Reflect (title pending)

[Act]

EMG, the Mets pwn j00!

Welcome to Reflect, the winner of the 2006 "Most Unique Storyline," and "Best Usage of Subtlety (whatever the hell that means)." Whether I should be scared or flattered by this is up for debate.

Warnings, Contents, and other stuffs...​

Please, read the following warnings...​

​

This fic is rated PG-13. There will be strong language in dialogue-- I generally don't do cursing within narration, but people talk how they talk. There are religious themes, including characters who are Christian and agnostic and main characters wrestle with belief in God. If that kind of thing bothers you, please don't read this and then harp me about it. There is violence, mostly related to pokemon, but you never know. Main characters later in the fic struggle with such things as alcoholism, suicide and homicide, and self-inflicted injuries. I'm not a graphic author, I don't particularly like that kind of thing, but don't be stupid. If the mention of that kind of stuff bothers you, do avoid it. There will be allusions to romance (life includes romance, ne?), and if you can't handle the sex level in shows like The Nanny, then, well, you're in trouble. Characters may allude to things jokingly (or seriously), and, again, I'm not a graphic writer. I don't feel the need to descrive two people making out to properly write a romance. In fact, I find it stupid. So, the point is, if someone mentioning 'sleeping with' someone bother you, the later parts of the fic may bother you.

Please, please, remeber: the opinions expressed by my characters are not necessarily my own opinions. It's that simple. If Emmett says, "The color green is always ugly," don't complain to me about how you love green, because it's his opinion, not mine. Green happens to be my favorite color.

That is all


PM notification list that makes me cool and 1337:

cyndaquil_dratini
Saffire Persian


Contents

Prologue

I. (Prewriting)
II. (Prequisites)
III. (Preemption)

Celadon City

1.1 (The future is an opaque mirror.)
1.2 (The remedy is the experience.)
1.3 (Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.)

Prologue Part I Itself​

​

---


Cold.

You see, more often than not a lonesome word is infinitely more powerful than the harangues of description most would use in its place. It invokes a single, easily deciphered emotion as opposed to a jumble of feelings that leave little wake as they pass by. What does it matter, dear reader, if he was tall and handsome? If he was neither?

Granted, he was tall, though not overly good-looking (and possibly to some not good-looking at all). But is this superficial point, in the end, what attracts one person to another? Is this what, particularly in the blindness that is a written account, creates a bond between one being and another?

I think not. This said, I give you that opening word and leave you to meditate on it: what exactly makes someone so? Naturally it is not the only trait he held, but it is quite central to the background of this tale, your vague little prologue.

She, on the other hand, merits the word 'there'. It is in fact an adjective --demonstrative, for those who are that particular-- and it is what she was. There. Seemingly from nowhere she came (though truly she reached him through her father's occupation), and, as the stories generally go, they found themselves together.

For those who still dwell on the visual despite my objections, you may call her 'average', for that is what she was. She stands no chance, you see, against the rallies of women who intrude on our eyes as we flip nonchalantly through any given magazine. Yet, she is somehow more than the average-looking girl. She is not quiet. Unlike most, she learned through experience that personality can far outshine, and even enhance, the physical being.

Regardless, they found a kind of love.

Now, contrary to how the stories generally go, he was not in the least happy about this. Or, rather, he was not happy that he was happy. Regardless of the exact situation, it involved psychological upset that he knew was out of his control, though he tried desperately to control it. Things like this did not happen. There were reasons they did not happen, reasons he could not communicate. Look around you! Do you see it? Of course not. But we don't choose these kind of things.

Reader, you can probably assume at this point without making an *** of you and me that they did, in fact, live happily together for some time. There would be no story otherwise. The exact circumstances of their affair prior to and for a significant time after marriage are not necessary at this point (though they are intriguing enough); what is the point of a prologue but to relate what is needed for a reader to understand a story? And, the point of this, what you need to understand is simply that they were wed.

Indeed.



----

Please review o.o;;

 

[skiboydoggy]

A single word is more powerful than a myraid of descriptions.

Cool.

