QUICK NOTICE - Some of you may have seen this before. If so, I apologise. It was originally chapter one of a story which I never continued. I feel it's a shame to let it go to waste, so I've changed it into a one-shot. I've re-vamped it and made it much, much better, I hope you all enjoy it! :D
Disclaimer: I do not own pokemon.
Like Sticks in the Mud
"James, stop daydreaming, for goodness sake!" James' science tutor snapped.
Ten-year-old James jumped in fright. Turning his eyes away from the window, he sighed. He could see the hidden exasperation on his tutors' face. Most of James' tutors often lost their temper with him, and this wasn't a first. Gulping, James grudgingly focused his attention on his tutor, who had begun to talk about the legendary pokemon Mew. He often liked learning about legendaries; they fascinated him. However, today, he just couldn't concentrate. His mind was on other things. Things to do with bursting out of the window, running for the hills, and never coming back.
"Now, Mew often live in mountains and don't like to be…" The tutors voice trailed off as James looked at the window again, which was open slightly. He breathed in the free air, sighing contentedly.
All he could see were trees, grass, and a few Pidgey nestled in the branches, cooing prettily. It was a simple sight...yet...it was so refreshing. All those occupants in his house...neat suits, posh voices...it just wasn't natural. It wasn't him. It wasn't where he belonged, not at all. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be out there, running freely as the grass brushed his feet. Soothing strokes across bear feet, strong wind against silky hair. The Pidgey cawed. James sat up quickly, like an invisible string had yanked him to attention. Pidgey...they were so wild, so free. They could nestle there, and have no responsibilities, no worries. They could fly about, do what they please.
I wonder what it would be like to be a Pidgey, James thought to himself, flying freely through the air, doing what you like, not having to listen to anyone…or wear these stupid scratchy clothes. I wonder if Pidgey enjoy wearing no clothes at all, and I wonder if I would. But still, I suppose Pidgey do wear clothes if you count the feathers. At least they're not completely naked, not like-
"James! For the last time, stop daydreaming!" snarled the tutor again.
Still somewhat in his daydream, the dazed James blurted:
"What's it like, to be a Pidgey?"
The tutor's eyebrows twisted into a confused expression. Exasperated, he pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head.
Realising his mistake straight away, James turned away, as red as roses in deep Spring.
The tutor was baffled. "Why on earth would you want to know that? It's not like you're going to be a Pidgey!"
James looked down, fidgeting with blazer in embarrassment. But...It's better than listening to your boring rambling voice. His mind retorted shakily.
As if he could read his mind, the tutor glowered back. "Its obvious you can't cope with the window open, so I'll just have to close it." He snapped as he closed the window and pulled the blind down.
"No!" cried James. His heart thudded, his palms began to sweat. Loss whirled in his chest, a hurricane.
"Yes."
"But I like listening to the Pidgey."
"Tough."
James sulked, pouted, and turned his head, while his tutor wondered what on earth he'd done to deserve such an annoying student. Both silently prayed for the end of the lesson.
"Thank goodness that's over." James muttered as he rushed clumsily down the stairs, his drawing pad in one hand, his pencil case in the other. He was looking forward to spending the afternoon at his Growlie's house, drawing and dreaming away. James valued peace immensely, whenever he could get it. He loved being alone with his thoughts, being able to just drift into his own dreamland, where everything was hopeful. Peaceful. Happy.
"James!"
James stopped dead. Internally screaming, he turned around, slowly. He was almost to the door as well! Seeing saw his mother standing over him was heartbreak. She seemed to be scrutinizing him, taking in his appearance, criticising every fault. James felt his feelings plummet, and sadness take over. Never would he be good enough for his picky mother. The world was so unfair. And he was so miserable? And whose fault was that?
"James, dear, where are you going?" His mother said abruptly.
Hers.
"Oh, urmm, nowhere…" James stuttered. His nerves were multiplying He didn't want his mother to know where he was going. He didn't want her to stop him. He wanted peace, a place where he could dream the days away, and that exact place was Growlie's house. He didn't want his mother to take it away from him.
