The two were silent for several minutes. Froslass focused on the corner of the bench at her side and tried to forget about the Ominous Wind.
“Gallade,” Daniel whispered to himself. “That was a Gallade.” He then turned his head and looked at Froslass directly. “That was a Gallade, Froslass, a Gallade.” Froslass continued to stare at the bench, but she finally understood what “Gallade” meant. “You know you had the advantage in that battle. It was psychic and fighting versus ice and ghost. Ice is weak to fighting, but can’t hit ghost, so it doesn’t matter. They even made that mistake, attacking you uselessly and giving you more of a lead. Ghost is also good against psychic, so you should have had this in the bag. But your defense is poor and you gave up after two wimpy attacks from him. You’re pitiful. I wish your curiosity had never led you to touch that dawn stone. Kirlia turns into Gallade with that same stone. You wasted it.”
Froslass had always known what “stone” meant, and had even recognized the wondrous rock of her memories as one. And now she had learned what a Gallade was. It wasn’t until Daniel’s last sentence that she put them together. If she had never touched that stone, Daniel could have abandoned her to get something else that would touch the stone itself to become a beloved Gallade. But since she had felt the rock and used up the only one he had, Daniel had to keep her around as the best thing he could get. Always, she had thought Daniel cared for her and was being kind when he made sure to keep her safe and feed her things, but he just had a lack of understanding for how she really felt towards battling and such. But no; he couldn’t get rid of her and dared not let a Pokémon die at his hand. She was an encumbrance and she was useless, nothing more. As good as—no, worse than—dead. She was still. The corner of the bench was the most melancholy thing in the entire world.
“Here, have this,” Daniel said, lightening up. “Don’t worry. You did fine. I forgot to give you this from the restaurant.” He held out a small, black plastic take-out box with a clear lid. Inside were several Nanab Berries in a Pecha Berry sauce. It looked delicious, yet Froslass did not want it. She took it and ate it quietly, however, because she was physically hungry.
It was stomach-inverting to receive such contumely followed by such kindness. Anger had unleashed the hidden truth, and anything nice seemed to be pretend now. He had not bought her the berries because he wanted her to be happy; he simply wanted her alive. Froslass began to cry. Even in all the moments of doleful contemplation or suffering through attacking in a battle, she could not recall doing this. All she did was never speak. But this tumult in her emotions brought out the tears, slowly and separately. It was a shame Daniel could never know, for each drop froze on her low-temperature exterior the moment after leaving her eyes. Only by paying the closest attention could one discern what was actually occurring.
A long period of silence followed as Froslass finished and set the empty box on the bench. Daniel had leaned back and was resting his arms over the back of the bench. He drummed his gloved fingers on his kneecaps. “I’m going to get a beer over at that bar,” he said almost to no one in particular. “You can stay here if you like.” He turned to Froslass and smiled. She watched the virgin snow liquefy under each of his footsteps away from her.
---
Fluorescent lights illuminated the nearly empty train station that looked out into the sable midnight. It was obvious the world was meant to be asleep at a time like this.
“Well, it looks like we’ll have no trouble finding a seat,” Daniel joked upon entering through the automatic glass doors. He departed to talk to a lady behind a window, speaking words Froslass could not hear through a circular hole, and returned with a small paper rectangle. “Hah, it looks like Pokémon ride for free here! What do you know?” A man with a newspaper turned around and eyed them suspiciously, then went back to reading. Daniel took a seat as far away from him as possible. Froslass followed.
Soon the loudspeaker turned on. “The current time is eleven o’clock P.M.” a rumbling male voice informed. “The Southern Flyer leaves at midnight. The Northern Express departs at twelve-thirty A.M. If you miss your train, the next rounds for each will be at three A.M. and three-thirty A.M. respectively. Thank you.”
“Wow,” Daniel said, “that gives us a whole hour and a half. You should probably rest up. It’s late. I’m tired myself.” He let his head fall limply onto the cushioned back of the chair. Froslass wondered if he understood she couldn’t comprehend the large majority of anything he said to her. Not that it would matter, though she could never inform him if he were misled.
Gradually, small groups of people came into the station and filled several chairs. There was a man with a laptop, two women with umbrellas and a sleeping Pichu, three elderly men whispering softly with a young lady, and a few others. Froslass watched each from afar and imagined being under the care of one of them, if she was actually wanted. But she stopped after a bit because it was all too evident anything of that sort was mere fantasy. Daniel had fallen asleep at Froslass’s side with his mouth forced unflatteringly agape by gravity.