 

[Saya]

lol

Nice idea Act. A little short, but as you were saying in it, you don't need all that description. Very good. It's different than most I've seen, and I enjoyed it. I can't wait to see what you do with this!

Keep up the great writing!

~Saya~

 

[Flaming Lip]

Nice very nice.

Normally, I would coment on your breaking of the 4th Wall of Writing, which is, do not comunicate with the reader. Of course such a rule can be broken, not exsesivly, but for the deeper sense. Here it works, and it works very well, saying what can't be said without saying it to the reader.

Good job, I will be keeping my eye on this.

 

[Act]

Thanks muchly, all.

Normally, I would coment on your breaking of the 4th Wall of Writing,

That was in the hideously long A/N that goes with it (which you can see here). Basically, the entire fic is going to be written in what I call (because it has no name I know of o.o; 1st-person omniscient, as if someone was telling you the story. I'm glad I pulled it off

Thanks again.

 

[Enigma]

Very well written.

 

[Act]

Thanks very much again ^^;

I actually started the next chapter of this, which is amazing. Estimated completion time: Before December. << a step up from my last updateless span

 

[Act]

Le wh00t. I finished a chapter!

A word about the chapters in this fic... I've decided to keep them rather short (1500-2500 words), for several reasons...

-I'll get them out faster (BIG problem with me)
-I'll be more willing to write them, so
-They'll be written better
-It's easier to read
-It's a new thing to try

Enjoy.

-----


“I can’t spell,” he announced to the teacher with a grin on his face, as if this was something to be extremely proud of. Somewhere, a classmate giggled.

The woman sighed. “Please, Emmett, just try.” This exact conversation repeated itself every time the class held a spelling bee.

“But I don’t know. Can’t I just sit down? I don’t mind, like, losing or anything, really. And I’ll study tonight.” Appeasing this lady never seemed to work for him, but nonetheless she mouthed ‘alright’ and gave a nod. A bold ten-year-old like this was a nightmare for a teacher right out of college.

Allow me a pause for a short description of Emmett. He was a small boy (and would be a small adult as well) -- his father’s genes for height having ignored him entirely—but he was surprisingly broad. Unfortunately he had missed anything athletic floating around his family and, like too many others, would be condemned to loving sports and not being able to play them. His light eyes looked slightly odd against his darker complexion and hair; in fact, his elder sister would often complain that no clothing looked right on her (what matched her skin tone jarred with her eye color, and vice versa). He did not quite crave attention, but he was not at all shy of it. He took a seat, his tiny self disappearing into a sea of standing students.

There should be something said for the boy behind him as well. Ian Jordan hated that his name tended to rhyme, but liked it well enough otherwise. He was a bright boy—destined to be labeled something or another as a teen—and wanted nothing more than to be a famous scientist when he grew up. The gossip would later be that this dream was the only reason he was best friends with Emmett in the first place; Emmett’s grandfather worked at a well-to-do laboratory in far-away Mossdeep City. Ian, an only child, was tall and somewhat lanky (had he liked sports, he could have easily been an athlete). He had the kind of eyes that were tough to be angry at: dark and droopy, always sad and melancholy. He stood tall (though it was difficult for him to do anything else) and deftly spelled the word that had left Emmett sitting.

Words were spelled, bells rang, and one or two students smiled when Ian lost to Linda Rowette. Emmett sighed and opened his locker: there would undoubtedly be another word in edgewise to his parents at conferences, and another speech about how the teacher was the teacher and he should know better than to be so rude. He felt guilty about being 'rude', but he really didn’t know the answer and saw no reason to embarrass himself with a desperate attempt at the word. And he was just like that in spelling, really.

A note fluttered down out of his locker as he rushed to pack his things and begin trotting home.

