Author's Note:
I think a word of explanation is in order for this one. I got a bizarre bolt of inspiration after re-reading my Gym Leader Wiki, which spawned this. Unfortunately it seems to have stalled-I may end up deleting this, but I thought I'd see what kind of reception it would get here. Maybe your reviews could spark something in me! Enjoy!
"Watch with the heart. Not with the eyes."
"When shooting, sometimes we will hit the target but miss the self. At other times we will miss the target but hit the self. Our purpose, though, is to hit the target as the self and hope that the sharp sound of arrow penetrating paper will awaken us from the so-called 'dream of life' and give us real insight into the ultimate state of being."
-Hideharu Onuma
December 2009
It was no secret that Erika's garden was regarded as one of the most beautiful in all of Kanto—in a metropolis that strived to maintain a modern look amidst the bustling city life, it was refreshing to see a place that actually respected tradition these days. She kept it to a distinctly Japanese aesthetic, as was expected of the most prolific ikebana artist in the country.
She breathed the garden air deeply, sitting on her heels on a tatami mat she had rolled out near a long section of rock garden.
It was easy to lose yourself in the beauty of it all, the tranquil garden embodying an almost Zen atmosphere tucked away in a quiet corner of an otherwise noisy city that left the past behind. There were no sounds except those of the Pidgey gently chirping, and the quiet rustle of the leafy limbs of grass Pokémon.
And if you listened closely, you could also hear the distinct whizzing of arrows.
Erika rose from her seiza position, eyeing the battered target positioned on the opposite end of the rock garden. Taking up the bow, she carefully nocked an arrow and took aim.
Become one with the target, she thought as she drew back the bowstring. She inhaled sharply and released.
ThweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeTHUD.
For her, reconciling the ritualistic style of kyudo—which she had grown up with—with the competitive nature of modern archery was a difficult task. She was always told she was difficult to read while in competition, almost as expressionless as a statue. Without skipping a beat, she drew the bowstring back again.
ThweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeTHUD.
If you looked carefully, you might have seen a small smirk cross her face as the arrow buried itself in the center gold ring. She had been told to cut this happiness, to cut her own ego. Munen muso, she was always told: "no thoughts, no illusions."
So she took up another arrow.
ThweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeTHUD-CRACK.
She was never told about how to deal with surprise, at least not in archery. She broke into a clumsy run to inspect the target, and ran as quickly as her hakama would allow.
"This has never happened before," she muttered. The arrow she just shot had split the one already in the target in half.