D: Thanks to all who gave advice.
AFTER MUCH LABOR HOE NOES....!
Here is the Preview for my up and coming fiction;
REVOlution.
It's about the Hoenn Champion starting over, and finding herself after a cataclysmic accident.
Not really in the mood to write a big long intro, so read and critisize at will!
----------------------------
PRO-log: The fall
----------------------------
When you are born, there is this awful weight that presses down on your chest. It makes it so that you cannot breathe unless you try, try and gulp the air greedily or else you’ll die. This is how you enter life, with a horrible weight pressing down on your tiny chest, trying to kill you. Your innocence means nothing to that pressure. It still tries to destroy you.
Pressure.
The lights and the shouting was all too much. They didn’t stop yelling. They crowded around in a circle of oppressed violence, screaming questions into the chaotic air. They pressed in, closer and closer and closer. Shouting, screams, lights, heat….
The noise. The blinding, white noise.
The sun shone above, bright and searing. The sky was a perfect, ceramic blue, not a cloud floating on its opalescent surface. The usual tangible serenity that covered the grounds of Ever Grande was shattered with the multitudes of people that crowded around a single girl; frazzled, tall, and light haired. She looked no older than sixteen, her face creased with a mixture of worry, sadness, and anxiety. Three men in black suits surrounded her, their bulky frames the only thing that separated the reporters from the slender girl.
The crowd closed in around her as she walked briskly away, striding toward the imposing brick building that was the League HQ. The sliding glass doors opened for her automatically, allowing the three men in suits to follow after. They quickly turned once they were inside, and locked the doors with a few presses of a keypad.
Finally.
She stopped in the middle of the tiled room, filled with computers and tables and chairs. She stopped and took a huge breath, inhaling deeply, and then exhaling. Her long, gold-streaked-brown hair plastered to her face, and she lifted a hand to wipe it away from her forehead. Blue eyes looked around, as if finally registering that the crowd was gone, and that she was safe. The men in suits each took a corner of the room, waiting for her to make a move so that they could follow.
Her gaze flits down to the pokeballs sitting on her waist. One of the six is missing, because one of the six is in the ER, and might be dead. She has no idea if her Blaziken is alive, or dieing in the room across from her, a room with a sign that reads: ER: OCCUPIED. They have been in there for three minutes, so far.
It has been three minutes since that battle.
Her mind clears itself of fog. A face then sits there, within her subconscious. It is a face of stoic hatred. He has eyes the color of the devil, and a soul just as black, just as bottomless. There are no words to describe his actions, for they are poison on the lips.
If her pokemon dies because of him, then so-help-her-god, she will kill the b*astard.
The sadness still lurks within her frame. She realizes now that she never was worthy of the title in the first place. She has no idea what desperation is. She has no idea what it is she fights, everyday. Her limited knowledge of herself is watered down now, lying in shattered pieces on the floor.
She has won countless times. ‘Battle Goddess’, they call her. A woman of war, full of embittered knowledge and a fire for the fight. Brave, concise, immaculate in her ways and in her speech.
A fighter for the millienia.
Today she has won, though it feels far from a victory. This has never happened before. She is used to the elated feeling that accompanies a triumph, not this sickening pressure that crushes her chest and kills her inside.
Pressure
Her ideal of the world is warped now. The evil that she has read about in fairy tale books has now targeted her. There was a time when she had traveled the world of Hoenn, free from this evil blackness that twists minds and destroys hearts. Now she truly knows what it is. Her cold exterior never foresaw this. She has been jaded, all this time.
She thought that she was untouchable when she became Champion. When she ordered the final attack to defeat Steven, the Master of Steel, she had been thinking only of the victory, and never of what might happen if she was to be handed defeat.
She never thought about the defeat of another kind.
‘Battle Goddess’, they called her.
Revenge steps inside her head for only a moment, and is then ushered away by self-inflicted guilt. This is her fault. This is her mistake.
The fame no longer matters to her. It all seems very far away now, a soaring bird resting on a distant horizon. Suddenly, the sign on the ER door slowly fades. Nurse Joy comes out, her cap askew. There is a weary smile on her face as she assures the girl that her pokemon is stable.
Her mind reels with so many emotions.
The girl turns from the nurse, and inhales deeply.
She opens her mouth and emits an inhuman sound, a heart-stopping, soul-wrenching scream that tells a ballad of anguish and pain to the greedy, listening world. The sound reverberates inside the walls, and the grown men in black squirm uncomfortably. That scream is wraith-like and stained with evil. The nurse, the healer, looks fearful.
The wail stops.
In a single, anguished second, the girl crumples to the floor, sobbing. The tears stain the floor and her crushed face. They roll like the saddness and relief within her, the defeated fire of self-hatred beginning to flicker within the depth of her soul.
‘Battle Goddess’, they call her.