“The Southern Flyer will arrive shortly,” the loudspeaker man announced. The laptop man packed his computer away and the umbrella ladies put their purses on their laps. After a few minutes, a green light appeared lit up over a door in the back of the waiting room. The women silently followed the man out of it. Without a thought, with what seemed to be a reflex, Froslass glided over to the door herself. The newspaper man was behind her. Shielded by the ticket window, the receptionist was staring off onto a spot somewhere on the wall. Daniel would surely have woken up had it been time for their train. But Froslass did not stop moving.
A frosty rush of wind greeted the group as they went outside. Lit by a light on the top of the train, a tower of smoke looked like a specter looming over the area. A sliding door on the side of the train opened by itself and the interior lights illuminated. The passengers filed on board. The inside of the train was lined with seats on the sides and had two long metal bars stretching overhead to each end of the train. The computer man and parasol women went to opposite ends of the vehicle. Froslass remained near the door. The newspaper man sat down a couple seats away from her. The automatic door shut by itself with a mechanical whir and the lights turned off. So this is where she had gotten herself to.
A train attendant rushed in from an adjoining crew cabin. “Sir,” she said, addressing the man with the newspaper, “we can’t have Pokémon alone on the train. Does that one belong to you?” She pointed at Froslass.
“As far as you need to be concerned,” he replied harshly.
The attendant gave a quizzical look. “Okay then.” She returned to where she came from. It seemed she was content with doing only as much as her job required. The train started promptly. The woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “The train will make stops at each city on the track on its way to the final destination in the Southern Region capital. A five-minute rest stop will be made every hour.”
Froslass felt apprehensive and ungrateful. Even though she wasn’t wanted, all Daniel had been rewarded with for caring for her at all was an escape. It seemed wrong. And would he be angry if he could not find her? Would he worry or just hate her? She, herself, did not even know where she was going and when she would arrive there.
Snowy trees and unreachable hills were visible in the darkness outside the panoramic windows. The horizon was a general line somewhere off in a place Froslass would never visit. Despite her agitation, there was something unexplainable soothing about doing something completely out of the ordinary and having no clue about where in the world she was.
The train would often stop and announce the current city and no one would get off, but still the doors would open expectantly, then finally close in disappointment. All the time an orange semicircle was creeping from behind the horizon like a lustrous, round hill in the distance. It was halfway risen when the women and their slumbering companion got off through a far door. It was resting its edge precariously on the tightrope horizon when the man with the computer exited. The sun floated higher and higher and Froslass and the man who had long since finished his paper remained on the train. Froslass felt peaceful in the early-morning sunlight beaming through the train windows. It had been many hours from midnight to sunrise, but, for some reason, Froslass had not considered getting off. It did not appear the man did, either. So the train moved and stopped and opened its doors many times, yet the two never moved.
The countryside was no longer hill-ridden, but flat and grassy with trees only spotting the landscape. It felt very much like a dream to Froslass when she calmly realized there was no snow to be seen. Snow had been a part of any place she’d visited. It was always either snowing or snow was in the early steps of melting, the time when Daniel would whisk them back up north. Froslass was stunned by the vivid, vivacious greens that painted the scenery. The moment was inspiring, not in a way that incited action, but in an idle way that spread across her heart.
All this seemed very familiar to the man sitting near Froslass; he had glanced up only once or twice just to look back down again. Froslass found him very strange. Some black, curly hair stuck out from the sides of his head, but otherwise, most of his scalp was hidden under a blue baseball cap. He wore a white dress shirt with an open green windbreaker on top of that. And what was that useless piece of fabric looped around his neck and hanging down his chest? The man’s fray pants were badly wrinkled. Without his paper, he rested his elbows on his lap and gazed at the floor. What kind of person was this?
“End of the route,” the attendant woman said exhaustedly over the loudspeaker. “Please gather your belongings and prepare to exit the train.” Froslass could not discern this announcement from any of the other stop announcements, so she remained still as the doors inevitably opened. The man did not move, either. Once more, the attendant rushed out to speak to the man.
“Sir, this is the last stop. You must get off here.”
The man was silent. The attendant’s eyebrows sloped inwards.