"Oh, then why are you going out of the door?" replied his mother harshly. She bent down to his level, watched with glee was he began to shake, and glared into his eyes. "You're not lying to me, are you?"
"N-No, mother, I'm not, I just…" James stammered fearfully. She was right. He was lying. He swallowed the lump in his throat in a pathetic attempt to gather his nerves. Hanging his head in shame, tears sprung to his eyes.
"Forget it." His mother said airily. Straightening her posture, she beamed. James smiled. Excitement fluttered up his chest. Finally, he could go to Growlie's house!
"Oh, okay," said James happily. "I'll just carry on walking…"
However, the happy feeling he suddenly gained vanished as quickly as it appeared when his mother continued speaking. "No. Jessiebelle wants a word with you, she has something very exciting planned."
James' heart drop. Jessiebelle; That one person who had to ruin everything. Slight anger nibbled at his brain. Why was everything getting in the way? He just wanted to have some peace! He felt frustration growing inside him, and he knew that this 'thing' Jessiebelle had planned was not going to be enjoyable. It never was. It was always so...restricting, as if he was trapped behind the iron bars of prison. Never could he get peace. Everyone restricted him, forced him into the same busy mantra, day after day after day. Jessiebelle mocked him, bossed him about, and here was his mother, demanding that he married her. No. He couldn't do it. He just knew that deep down, he couldn't. She was horrible!
"But mother, I wanted to have some time to-"
"-But what about what Jessiebelle wants?" His mother's voice rose to a screech, anger contorting her face into something quite ugly. "Its not just about you James. Jessiebelle is a lovely girl, a proper young lady, perfect for you. Why can't you stop being so selfish? It's not just about you!"
James flinched. Fear stabbed him in the back. "I-I'm sorry, I like Jessiebelle!" Lies. Lies. So many lies! "It's just-"
"-Speaking of Jessiebelle, here she comes now."
Suddenly, Jessiebelle appeared at the stairs. Dread. Dislike. They almost overwhelmed James as she squealed excitedly:
"James! James! JAMES!"
Bump Bump Bump! She was coming. Down the stairs, she was coming. James tried to move out of the way, but Jessiebelle was too fast. Possessively she grabbed his hand, and practically dragged him away. Squeaking with displeasure, James stumbled as he attempted to keep up with Jessibelle's running. As a result, he dropped his sacred drawing pad and pencil case on the floor. His attempt at peace was truly lost now. Again. Forced into acceptance, James ran with Jessiebelle. As James was being pulled along he, turned back to his mother. But she was just smiling, waving him goodbye. Biting his lip, James turned away. She didn't care. Not at all. He focused his eyes on Jessibelle's back. He needed a distraction, a distraction from this horrific realisation. As he looked, he noticed for the first time that Jessiebelle was wearing a shockingly-pink tracksuit.
"Come on, James, hurry, wait until you see this!"
Jessiebelle shoved James into his bedroom. James winced. Why did she have to be so rough? And why couldn't he just have some peace! Why couldn't he-
Wait.
Wait.
A navy blue version of Jessiebelle's tracksuit on his bed...
Oh no, Dread and worry snaked its way up James' spine, making him shiver. Tracksuits means we're doing sport.
"We're playing Rounders!" Jessiebelle announced happily. "Get changed and meet me outside!"
No. No, he couldn't! He was rubbish at sport! He couldn't even swing a bat properly! There had to be some way out of this, there had too! "But Jessiebelle, I can't play rounders, you know that..." he said miserably.
"But James," Jessibelle's tone was taunting. Mocking. "Your mother said you need to be more manly."
James flushed bright red. He swallowed. It was true. He wasn't like other boys his age. And that realisation, that knowledge, ate him alive every day. Why did she have to bring it up? Wringing his hands in indignity, he looked at her. She was smirking, looking him up and down with a twisted sneer. James began to get nervous. He hated it when she looked at him like that. Everyone else did. It made him feel pathetic, worthless. Swallowing again, he mumbled:
"I know, I don't like Rounders though."