Do you remember that first crush, reader? That was Emmett to Jessie Salcito. Unfortunately, the note was not from this shy girl. As she looked on, which was not all that difficult to do-- their lockers were right next to each other (Salcito, Solvati)-- she saw that it was a warning to clean his locker. The vice-principal and eighth-grade teacher had the tendency to dump the entire contents of messy lockers all over the floor to make a student sort it out.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and looked over at her. “You ready? Ian and Jessica are gonna meet us at my house, because she has cheerleading and he has better things to do, so you can come over for a little, my mom said.” What had Jessie’s mom said once? That she would be friends with all the boys, but never have a boyfriend? What a curse that is, reader, to be in a puppy love with your best friend, to be a hopeless, average-looking tomboy. She would finally make a move too late, many years later, if you find yourself curious. There’s no real love story here.

“Alright, hold on one second, I can’t remember my locker combo and I forgot my science book… actually, it’s probably home. Let’s go,” she said, mostly to herself.

“I did my stuff in class, just take mine,” Emmett offered.

And so began the trek home.

Celadon City was huge, as you most definitely know, but the little neighborhood that housed our friends was tightly knit, as are most similar neighborhoods. It was more suburban than city-like, with no overly tall buildings or apartment complexes. Justine Solvati’s stomach would always turn at the thought of her ten-year-old walking home from school by himself. Letting him do that was what bad parents did, the kind whose children were kidnapped. But she found herself without much choice—the school did not offer a bus route, and both she and her husband worked.

Justine did not worry as much about her daughter, Larissa, who was much more introverted and less likely to strike up conversation with whomever happened to walk up to her. But nothing had happened in ten years, and in truth nothing ever would occur on that short, simple walk home from school. Justine would never have to suffer the pain and humiliation of being one of those parents who let their young children do ridiculous things. Do not take that at face value, though. ‘Ridiculous’ is being used specifically here, and Emmett was allowed to do many insane things as the years went by. But none pertain specifically to kidnappings and murders.

It was, naturally, Larissa who opened the door to Emmett and Jessie. She glanced at them and let them in; she was listening intently to music (‘plugged in,’ Justine called it), and would break out in song for a few seconds every now and then.

Larissa had never been awfully fond of Emmett’s friends—a four-year age difference will do that—but she particularly disliked Jessie and her more feminine counterpart, Jessica. For once, she found it excruciatingly annoying that they had the same name, though truthfully this came from her own experiences more than a personal dislike of the girls; a Lauren-Laura duo had once tormented her. Secondly, well… in truth, you see, she had no real reason. But Emmett never needed a reason to like his friends, so she never needed a reason to dislike them, and he was not exactly the favorite of her friends. Sibling rivalry, eh, reader?

But now Larissa sounds like a cruel person. She will be, one day, in Emmett’s eyes, but for now they are truly best friends, playing computer and video games as the deadliest duo there ever was. She’d cared deeply for her little brother during the ten years of their existence together.

When their father arrived home (earlier than Justine—not something that normally happened), there was rejoicing on Emmett’s part and a smile from Larissa. The relationships between parent and child here can be summed up easily: Larissa was her father’s face and mother’s mind, and Emmett his mother’s face and father’s mind. But that is little but a summary, and a summary usually leaves out several important details. The boldness of Emmett was his mother’s, the reclusiveness of Larissa her father’s. In truth, I suppose, there is no accurate way to describe who came from where.

Larissa was never daddy’s little girl, Emmett never a mama’s boy. Larissa would connect and bond primarily with her mother, Emmett with his father. Oh, the heartache that comes of it.

.(.:x:.).​

Emmett’s favorite teacher had always been Mr. Lowry, a kind gentleman who taught English as well as foreign language classes. Emmett did not have a particular knack for the English language; he did not see himself as being particularly strong or gifted in any area, and he was content with being average all around. Nonetheless, this man was one Emmett would think of fondly twenty years later, when everything else about Celadon City was a blur of the painful and otherwise unpleasant.

Sitting in class that day, Emmett meditated on the journal question. Do you have any intention of ever going on a pokèmon journey? Why or why not? Why do you think the fervor for this occupation has died over the past decade? This will become a creative writing assignment next week. The topic undoubtedly stemmed from the anticipation surrounding the ten or so children that would leave at the end of the next week on excursions of their own.