“Sir, you are not permitted to remain on this train,” she said acrimoniously. Froslass felt uneasy around the two now that one was frustrated and peeved. She turned and glided out the open door behind her. She could hear the man rising and walking out after her.
“Thank you, sir,” the attendant said. Yes, he had definitely left.
The automatic door led out into a wide, cold hall with a smooth, dark gray, concrete floor. The walls were made of giant stacked bricks with white paint over them. Froslass could see a heavy door at the end of the corridor. It very likely led outside, but when Froslass arrived at the door, though, she dared not open it. She feared the options waiting outside the door in an unfamiliar place. She could go any of hundreds of directions, and what if one of those was a bad one to take? So far the only choice she had made and could be blamed for was to board the wrong train. With each opening of the doors on the train, she had encountered this same feeling and quickly chosen to innocently do nothing. If nothing had forced her out, she may have stayed on the train forever. But outside the heavy door in front of her was the chance to make an improper decision and possible face consequences for it later.
The man stepped ahead of Froslass and pushed the door open himself. A sudden impact of light and warmth hit Froslass from beyond the door. The man held the door open expectantly. She felt obligated to leave now and, having no choice, walked out into southern sunshine.
Under her icy dress, Froslass saw a rust-colored gravel street that turned off into a small town on her right. The train station here must have been on the outskirts of the town, for the other buildings seemed to be clustered far away. From what she could make out, the town looked like the one she had departed from, but completely void of snow. The most amazing thing, though—that which struck Froslass with the feeling of memory—was the heat. It was ubiquitous and danced on her exterior, and was so benevolent compared to the endless snowstorms of her life. Alas, her insides from her heart to the very edge of the frozen shell felt cold and heat-resistant. Only the very outside of her could enjoy the wonderful, hot air.
Froslass’s worries of making the wrong choice were blown away like so much dust. She spotted a blue area to her left, far from herself and any buildings, and immediately glided towards it. The blue turned out to be the water of a lake, but a lake unlike any Froslass had seen. The water was so rich in hue and was dynamic, waves rolling from shore to shore in the breeze. The surface sparkled as it rent the sun’s reflection into myriad particles which shone with equal intensity. The grass where Froslass stood sloped downward and turned into sand where it soon met water. That sand was just like what she had stood on when she touched the forbidden stone. It was stunning to see such a thing once more from a memory long in the past. But Froslass remained at the grassy top of the slope and simply looked down in wonder.
This was her chance to feel alive, here in this warmth. She could let the heat work its way into her very chest and replace her inner ghost while finally relieving her of being so icy and so cold. And so she stood like a statue, like she was accustomed to doing, but now with hope instead of sorrow. She would stand here, staring at the sand and the water and the sun, until every part of her was warm and free of the feeling and fear of death. Froslass was tired of being a frozen specter.
---
The man moved the bill of his cap a little lower to block out the sun. He had never seen a Pokémon run away from its trainer before. It was wrong of him to vouch for it on the train, but he could not let it be forced back to a trainer it didn’t want. It was a shame he had long missed his stop on the train because he couldn’t abandon a Pokémon he had implied to be his. But what could it be doing all alone by the lake? It was a good thing it was an ice type; this sweltering heat couldn’t possible bother it.
Three hours later, the next train pulled into the station. Many people got off on this one, but first of all was a blond-haired man in jeans and a padded jacket. He looked panicked. Immediately, he saw the man in the cap and came over to him.
“Hello, my name is Daniel,” he said, breathing heavily. “I fell asleep in the train station back north of here. I remember you were there reading a newspaper. I woke up and my Froslass was gone. An old man said she took the Southern Flyer, so I took the next possible trip. The attendant said she got off at the last stop with a different man. Is that man you? Did you see where she got off?”
“You’re right about everything,” the man replied. “She got off with me around three hours ago. She headed over to that lake a while off.”
“What? She’s not inside? I have to go get her.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“What?”
“She came here by choice and she chose to leave you. I’ve never seen a Pokémon do that before. You must have done something awful.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing worse than suppressing free will.”
“But she won’t—”
“She can live out her life how she chooses now. Don’t ruin that.”
In the distance, a red ribbon, tied into a perfect bow, fluttered away over the lake in the wind.
