T
Tyranotar
Guest
I got the idea from a writing job application. Why I was even THERE at age 14 I don't know, but truth be told it doesn't matter now.
Prologue
Mine is not a story for those with weak stomachs. Before I begin I must warn you - there is nothing ANY of you can do to even HOPE to understand the ordeal I've been through in my short time. My name is #4176, and this is my... no. My name is not #4176. Not anymore. My name is... Amber. My name is Amber, and this is my story.
A gust of sand lashed at my sweat-soaked face. The glare of the wretched sun was blinding me, and the fireball itself was solidifying the mud that covered me. I was weak and weary, though it was only midday, and there was still much work to be done. I sighed as I trudged through the deep mud towards the next berry tree.
I was born into slavery. That was thirteen years ago. I'd learned to show more respect for the masters than I had for myself. That was just the way it was, and the way it was always going to be. The masters also taught us not to escape. There was a tall fence surrounding the plot of rocky land, but they told us it wasn't necessary. The blistering heat of the Desert Ruins was all that we could hope to face, even if we did make it past the fence. So day after day, we worked. The masters protected us from the elements, and in turn we worked for them.
That's what they told us, anyway. That's what we were forced to believe. In exchange for their "hospitality", we harvested berries to be crafted into Pokeblocks for the masters' Pokemon. I sighed to myself as I picked the small red orbs, one by one, and dropped them into my hand-woven basket. I didn't see the stealthy creature creeping up behind me.
"Shuppeeet!" it squealed, startling me enough to drop my basket full of little red berries.
"Ugh," I groaned, "why do you always have to cause trouble?" The ghost Pokemon smiled broadly, and flittered its eyelids rapidly. A roar from overhead shook the purple thing senseless, its big blue eyes widening a good deal bigger. It squealed in surprise and disappeared in a flash of shadows.
The enormous green Pokemon landed just a few yards away from me. I could see the anger in its compound red eyes as its twin green horns swayed in the desert breeze. Astride the Flygon was one of the masters.
Dominik's spiky black hair remained utterly motionless, though the desert wind attempted to disturb it. I, personally, was amazed he could maintain such a pale complection in the blistering desert heat. He wore his signature dark violet cloak, underneath which lay a black leotard and skintight black pants. The man had a thing for darkness.
"Do I even want to know why the berries are sinking in the sand?" he snarled. I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. "Don't waste my time, scum. Get back to work before my dragon has to rile another sandstorm."
The Flygon snarled in an equally poisonous manner as its rider, and took off. What a jerk, I thought darkly. I scooped up the berries. As I stood up, I noticed my mother strolling towards me.
Unlike the masters and their officiates, we slaves wore little clothing except for tattered hand-me-down rags. She had a tan complection, tanner than I, and was a head taller. Her dark brown hair was covered in mud and draped around her shoulders.
"Having trouble?" she asked sweetly.
"No, I've got it."
"You don't want to be here," her tone changed as suddenly as the topic.
"Does anyone?"
"Doubtful. Listen, I can help you escape here. For good."
The many years of slavery must have been getting to her, but I was willing to listen anyway.
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This is only a prologue, so don't flame me on the lack of description... there'll be more in the first chapter.
Prologue
Mine is not a story for those with weak stomachs. Before I begin I must warn you - there is nothing ANY of you can do to even HOPE to understand the ordeal I've been through in my short time. My name is #4176, and this is my... no. My name is not #4176. Not anymore. My name is... Amber. My name is Amber, and this is my story.
A gust of sand lashed at my sweat-soaked face. The glare of the wretched sun was blinding me, and the fireball itself was solidifying the mud that covered me. I was weak and weary, though it was only midday, and there was still much work to be done. I sighed as I trudged through the deep mud towards the next berry tree.
I was born into slavery. That was thirteen years ago. I'd learned to show more respect for the masters than I had for myself. That was just the way it was, and the way it was always going to be. The masters also taught us not to escape. There was a tall fence surrounding the plot of rocky land, but they told us it wasn't necessary. The blistering heat of the Desert Ruins was all that we could hope to face, even if we did make it past the fence. So day after day, we worked. The masters protected us from the elements, and in turn we worked for them.
That's what they told us, anyway. That's what we were forced to believe. In exchange for their "hospitality", we harvested berries to be crafted into Pokeblocks for the masters' Pokemon. I sighed to myself as I picked the small red orbs, one by one, and dropped them into my hand-woven basket. I didn't see the stealthy creature creeping up behind me.
"Shuppeeet!" it squealed, startling me enough to drop my basket full of little red berries.
"Ugh," I groaned, "why do you always have to cause trouble?" The ghost Pokemon smiled broadly, and flittered its eyelids rapidly. A roar from overhead shook the purple thing senseless, its big blue eyes widening a good deal bigger. It squealed in surprise and disappeared in a flash of shadows.
The enormous green Pokemon landed just a few yards away from me. I could see the anger in its compound red eyes as its twin green horns swayed in the desert breeze. Astride the Flygon was one of the masters.
Dominik's spiky black hair remained utterly motionless, though the desert wind attempted to disturb it. I, personally, was amazed he could maintain such a pale complection in the blistering desert heat. He wore his signature dark violet cloak, underneath which lay a black leotard and skintight black pants. The man had a thing for darkness.
"Do I even want to know why the berries are sinking in the sand?" he snarled. I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. "Don't waste my time, scum. Get back to work before my dragon has to rile another sandstorm."
The Flygon snarled in an equally poisonous manner as its rider, and took off. What a jerk, I thought darkly. I scooped up the berries. As I stood up, I noticed my mother strolling towards me.
Unlike the masters and their officiates, we slaves wore little clothing except for tattered hand-me-down rags. She had a tan complection, tanner than I, and was a head taller. Her dark brown hair was covered in mud and draped around her shoulders.
"Having trouble?" she asked sweetly.
"No, I've got it."
"You don't want to be here," her tone changed as suddenly as the topic.
"Does anyone?"
"Doubtful. Listen, I can help you escape here. For good."
The many years of slavery must have been getting to her, but I was willing to listen anyway.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is only a prologue, so don't flame me on the lack of description... there'll be more in the first chapter.
This is a rather short chapter though...