Emmett had always gotten the impression that someone left where they lived because they were not content with their lives and the people in it. It didn’t much matter to him what they left to do, but if you are truly happy, why abandon it? He jotted this down and then gazed out the window, preparing to daydream for the next few minutes.

He had never had the desire to train pokèmon; something seemed wrong about it. He had taken the classes and such (it was required, something he had always found very strange). Yet, Emmett supposed this lack of desire to leave meant that he was pleased with live, love, and why in his life.

It was last period, Friday.

What a way to condemn yourself for the weekend, to go home that Saturday to no one, to not go home again for a long time. What blatant foreshadowing.


----

Do reveiw.

 

[Faerie]

Wow, this is great! I really like this story. It makes you think a lot, and I love the interaction between the author and the reader. You don't see many things like that around here on Serebiiforums. I can't wait to read more! ^__^

Emmett’s favorite teacher had always been Mr. Lowry, a kind gentleman who taught English as well as foreign language classes.

Based on Louis Lowry, I presume? :3

It was, naturally, Larissa who opened the door to Emmett and Jessie. She glanced at them and let them in; she was listening intently to music (‘plugged in,’ Justine called it), and would break out in song for a few seconds every now and then.

That's exactly what my mom calls it. O__o;; Strange...

 

[Klaus]

.............Woah..............that was somewhat impressive.The
way each word flowed with the other creating a dance of language
and letters. I loved it.

You, my friend, have some writing talent. I appluad that!

I do annicipate the next chapter.

As always, be kind to the mime.

 

[Act]

Based on Louis Lowry, I presume? :3

Absolutely I was a big fan of hers when I was younger.

That's exactly what my mom calls it. O__o;; Strange...

Wow, really? o.- Maybe my mom got it from someone else, then...

Wow, this is great! I really like this story. It makes you think a lot, and I love the interaction between the author and the reader. You don't see many things like that around here on Serebiiforums. I can't wait to read more! ^__^

Thanks very much. And... I'm def making progress on my own reviews now that I'm active again... I do feel awful about making people wait so long... -.-

.............Woah..............that was somewhat impressive.The
way each word flowed with the other creating a dance of language
and letters. I loved it.

You, my friend, have some writing talent. I appluad that!

I do annicipate the next chapter.

Thank you very much.

Yeah, so, I'm trying to get the next chapter out, um, soon. Hopefully my shorter than 4k word limit will help that. I have a tendency to go months without updating fics o.o;;

Thanks again.

 

[Nylf]

;330;I'm here on request, and you should see my sig for my rules.(Nothing big, it's simply in bold). I should be glad you asked me to come, this is a great story, and I may come back(I make no promises, I'm writing four fics, and I've lost count of the ones I'm reviewing). I hope you keep this up. One slight problem. Once again, I see my life being metioned in a story form. This is just silly. I'm getting fed up of this. Is my life really that predictable?

;373; Quiet SF, it's rough but live with it. Length, Fine, Description, Grand, Plot, Unreadable, Overall, Very Nice. It's lining up as a Flygon fic, but we'll have to read more before I make any promises. Later!

 

[Act]

;330;I'm here on request, and you should see my sig for my rules.(Nothing big, it's simply in bold). I should be glad you asked me to come, this is a great story, and I may come back(I make no promises, I'm writing four fics, and I've lost count of the ones I'm reviewing). I hope you keep this up. One slight problem. Once again, I see my life being metioned in a story form. This is just silly. I'm getting fed up of this. Is my life really that predictable?

;373; Quiet SF, it's rough but live with it. Length, Fine, Description, Grand, Plot, Unreadable, Overall, Very Nice. It's lining up as a Flygon fic, but we'll have to read more before I make any promises. Later!

Uh, thanks... o.o;;

I'm not quite sure what that means in the long run, but it's the thought that counts.... right?