----------
A Snowy Heart
By Mynona
It was the most curious thing to watch the bottoms of the blades of grass disappear slowly under the snow. Each flake seemed to fall dreamily and settle passively, like dust, into its place on the ground. But how, with all the small breezes affecting a snowflake’s journey from the cloud, could they align so perfectly as to create a smooth plane. Like a rising tide, the snow level had enveloped the tall grass almost completely and left only the tips to peek out, avoiding suffocation. After awhile more, the only thing interrupting the white floor was the occasional tree nearby or off in the hazy distance. She had been here a very long time.A Snowy Heart
By Mynona
These hours had all been spent recalling her only memory from what could be considered her childhood. She remembered a brown, sandy ground very close to her source of vision, and on this mysterious surface was an even more peculiar stone. It was a perfect oval, translucent and colored just like aquamarine, but a dynamic light seemed to be alive and dwelling inside the rock. It appeared to emanate from the center and was constantly probing the interior of the stone with its starfish-leg extensions. Then there was a miniature black arm reaching out for the stone, and the arm belonged to her. The rock was warm, with a muffled heat, as if the stone were a shell encasing a small flame of light. And then the whole arm grew warm, followed by the entire body, and then there was blackness as the heat seemed to flow out of every part of her form. She had opened her eye only as fast as a blink and saw the unwonted ground far away with a dark rock cracked into pieces upon it, becoming part of the sand. She was cold again, and felt incredibly cold on the inside, but the most fascinating, pleasant heat shone on her from somewhere above. But then there were shouts of, “She’s too thin now, bring her inside; it’s air conditioned there.” This, of course, meant nothing to her.
A Swellow crowed as it sped across the watercolored sky, and the snow was falling again, and she was on the plane of white once more. What had been inside that rock, and did it really enter her body? Was I really a small, black thing once? What was that wonderful feeling that came from above? Each of these thoughts passed through her mind, lingered awhile, then was replaced, awaiting return. But her memories were only one of the things that troubled her.
Ever since that strange memory, that only inkling of what she was like so early on, she had been afflicted with an inexplicable sadness. Each moment of her thoughts was invaded by the knowledge that the only condition on life is that it is not everlasting. So piteously then would she try to make herself feel alive because half of her rode so closely to death, but would only find an icy shell and a large and elegant, but inanimate, red ribbon. She felt dead, and the only other alternative to that was feeling cold and as good as dead. Oh, what was the mysterious warmth from so long ago?
She and Daniel followed the winter. In the cold seasons, they traveled to the center of the region, where the temperatures were safe and low, but not frigid. In the warm season, they retreated into the northern country where it was as cold as possible. It was a reverse migration from that of geese, and Daniel always complained about it. “You’ll die if we stop incessantly traveling,” he would rail. “You know, I always wanted a Gallade, that’s what that stone was meant for.” More meaningless sounds. She could only pick up on the emotion in the words, usually anger, stress, frustration, or contempt. Without words, she could only respond with a sound that reflected her own emotions. But she never did: she had never spoken in her life.
Presently, a soft sound arose somewhere in the distance behind her. Footsteps. She knew what it was, and who was making them. She only stood still and waited. Even though this place was cold, she hated to leave it, for she wished dearly to be alone and discover herself.
The sound behind her grew in proximity, volume, and definition. Now she could hear the grass being crushed down flat with each step and the squelch the snow made in response to each rising boot.
“I’m done here, Froslass,” Daniel called. “Let’s go back to town.”
Froslass knew he wanted her to come. Mechanically, she turned her hollow dress towards him and glided in his direction through the powdery snow.
“Wow, what do you do for so long in the middle of nowhere?”
---
The frost-glazed city glittered in the transient moments the afternoon sun peeked out from the cloud cover. Daniel’s dark yellow hair had some snowflakes caught in it. Each step he took forced the snow under his feet into slush. With his long jeans, huge belt buckle, padded jacket, and curving belly, he was a gigantic creature, and Froslass felt diminutive in comparison. She felt so delicate with a hollow body and the need to glide over the snow in order to travel. It was as if the red ribbon around her waist was all that held her together.
The town was a small one, seldom over one story high for any of the buildings. Dim white light wafted weakly out of four-panel windows and into the evening gloom. Several automobiles were cakes with snow and sat statuesque on the roadside. A couple bicycles could be made out leaning against the side of a grocery store a bit off. It was utterly silent and smelt of fresh precipitation. The people were inside, and had been there awhile, it seemed.
“Look, Froslass, does that restaurant look good?” Daniel inquired, letting a hand rest on Froslass’s nearest shoulder. He pointed eagerly with the index finger of the other hand. Froslass was silent. “Okay, we’ll go there.”
