Crystal Clear
Crystal Clear
I possess little to nothing of value, and the rights to Pokémon and any of the many other things I mention in this tale are included in that non-ownership. Except for the plot and characters and stuff. That's mine. No plagiarizing. Now that we're done with the grammatically awkward disclaimers, on to the nonsense!
Chapter One: Exposition.
It was a lovely morning, the kind that seemed more likely to be found in the beginning of a bubblegum musical than real life. While I waited for the act one opening number to begin, I noticed my surroundings: the sun was shining through the blinds on my window, the clock read at a precise 7: 36 AM, the tinny lullaby was playing at the perfect volume…wait. The hell? Tinny, repetitive music? What the…
I shot up out of bed, a great deal more stressed out than I was ten seconds ago. This was not my room. I don't have a TV in my room, or a SNES, or a computer. And where in the expletive-ing hell was that God awful music coming from? Either I was dreaming (and what a terrible soundtrack my subconscious came up with if I was) or I was victim to a band of kidnappers straight out of Good Housekeeping. I sat on the edge of my- well, someone's- bed. The tinny lullaby played a few more bars, then looped around to the beginning again, and kept playing. Nevermind. These kidnappers were sick bastards.
I looked the room over again. Vaguely familiar, in an every-kid's-room-basically-looks-like-this kind of way. Also, it had stairs. Oh…stairs. People walked down those sometimes, didn't they? Well, if these Good Housekeeping Bastard Kidnapper people were trying to keep me here, they weren't doing a bang-up job of it so far. I quickly stood up, ready to make a track-star run of it to the staircase…then immediately got dizzy and sat down again. Once my eyesight stopped being all "Wheee lookit the yellow spots!", I took stock of my appearance. Straight red hair still in a messy bun, bright turquoise t-shirt, deep blue jeans, plain white sneakers. Still a girl, too. That was comforting. I glanced at the digital clock again. I vaguely remembered setting that time earlier today, and telling some guy the day of the week (Tuesday. Nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday) and my name; he hadn't laughed at it, either.
Most people ask me what kind of mileage I get when I answer to 'Mercedes'. Yes, my name is Mercedes Benz. My parents thought that was terribly funny. My parents are morons. But this dude had seemed positively eager about it, no quizzical stares or car-related puns. What a weird-ass dream. I snapped back to reality. Or, well, whatever this was. Time to go Bruce Willis on whoever put me here. I attacked the stairs again.
"Quaint." Was the first thought that came to mind. Not quite the lair of debauchery and women's magazines I was expecting to find at the bottom of the staircase. None of the men in ski masks making ransom notes out of Cosmo magazines and Elmer's glue I was expecting, either. In fact, there was only one lady, with unsettling quadrilateral eyes. Years of math class impulses made me want to measure her eyes and write out a proof on whether they were congruent shapes or not, but I refrained and attempted to casually stroll out the front door instead. Rhombus Lady cut me off.
"Hi, honey!" She greeted me. I did the whole cliché turn around 'are-you-looking-at-me?' thing. This lady couldn't seriously be referring to-
"Mercedes! I'm glad you're awake. Professor Elm wanted to talk to you earlier, but I told him you were asleep. My little girl, working with the professor!" Her little girl? Pardon? I am definately not anyone's 'little girl', especially not this lady's. And who the fornicating fornication was Professor Elm, and why did he want to see me, and WHY WAS THIS CRAZY-EYED LADY HANDING ME A CELL PHONE AND A MAP AND A BACKPACK OH GOD. I stared incredulously at these gifts, not hearing what this deluded woman was really saying. Then it clicked. She thought I was her kid! What kind of insane Stepford life had I been Shanghaied into? She wasn't my mom, this wasn't my house, and I wasn't standing for all of this benevolent abduction! I tossed the stuff in the backpack ("Jansport, good quality" I thought inanely to myself) and rushed out the door. I was yelling as I left, but for the sake of this transcript I won't smut it up with the outlandish string of profanities I distinctly remember shouting. Excuse me, but I had a rough morning.