 

[Nylf]

Basically a Flygon award from Mobius means you have got a very good fic. The problem is almost all the fics I read are Flygons, but almost all the fics I read are that good. But Mobius usually waits till like the fifth chapter till giving his award, and it can and does change, either improving or getting worse. In summary Flygon award is the highest Mobius gives. All my fics('cos I threatened him), Pokemon Revalations:Cof, Rejected and some others who I will remeber shortly are Flygon award fics. I think Project c745h is one(title may be misspelled on my part) as well.

 

[Act]

Basically a Flygon award from Mobius means you have got a very good fic. The problem is almost all the fics I read are Flygons, but almost all the fics I read are that good. But Mobius usually waits till like the fifth chapter till giving his award, and it can and does change, either improving or getting worse. In summary Flygon award is the highest Mobius gives. All my fics('cos I threatened him), Pokemon Revalations:Cof, Rejected and some others who I will remeber shortly are Flygon award fics. I think Project c745h is one(title may be misspelled on my part) as well.

Well, um, thanks...?

Oh, and BTW, I will recioprocate, but not until I finish with my actual requests, so don't expect something too soon -.-

 

[Sike Saner]

Uh-oh...

Okay, I'm going to have to ask you right now: Do you realize what you've done? Do you realize how engaging this is? Good grief, an actual, active, dynamic narrator, we have here...virtually no one is doing that. That cannot possibly be easy to pull off, and frankly I have no idea how you're doing it, but dang. Fantastic work.

The boldness of Emmett was his mother’s, the reclusiveness of Larissa her father’s. In truth, I suppose, there is no accurate way to describe who came from where.

Larissa was never daddy’s little girl, Emmett never a mama’s boy. Larissa would connect and bond primarily with her mother, Emmett with his father. Oh, the heartache that comes of it.

I just had to isolate that; it's brilliant. An alarmingly intuitive notion is presented there, with very cleverly chosen words.

What a way to condemn yourself for the weekend, to go home that Saturday to no one, to not go home again for a long time. What blatant foreshadowing.

And that just made me smile. Especially that last line. Boss. ^_^


This is among the most capably written pieces I've seen of late, and I can only imagine that the degree of quality will be maintained throughout its future. Massive kudos. *goes and rates*

 

[Kaizer]

Wow, I don't really know exactly what to say about this. I've never read anything like it, that's for sure.
I don't know, I didn't find any mistakes or anything, and the writing, though there's something missing (yet somehow not?) that I can't seem to place. Most likely because I'm so used to massive description, but this lacks it. Not that it needs it.

I'm sorry for this horrible review, but I'm really intrigued by this so I'll keep reading.
;245;

 

[Ryano Ra]

What a way to condemn yourself for the weekend, to go home that Saturday to no one, to not go home again for a long time. What blatant foreshadowing.

I just had to single this small paragraph out from the rest. It was pure platinum, and it was structured wonderfully. I must say, you have stolen another spot of true works of art.

Your writing style is unique and utterly beautiful. The way you kept referring to 'the reader' constantly made me want to reread the chapter over again, which is what I will most likely do once I get done writing. I wasn't looking for mistakes because you killed them all from what I read, so excellent job on the grammar. Your vocabulary was such natural, fluid, and overall powerful. I found the word 'nonchalantly' to be used in such a powerful meaning, and there are many other examples that just stole my heart. Larissa and Emmett seem to be eccentric characters, which is definitely something that made the story even better, so I'm looking forward to the next installment. Fantastic job. This is another true work of writing and art, so congratulations.

 

[Act]

Well, between Sike Saner, Kaizer, and Syra, I think it's difficult to convey how flattered I am.

Um... ^.^; Thank you very much.

I'm quite glad you all seemed to like those few ending sentences. It's sort of strange, because I really wasn't too fond of them, especially when I first tacked them on there.

Also, thank you everyone who reviewed for being so kind about my requests and for actually doing it, the latter being something I can't say I'm too good at myself, so kudos ^.^

As a general statement, I've decided to have the prologue span three 'chapters'. I'll have the final part of the beginning out... someday. x.x

Huh... used way to many smilies there...

 

[Haunter]

I like it, Act. You have a nice style and it seems that there's an undercurrent of ... something running through the 'fic.