As usual, Daniel entered the establishment and forsook Froslass outside. She was certain he believed she enjoyed the cold, being an ice type, but she was indifferent: she hadn’t known much else. At least Daniel always brought out something for her to eat, a small meal or maybe a carefully baked Poffin.
Froslass had become accustomed to being alone. When she was, she never moved, but just stood and stared at the ground and watched the snow, letting her limp arms sway in the breezes. And now she was alone again, so she waited tranquilly.
After a long, blank time of snow falling and only the winter night air moving, Daniel came out of the restaurant. He nearly tripped over the threshold. “Hey, there’s a woman in here who wants to battle me. Show her what you can do.” A large woman promptly exited the eatery through the front door. She was tall and wide and had a periwinkle scarf wrapped multiple times around her already fat neck.
“Ah,” she said, “this should be interesting. Are we going to do this right on the street.?”
“Why not?” Daniel replied. “There’s no one out here.”
“Fine,” she uttered. “Come out here, dear, we’re ready.” A white and green creature with lean, strong legs and arms like elongated pickax heads entered with a determined expression on its face. Two red triangles jutted from its small thorax on the front and back. Its head was topped with a thin blue crest and its elliptical abdomen jutted outward. “I’m assuming you’ll be using that one over there,” the woman said, raising a heavy arm to point at Froslass.
“Yes.”
“Indeed, very interesting. Let’s get started, then.”
The woman’s companion poised itself in the center of the road. Froslass glided to the center, also, and made sure to give the other creature a wide berth.
“Make it hail, Froslass,” Daniel commanded.
Hail. She knew what that meant from hearing it so many times. Her arms instinctively rose by her sides and were parallel to the ground. By concentrating a certain way, Froslass had the power to make shards of ice fall from the clouds. She did this now, and slowly the hail came as if an invisible blade has slit open a cloud to gradually let the ice out.
“I swear,” the woman said, “you did that just to annoy me.” She bellowed a beep, stomachic laugh. “Okay, use Close Combat.”
Her partner sprinted at Froslass, holding a fist behind its head. Froslass stood her ground without flinching as the enemy charged. When the creature neared her, it let its fist drive right into, no, though the icy body. It followed with several more quick punches and a few kicks, all of them meeting the resistance of air and ending up on the other side of Froslass. She was unharmed.
“Oh, so that thing is part ghost type, huh. Shows what I know. And I thought it would be interesting before, even.”
“Icy Wind, Froslass. That should get it.”
She despised this attack. It forced her to draw up all that was frigid inside her and blow it onto the opponent. It was as if she were showing off her lifelessness. But she did it anyway, taking a deep breath and exhaling a freezing gale onto the human-like foe. That, in combination to the relentless, battering hail seemed to be taking effect on the other creature.
“That won’t be enough!” the woman yelled. “It’s time for Psychic.”
The woman’s Pokémon braced and made a face as if going through strenuous labor. Suddenly, a queer force hit Froslass as if it were coming from inside her chest, and she was knocked onto the road. Slowly, she stood up, but felt incredibly tired.
“You can do better,” Daniel said. “Use Ominous Wind.”
Dread jolted through Froslass like fire across a burning tissue; it was the horrid attack. To use it, she had to summon the half of herself that felt so close to death and fully realize it. Then she could imbue the oncoming wind with an awful, dark energy. Times like this left her in paralysis with the feeling of innate lifelessness for days. Notwithstanding, she had to obey and let her inside ghost rise into her chest like the feeling right before tears. The air turned shadowy with her power. The opponent seemed especially vulnerable to this, even falling over in the attack, but managed to erect itself afterwards, panting in exhaustion.
“That was close,” the scarf-wearing woman sighed. “Finish up with Shock Wave.” Sticking a long, thin arm in the air, the creature was able to conjure up a ball of electricity in its hand. It thrust its hand forth and a bolt emerged and struck Froslass with incredible speed. She felt weak and let her head fall forward and hang still.
“Oh, dang, that means she’s finished,” Daniel grumbled. “Get back here, Froslass.”
“Hah, good match, though,” the woman said triumphantly. “Would you like to get a drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” The woman reentered the building with her Pokémon trailing her.
“Come on,” Daniel muttered, “let’s find a bench somewhere for you to rest.” He knew completely that Froslass could not sit on a bench or at least never chose to; the only rest to be gained by a bench was by Daniel himself. But Froslass could only follow.