AFTER MUCH LABOR HOE NOES....!
Here is the Preview for my up and coming fiction;
REVOlution.
It's about the Hoenn Champion starting over, and finding herself after a cataclysmic accident.
Not really in the mood to write a big long intro, so read and critisize at will!
----------------------------
PRO-log: The fall
----------------------------
When you are born, there is this awful weight that presses down on your chest. It makes it so that you cannot breathe unless you try, try and gulp the air greedily or else you’ll die. This is how you enter life, with a horrible weight pressing down on your tiny chest, trying to kill you. Your innocence means nothing to that pressure. It still tries to destroy you.
Pressure.
The lights and the shouting was all too much. They didn’t stop yelling. They crowded around in a circle of oppressed violence, screaming questions into the chaotic air. They pressed in, closer and closer and closer. Shouting, screams, lights, heat….
The noise. The blinding, white noise.
The sun shone above, bright and searing. The sky was a perfect, ceramic blue, not a cloud floating on its opalescent surface. The usual tangible serenity that covered the grounds of Ever Grande was shattered with the multitudes of people that crowded around a single girl; frazzled, tall, and light haired. She looked no older than sixteen, her face creased with a mixture of worry, sadness, and anxiety. Three men in black suits surrounded her, their bulky frames the only thing that separated the reporters from the slender girl.
The crowd closed in around her as she walked briskly away, striding toward the imposing brick building that was the League HQ. The sliding glass doors opened for her automatically, allowing the three men in suits to follow after. They quickly turned once they were inside, and locked the doors with a few presses of a keypad.
Finally.
She stopped in the middle of the tiled room, filled with computers and tables and chairs. She stopped and took a huge breath, inhaling deeply, and then exhaling. Her long, gold-streaked-brown hair plastered to her face, and she lifted a hand to wipe it away from her forehead. Blue eyes looked around, as if finally registering that the crowd was gone, and that she was safe. The men in suits each took a corner of the room, waiting for her to make a move so that they could follow.
Her gaze flits down to the pokeballs sitting on her waist. One of the six is missing, because one of the six is in the ER, and might be dead. She has no idea if her Blaziken is alive, or dieing in the room across from her, a room with a sign that reads: ER: OCCUPIED. They have been in there for three minutes, so far.
It has been three minutes since that battle.
Her mind clears itself of fog. A face then sits there, within her subconscious. It is a face of stoic hatred. He has eyes the color of the devil, and a soul just as black, just as bottomless. There are no words to describe his actions, for they are poison on the lips.
If her pokemon dies because of him, then so-help-her-god, she will kill the b*astard.
The sadness still lurks within her frame. She realizes now that she never was worthy of the title in the first place. She has no idea what desperation is. She has no idea what it is she fights, everyday. Her limited knowledge of herself is watered down now, lying in shattered pieces on the floor.
She has won countless times. ‘Battle Goddess’, they call her. A woman of war, full of embittered knowledge and a fire for the fight. Brave, concise, immaculate in her ways and in her speech.
A fighter for the millienia.
Today she has won, though it feels far from a victory. This has never happened before. She is used to the elated feeling that accompanies a triumph, not this sickening pressure that crushes her chest and kills her inside.
Pressure
Her ideal of the world is warped now. The evil that she has read about in fairy tale books has now targeted her. There was a time when she had traveled the world of Hoenn, free from this evil blackness that twists minds and destroys hearts. Now she truly knows what it is. Her cold exterior never foresaw this. She has been jaded, all this time.
She thought that she was untouchable when she became Champion. When she ordered the final attack to defeat Steven, the Master of Steel, she had been thinking only of the victory, and never of what might happen if she was to be handed defeat.
She never thought about the defeat of another kind.
‘Battle Goddess’, they called her.
Revenge steps inside her head for only a moment, and is then ushered away by self-inflicted guilt. This is her fault. This is her mistake.
The fame no longer matters to her. It all seems very far away now, a soaring bird resting on a distant horizon. Suddenly, the sign on the ER door slowly fades. Nurse Joy comes out, her cap askew. There is a weary smile on her face as she assures the girl that her pokemon is stable.
Her mind reels with so many emotions.
The girl turns from the nurse, and inhales deeply.
She opens her mouth and emits an inhuman sound, a heart-stopping, soul-wrenching scream that tells a ballad of anguish and pain to the greedy, listening world. The sound reverberates inside the walls, and the grown men in black squirm uncomfortably. That scream is wraith-like and stained with evil. The nurse, the healer, looks fearful.
The wail stops.
In a single, anguished second, the girl crumples to the floor, sobbing. The tears stain the floor and her crushed face. They roll like the saddness and relief within her, the defeated fire of self-hatred beginning to flicker within the depth of her soul.
‘Battle Goddess’, they call her.