Jessiebelle glared back, and stomped her foot. Frightened, James jumped. "Oh stop whining James. You can be so annoying sometimes. I'll meet you outside."
Jessiebelle then flounced out of the room, leaving James alone. He turned to the tracksuit, prodded the awful material. Dreading the upcoming sport, he could only put it on. As he changed outfits, all he could think of was what a mess his life was. There was no peace, no happiness. It was none-existent in his world. Every time he saw a 'poor kid' with their parents in a shop, he felt a stab of longing. 'Poor kids' had so much more fun. Occasionally, he'd see a pink-haired girl, who looked at lot like Jessiebelle, scurrying through the aisles, giggling. His mother never let him do that. If only he could giggle! If only he could be her. He wanted her life, he wanted to be poor. They were so much happier, these 'poor people'. Shuddering, James glanced at the window, and watched as the outdoor game started to be assembled. He watched the laughing rich adults. Their laugh was ghastly, fake. James shook his head. No matter what happened, he resolved never to be as fake as them.
A few minuets later, James was walking to the sport area. He was absolutely dreading the upcoming game. He knew he'd be rubbish. He knew he'd make a fool of himself, and everybody would laugh at him. He shuddered at the thought. Why him? Why was he always laughed at? He hadn't done anything wrong! Maybe he should double back now? He could run to Growlie's house and…
"James! James, over here!" Jessiebelle yelled, waving madly.
Wincing, James made his way over. There was no escape. This was where he would make a fool out of himself, right here, right now, in front of everyone. They were playing the game on an open grass area. The cones and equipment was set up, and as James walked over with increasing dismay, he noticed his tutor, parent's friends, and cousins Scott and Steve, were about to start the game. James stopped. Scared. He was beginning to feel scared. Whirling his head around wildly, he looked for something, anything, that could get him out of this. A storm? No. The sky was clear. A black hole in the ground? No. The ground was perfect, trimmed to perfection. A Team Rocket invasion? No. There was no one else about for miles. Oh god, he was going to have to play! In front of everyone!
"Hey girly-boy!" jeered Scott and Steve. They were an army of two, ready to squash James into the floor. "We're gonna beat you!"
James blushed, and ignored them. He didn't like Scott and Steve. They had permanent bruises, but immaculately shiny hair. And, were silly, boisterous, way to rough. He could see them jeering at him, daring him to try and beat them. He could see his mom, mouthing 'Hurry up!'. James inhaled deeply. This was it. He had to play. Now. Taking up all of his courage, he walked over.
"James, you're on my team, you're fielding. Go over there." Jessiebelle ordered, pointing to an area where the ball would surely hit him.
James shivered with fear, and stood in his assigned spot, like he was about to be executed. He looked up, and saw a couple of Pidgey fly overhead. Again, they were here. They were his hope, his saviour. Whenever he was down, he could look out that window, and they'd always be there. Wishing he could be with them right now, he waved. Foolishly, he shouted:
"Hello Pidgey!"
People laughed at him. Nevertheless, James didn't hear. He was gone, lost in his own little world. He was with the Pidgey, flying freely, watching with a smile on his face at the rich family playing Rounders. They were stupid, fake, but that didn't matter. Because he wasn't with them. He was drifting, drifting away...
"James! James, for gods sake!" someone shouted.
Suddenly, everything was happening. A whack. A shout. A ball hurtling towards James. Sudden adrenalin pumping, he ran to get it. With his adrenalin, maybe he'd finally win. It would be like the movies; losers over winners, good over evil. Hopefully, he cupped his hands catch it. It was coming, coming towards him, this was his moment. The moment where he'd finally do something right.
Thud. The crowd sighed. James' eyes widened. His hope drained. The ball...it had landed behind him. Too far away. Again, he'd lost. Again, he hadn't done it right.