Daniel withdrew his hand into his coat sleeve much like the head of a frightened turtle and brushed off a seat on the bench. He sat down gingerly. The two were silent for several minutes. Froslass focused on the corner of the bench at her side and tried to forget about the Ominous Wind.
“Gallade,” Daniel whispered to himself. “That was a Gallade.” He then turned his head and looked at Froslass directly. “That was a Gallade, Froslass, a Gallade.” Froslass continued to stare at the bench, but she finally understood what “Gallade” meant. “You know you had the advantage in that battle. It was psychic and fighting versus ice and ghost. Ice is weak to fighting, but can’t hit ghost, so it doesn’t matter. They even made that mistake, attacking you uselessly and giving you more of a lead. Ghost is also good against psychic, so you should have had this in the bag. But your defense is poor and you gave up after two wimpy attacks from him. You’re pitiful. I wish your curiosity had never led you to touch that dawn stone. Kirlia turns into Gallade with that same stone. You wasted it.”
Froslass had always known what “stone” meant, and had even recognized the wondrous rock of her memories as one. And now she had learned what a Gallade was. It wasn’t until Daniel’s last sentence that she put them together. If she had never touched that stone, Daniel could have abandoned her to get something else that would touch the stone itself to become a beloved Gallade. But since she had felt the rock and used up the only one he had, Daniel had to keep her around as the best thing he could get. Always, she had thought Daniel cared for her and was being kind when he made sure to keep her safe and feed her things, but he just had a lack of understanding for how she really felt towards battling and such. But no; he couldn’t get rid of her and dared not let a Pokémon die at his hand. She was an encumbrance and she was useless, nothing more. As good as—no, worse than—dead. She was still. The corner of the bench was the most melancholy thing in the entire world.
“Here, have this,” Daniel said, lightening up. “Don’t worry. You did fine. I forgot to give you this from the restaurant.” He held out a small, black plastic take-out box with a clear lid. Inside were several Nanab Berries in a Pecha Berry sauce. It looked delicious, yet Froslass did not want it. She took it and ate it quietly, however, because she was physically hungry.
It was stomach-inverting to receive such contumely followed by such kindness. Anger had unleashed the hidden truth, and anything nice seemed to be pretend now. He had not bought her the berries because he wanted her to be happy; he simply wanted her alive. Froslass began to cry. Even in all the moments of doleful contemplation or suffering through attacking in a battle, she could not recall doing this. All she did was never speak. But this tumult in her emotions brought out the tears, slowly and separately. It was a shame Daniel could never know, for each drop froze on her low-temperature exterior the moment after leaving her eyes. Only by paying the closest attention could one discern what was actually occurring.
A long period of silence followed as Froslass finished and set the empty box on the bench. Daniel had leaned back and was resting his arms over the back of the bench. He drummed his gloved fingers on his kneecaps. “I’m going to get a beer over at that bar,” he said almost to no one in particular. “You can stay here if you like.” He turned to Froslass and smiled. She watched the virgin snow liquefy under each of his footsteps away from her.
---
Fluorescent lights illuminated the nearly empty train station that looked out into the sable midnight. It was obvious the world was meant to be asleep at a time like this.
“Well, it looks like we’ll have no trouble finding a seat,” Daniel joked upon entering through the automatic glass doors. He departed to talk to a lady behind a window, speaking words Froslass could not hear through a circular hole, and returned with a small paper rectangle. “Hah, it looks like Pokémon ride for free here! What do you know?” A man with a newspaper turned around and eyed them suspiciously, then went back to reading. Daniel took a seat as far away from him as possible. Froslass followed.
Soon the loudspeaker turned on. “The current time is eleven o’clock P.M.” a rumbling male voice informed. “The Southern Flyer leaves at midnight. The Northern Express departs at twelve-thirty A.M. If you miss your train, the next rounds for each will be at three A.M. and three-thirty A.M. respectively. Thank you.”
“Wow,” Daniel said, “that gives us a whole hour and a half. You should probably rest up. It’s late. I’m tired myself.” He let his head fall limply onto the cushioned back of the chair. Froslass wondered if he understood she couldn’t comprehend the large majority of anything he said to her. Not that it would matter, though she could never inform him if he were misled.
