Slowly, oh so slowly, my eyes widen...and widen...to a barren city. I glance slowly around myself. I blink slowly. Once. Twice. My eyes felt dry, and I rubbed them. That assuaged the stinging in them, at least for now. I attempt to look around, but I find that I was in an awkward position. My legs were slung over my face. A comical look, if it weren't for the fact that my legs were slung over my face, making me look like some freakish ball. I try to move, and realize that my legs are numb from the lack of blood flow. Bracing myself, I use my arms to awkwardly shove my feet down. A pins and needles feeling prickled over every inch, not to mention some stinging. Stinging legs, stinging arms, stinging feet, stinging hands. I glance at them. Cuts and blood. Cuts and blood covered each cut. It didn't look good. I would need a few minutes to recover my feeling in my limbs. So, I sat, and looked around.
Destruction. Destruction everywhere. There were buildings torn. Their other halves were on the other side of the street, buried into the sides of other buildings. The streets were ripped and torn, uneven, poking up in jagged edges. Car pieces, trash bins, rubble, and lamp posts coated the streets in a layer of rubble.
My legs were awake. The pins and needles had unstuck themselves. I slowly get to my feet, a groan that sounds more like a growl of wood bark groaning and creaking. I check my throat. Dry. I need water and food. And shelter.
I began to move forward, one lurching step after another. It...hurt. Every surching step of mine threatened to tip me over. But I kept moving. I felt like I had to. Move or Die, my instincts screamed. Move or die.
And so I did. I moved, on and on, foot by foot, step by shuddering step, until I reach a bus. This bus's door was open, but the vehicle was in no condition to move. The rusty yellow automobile stood with only three operating wheels, the fourth socket completely devoid of wheel or even axel. I shuffle into the bus, groaning as I leaned against the wall. As I finally sat, I peer around. The torn seats spewed feathers, and propped against the corner was a body. It was reeking of decay, the rotting carcass covered in buzzing flies and maggots. The corpse was shrunken down, a mere bag-like thing, hardly resembling the creature it once was. However, there were enough clues to tell me it was a Rhydon that slumped there.
I had to rest. I sat on the bus chair, and thought. The body would have made me puke, but there was nothing to hurl. So, I had only dry-heaved, clutching the seat nearest me. At that moment, four thoughts entered my head.
My name is Drake.
I am a Garchomp.
I am the only one left.
I am a monster.