"To me, to me, to me!" Jessiebelle screamed, jumping up and down. James grabbed the ball off of the ground, and threw it to Jessiebelle. It fell short, just like he knew it would.
Scott and Steve jeered. James turned his back on them, on everyone. He could feel himself going red. His hands were shaking. His lips were trembling. Rage was tearing apart his brain, a vicious monster. The unfairly of his life was urging the monster on, building up, encouraging it to destroy.
"You useless fool!" Jessiebelle yelled. She grabbed the ball, her fiery eyes shooting daggers. "We're changing over! You're batting now."
James gritted his teeth, shivering with rage. When would this horrible game be over?
James stood with the bat, his face red and sweaty from constant humiliation. He'd been hit in the face by the ball three times, fell over twice, and even his own mother had laughed at him. Already, he wanted to die on the spot. A trickle of sweat ran down his nose as he held the bat in mid air, dreading the upcoming moment.
Scott was bowling. He threw the ball at James. James blindly swung the bat. Typically, he missed. For a moment he stood there, lost in his own emotions. He'd never felt so angry in his life. He was James. Cowardly, scared James. Why was he feeling like this? It wasn't normal! It wasn't-
"Well run then." sneered Scott.
James ran.
"The other way, James!" screamed Jessiebelle.
James growled, and ran the other way.
As he was running, Steve, who was on first base, cunningly stuck his foot out. James ended up sprawled on the ground, tears stinging his eyes.
"Whoops, sorry." Steve snarled nastily.
That was it. James had had enough. He'd had enough of everyone bossing him around, telling him what to do. He'd had enough of never having peace. He'd had enough of never being allowed to just be himself. He was sick of it. Anger and sadness charged through his veins as fast as a rampaging Tauros. His usually gentle emerald green eyes reflected dark rage. With these eyes, he absorbed everyone, trapping them in his volcano. The laughing faces. The crisp outfits. The combed hair. They were fake. Fake, fake, fake.
Slowly, he stood up. His hands were blistering hot. His face was steaming. Bang. Bang. Bang. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst out at any moment.
James' mother stood up from the sidelines. "James, dear, keep running!"
James gave one final glare. And then, he did it. He threw the bat down on the floor.
Gasp! The crowd were gripped in shock. A deathly silence occupied the grassland. Shocked faces, cooing Pidgey, angry James. A moment passed. And then another, until...
"James, pick that up, now!" his father screamed.
James carried on standing. Defiantly, he stuck out his chest. Courage was changing him. It moulded him into a sharp statue. He was still. Unmoving. Never again would these people boss him around. Never. Again.
"NOW, James!" shouted his father again.
That was it. That was when the volcano erupted, molten larva spewing everywhere.
"No." The voice was at first a quiet breath. As it went on, it gradually grew louder. "I'm…I'm not playing. I'm not playing this stupid game, and I'm not picking up that stupid bat." It began to shout, empty out long-held hatred. "I'm sick of all you lot. You boss me about all the time. Y-You make me do things I don't wanna do...Y-You won't leave me alone!"
James' father screeched back: "Don't you dare talk to me like that. You're my-
"Just leave me alone! I hate you all!" James yelled back.
The crowd simply watched, stunned. Mouths of players hung open. A hand covered the smirking mouth of Jessiebelle. James took this all in. Taking a deep breath, he turned on his heels and ran.
Shouting. Yelling. Gasps. James ignored it all. At last, he was free. He'd broken past those iron bars. He was free! Free of the harsh, judgemental eyes. Finally, he could have peace! Excitement surged. He knew exactly where he was going. He went there all the time. He ran and ran until the shouts faded into gentle whispers...
The waves crashed against the rocks. Sand became drenched. The wind made a soft, whistling sound as it ruffled the land. More Pidgey cooed in the distance, their beautiful sounds echoing around the beach. Peaceful. The land was peaceful. It danced around the air, encasing it in happiness, giggling and laughing, like a schoolgirl.
The only thing that disturbed the picturesque landscape was a pair of trainers, carelessly left in the middle of the sand.