Gradually, small groups of people came into the station and filled several chairs. There was a man with a laptop, two women with umbrellas and a sleeping Pichu, three elderly men whispering softly with a young lady, and a few others. Froslass watched each from afar and imagined being under the care of one of them, if she was actually wanted. But she stopped after a bit because it was all too evident anything of that sort was mere fantasy. Daniel had fallen asleep at Froslass’s side with his mouth forced unflatteringly agape by gravity.
“The Southern Flyer will arrive shortly,” the loudspeaker man announced. The laptop man packed his computer away and the umbrella ladies put their purses on their laps. After a few minutes, a green light appeared lit up over a door in the back of the waiting room. The women silently followed the man out of it. Without a thought, with what seemed to be a reflex, Froslass glided over to the door herself. The newspaper man was behind her. Shielded by the ticket window, the receptionist was staring off onto a spot somewhere on the wall. Daniel would surely have woken up had it been time for their train. But Froslass did not stop moving.
A frosty rush of wind greeted the group as they went outside. Lit by a light on the top of the train, a tower of smoke looked like a specter looming over the area. A sliding door on the side of the train opened by itself and the interior lights illuminated. The passengers filed on board. The inside of the train was lined with seats on the sides and had two long metal bars stretching overhead to each end of the train. The computer man and parasol women went to opposite ends of the vehicle. Froslass remained near the door. The newspaper man sat down a couple seats away from her. The automatic door shut by itself with a mechanical whir and the lights turned off. So this is where she had gotten herself to.
A train attendant rushed in from an adjoining crew cabin. “Sir,” she said, addressing the man with the newspaper, “we can’t have Pokémon alone on the train. Does that one belong to you?” She pointed at Froslass.
“As far as you need to be concerned,” he replied harshly.
The attendant gave a quizzical look. “Okay then.” She returned to where she came from. It seemed she was content with doing only as much as her job required. The train started promptly. The woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “The train will make stops at each city on the track on its way to the final destination in the Southern Region capital. A five-minute rest stop will be made every hour.”
Froslass felt apprehensive and ungrateful. Even though she wasn’t wanted, all Daniel had been rewarded with for caring for her at all was an escape. It seemed wrong. And would he be angry if he could not find her? Would he worry or just hate her? She, herself, did not even know where she was going and when she would arrive there.
Snowy trees and unreachable hills were visible in the darkness outside the panoramic windows. The horizon was a general line somewhere off in a place Froslass would never visit. Despite her agitation, there was something unexplainable soothing about doing something completely out of the ordinary and having no clue about where in the world she was.
The train would often stop and announce the current city and no one would get off, but still the doors would open expectantly, then finally close in disappointment. All the time an orange semicircle was creeping from behind the horizon like a lustrous, round hill in the distance. It was halfway risen when the women and their slumbering companion got off through a far door. It was resting its edge precariously on the tightrope horizon when the man with the computer exited. The sun floated higher and higher and Froslass and the man who had long since finished his paper remained on the train. Froslass felt peaceful in the early-morning sunlight beaming through the train windows. It had been many hours from midnight to sunrise, but, for some reason, Froslass had not considered getting off. It did not appear the man did, either. So the train moved and stopped and opened its doors many times, yet the two never moved.
The countryside was no longer hill-ridden, but flat and grassy with trees only spotting the landscape. It felt very much like a dream to Froslass when she calmly realized there was no snow to be seen. Snow had been a part of any place she’d visited. It was always either snowing or snow was in the early steps of melting, the time when Daniel would whisk them back up north. Froslass was stunned by the vivid, vivacious greens that painted the scenery. The moment was inspiring, not in a way that incited action, but in an idle way that spread across her heart.
All this seemed very familiar to the man sitting near Froslass; he had glanced up only once or twice just to look back down again. Froslass found him very strange. Some black, curly hair stuck out from the sides of his head, but otherwise, most of his scalp was hidden under a blue baseball cap. He wore a white dress shirt with an open green windbreaker on top of that. And what was that useless piece of fabric looped around his neck and hanging down his chest? The man’s fray pants were badly wrinkled. Without his paper, he rested his elbows on his lap and gazed at the floor. What kind of person was this?
“End of the route,” the attendant woman said exhaustedly over the loudspeaker. “Please gather your belongings and prepare to exit the train.” Froslass could not discern this announcement from any of the other stop announcements, so she remained still as the doors inevitably opened. The man did not move, either. Once more, the attendant rushed out to speak to the man.