A young boy was playing on the small rocks that protruded through the sea. The rocks lined the very edge of the sea, acting as stepping stones. The boy was an adventurer, trekking across jagged rocks with his poor love, that pink-haired girl in the shops. He laughed as the water sloshed around his bare feet, drenching the moss-covered rocks. Beautiful brilliant blue sea sparkled for miles. Sighing with content, the boy looked out to sea. 'Poor people' always said that money couldn't buy happiness. They were right.
James' previous rage had disappeared. As soon as he'd gotten to the beach, he'd cried, screamed, until the monster had been slayed. Now, it lay in tatters, whimpering. No more anger, no more tears. They were gone, for now. Growlie had been grabbed on the way, and now the canine pokemon was running up and down the waters edge, barking at James as he made his way across the stones.
Finally, James had the peace he'd wanted for ages. He giggled, laughed, as he wobbled on the rocks. Giggling. He was giggling! A humble sensation pumped through his veins. Contentment stroked his soul with happiness. Happiness. Was he really feeling...happiness? Yes, he was. And it felt great. There was no one else around; He could laugh and scream all he liked!
I am James, the Articulate Amazing Adventurer, and she is the Poor Peaceful...Pearl. With us is the Mighty Growlie, and we're crossing a raging river, risking our own lives to find the legendary pokemon Mew…
It felt so wonderful to play at last. He had no responsibility. No worries. No one to tell him: 'No James, you can't do that!'. It was his choice, and his alone. No words could describe how exhilarating that felt. Everything now was so...different. All those rich, fake people, were gone now.
Suddenly, James heard a loud bark behind him. He turned around. His nerves went up when he saw Growlie jumping across the stones towards him, barking loudly.
That look…that look in Growlie's eyes. James filled with a knowing feeling; He knew perfectly well what was going to happen.
"Growlie…just calm down, calm down, don't, no, Growlie!" James shrieked as Growlie jumped into his arms. The sudden weight made James loose his balance. Splash! He toppled into the sea, Growlie on top of him. James wasn't to far out to sea - He was just lying in wet sand. At first, he laughed and wrestled with Growlie. But then, he realised something - he was plastered in wet sand. Jumping up in horror, he shoved Growlie off.
"Oh Growlie, now look what you've done! I'm all messy. What's mother going to say?"
Small, dainty hands scrubbed madly, trying to get the sand off. They mostly succeeded, except there was a huge stain on the owner's back, where he'd fell.
Growlie's eyes filled with sorrow and regret. Water sloshing around his bear feet, James looked at him. Growlie's regretful eyes melted worries away. What did it matter? What did it matter if his mother saw? She wasn't here now! James beamed. Then, he splashed water at Growlie, laughing. Growlie barked, dodged, and ran out of the sea.
"Oh no, you don't get away that easily, I'm going to get you for that!" James called.
James howled with laughter as he chased Growlie up and down the sand. After a few minuets of this, he swapped to a handstand, and managed to stay there for ten whole seconds before collapsing in a giggling heap. Growlie jumped into his lap and licked his face lovingly. James relaxed, and lay back on the sand, Growlie lying next to him.
His mind drifted back to the Rounders Incident. He sighed. Never had he gotten that angry in his life. He certainly wasn't an angry 10 year old, but lately? He'd been getting so, so mad…
Just then, it clicked. He shuddered, now knowing the reason. It was because of his family, and Jessiebelle. He was getting sick and tired of all them, not letting him have his own space. One day, he'd really go insane. One day, he'd get up, and just walk away. Leave them all behind, like sticks in the mud. An eerie calm washed over him as he pondered this. He nodded. He would do it. He would. One day...
James lay his arms underneath his head, and breathed deeply, letting all the tension drain out of him. Growlie snored quietly, fast asleep. James smiled. Growlie could be so cute sometimes. His eyes drifted shut. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to face his family. Not...yet. Just a few more minuets. James relaxed again, and, before he realised what he was doing, he too fell fast asleep.