“Sir, this is the last stop. You must get off here.”
The man was silent. The attendant’s eyebrows sloped inwards.
“Sir, you are not permitted to remain on this train,” she said acrimoniously. Froslass felt uneasy around the two now that one was frustrated and peeved. She turned and glided out the open door behind her. She could hear the man rising and walking out after her.
“Thank you, sir,” the attendant said. Yes, he had definitely left.
The automatic door led out into a wide, cold hall with a smooth, dark gray, concrete floor. The walls were made of giant stacked bricks with white paint over them. Froslass could see a heavy door at the end of the corridor. It very likely led outside, but when Froslass arrived at the door, though, she dared not open it. She feared the options waiting outside the door in an unfamiliar place. She could go any of hundreds of directions, and what if one of those was a bad one to take? So far the only choice she had made and could be blamed for was to board the wrong train. With each opening of the doors on the train, she had encountered this same feeling and quickly chosen to innocently do nothing. If nothing had forced her out, she may have stayed on the train forever. But outside the heavy door in front of her was the chance to make an improper decision and possible face consequences for it later.
The man stepped ahead of Froslass and pushed the door open himself. A sudden impact of light and warmth hit Froslass from beyond the door. The man held the door open expectantly. She felt obligated to leave now and, having no choice, walked out into southern sunshine.
Under her icy dress, Froslass saw a rust-colored gravel street that turned off into a small town on her right. The train station here must have been on the outskirts of the town, for the other buildings seemed to be clustered far away. From what she could make out, the town looked like the one she had departed from, but completely void of snow. The most amazing thing, though—that which struck Froslass with the feeling of memory—was the heat. It was ubiquitous and danced on her exterior, and was so benevolent compared to the endless snowstorms of her life. Alas, her insides from her heart to the very edge of the frozen shell felt cold and heat-resistant. Only the very outside of her could enjoy the wonderful, hot air.
Froslass’s worries of making the wrong choice were blown away like so much dust. She spotted a blue area to her left, far from herself and any buildings, and immediately glided towards it. The blue turned out to be the water of a lake, but a lake unlike any Froslass had seen. The water was so rich in hue and was dynamic, waves rolling from shore to shore in the breeze. The surface sparkled as it rent the sun’s reflection into myriad particles which shone with equal intensity. The grass where Froslass stood sloped downward and turned into sand where it soon met water. That sand was just like what she had stood on when she touched the forbidden stone. It was stunning to see such a thing once more from a memory long in the past. But Froslass remained at the grassy top of the slope and simply looked down in wonder.
This was her chance to feel alive, here in this warmth. She could let the heat work its way into her very chest and replace her inner ghost while finally relieving her of being so icy and so cold. And so she stood like a statue, like she was accustomed to doing, but now with hope instead of sorrow. She would stand here, staring at the sand and the water and the sun, until every part of her was warm and free of the feeling and fear of death. Froslass was tired of being a frozen specter.
---
The man moved the bill of his cap a little lower to block out the sun. He had never seen a Pokémon run away from its trainer before. It was wrong of him to vouch for it on the train, but he could not let it be forced back to a trainer it didn’t want. It was a shame he had long missed his stop on the train because he couldn’t abandon a Pokémon he had implied to be his. But what could it be doing all alone by the lake? It was a good thing it was an ice type; this sweltering heat couldn’t possible bother it.
Three hours later, the next train pulled into the station. Many people got off on this one, but first of all was a blond-haired man in jeans and a padded jacket. He looked panicked. Immediately, he saw the man in the cap and came over to him.
“Hello, my name is Daniel,” he said, breathing heavily. “I fell asleep in the train station back north of here. I remember you were there reading a newspaper. I woke up and my Froslass was gone. An old man said she took the Southern Flyer, so I took the next possible trip. The attendant said she got off at the last stop with a different man. Is that man you? Did you see where she got off?”
“You’re right about everything,” the man replied. “She got off with me around three hours ago. She headed over to that lake a while off.”
“What? She’s not inside? I have to go get her.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“What?”
“She came here by choice and she chose to leave you. I’ve never seen a Pokémon do that before. You must have done something awful.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing worse than suppressing free will.”
“But she won’t—”
“She can live out her life how she chooses now. Don’t ruin that.”
In the distance, a red ribbon, tied into a perfect bow, fluttered away over the lake in the wind.
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