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TURNAROUND

«Prologue: What to Expect»

I was so close to succeeding, so close to getting on that ship and leaving this island in the chaotic disarray it so deserves, but alas, I have been caught in the midst of the very turmoil I have caused. I can see the ship. The rubber tires, hanging off the sides of the ship like bumpers, beckon me to jump from the dock and cling to them like I was originally supposed to do. I can't, though, for I've been restricted from moving by the island's police. To be honest, I didn't even know this little island had any form of police, let alone the miserly corporation owners who consider themselves as the "top" of the hierarchy and who feel fit enough to police the island.

The men, wearing their unfamiliar blue uniforms, force my head onto the hood of their car. They finally wrap shackles around my wrists, signifying the permanent end to my reign of terror.

So this really is the end. This feeling I have—a feeling of pride and satisfaction that I gained when I attempted to make things right, accompanied by a counterbalancing pang of sorrow that I gained when I couldn't succeed—hangs around me and greatly confuses me. Maybe it's the varying feelings that's putting me through such a state of discombobulation, or maybe it's just my head bleeding out onto the car's hood. As my vision blurs, I decide the latter is the most probable. It's too hot, and I haven't eaten anything substantial in days.

Natives are beginning to crowd around the policemen and me. They're angry. They want me to pay for destroying their homes and devastating their fertile lands and whatnot. But, I didn't physically wreck the island like this. After all, I'm just one being, and I'm not even strong enough to uproot a palm tree. No human can uproot a palm tree – nor can he or she fire railgun-like beams from their hands for that matter. Although, I can admit to taking a major part in the destruction of the island, since I have had a huge influence on the inhuman island dwellers, the ones that fire beams from their hands (or their inhuman equivalents). So I guess it's fair enough that I'm being punished. Whatever, I tried.

The crowd yells at the police, telling them to hang me or throw me into them and have them tear me to shreds.

A policeman responds by saying, "This is the 21st century, people. We have more humane and less barbaric tactics of execution, rather than just lynching the kid."

…What did he just say? Execution?

"Humane!" the crowd roars in protest. "He deserves being beheaded!"

"What he deserves is to be disemboweled with a rusty spoon!"

"Gouge his eyes and make him suffer!"

The policemen look on nervously, wide-eyed. One of them proceeds to gesture for the crowd to calm down, saying, "People, where is your sense of compassion? Lord have mercy... I assure you he will be dealt with one way or another, and you'll all be pleased to know that, yes, he will be executed."

A moment goes by where all blood in my body ceases circulation. Anxiety rushes over me in the form of an uncomfortably cold wave. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. So... It's been confirmed.

The man looks down at me with contempt. His intimidating glare puts me through cardiac arrest once more. He seizes my collar and pulls me up. "What's your name, boy?"

I still can't think straight. My lips quiver slightly, but no sound comes out. What's... What's my name?

After a while, the man shakes his head. "Don't answer me, then. I'll look you up in the records later." The policeman smirks, and it becomes clear that an idea has come to him. "You know what? Maybe we will lynch you. I'm sure we can make a sloppy scaffold in no time. Heck, we could just tie a noose to a tree, how does that sound? And we can make it a public event, too, just like in the olden days. Now get in the car, boy."

A fellow police assistant opens the car's door. I'm roughly forced in. I let out a gasp as my handcuffs dig into the skin of my wrists. The door slams shut, trapping me inside the car. I look out the window at all the angry farmers and citizens. What happened? What happened to this world?

As the car drives throughout the narrow, meandering roads of the island, I can feel myself getting closer and closer to my execution. I'm guessing they'll probably lock me up temporarily, prior to my death. Maybe my friend can find me in the cells, and bust me out. I doubt she know's where I am, though. However, if she knows anything about official punishment, she'll know to check the prisons. Hopefully. And, considering I'm not at the docks where she presumably is now, she'll probably figure I got caught up in something, such as the police force. I sigh as I think about my friend. We've only been separated for about fifteen minutes, but I miss her already. Most likely, I'll never see her again. And she'll probably be detained sooner or later, and then she'll probably either be killed like me or enslaved again. She could hop on the ship now, but knowing her, she'll probably come looking for me and miss the ship's departure. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have gotten caught.

I wonder what my parents will think when they find out about my death. Hell, I bet my father will attend my execution. My mother's more kindhearted, but my father was more disappointed in me than ever when he found out I was helping slaves. And when he finds out I'm mostly responsible for the island's havoc, I bet he'll be there, beer in hand, when my noose is tied, cheering for death to come to me already.

It isn't long before we arrive at the prison. I'm introduced to my temporary cell, a small, bleak space. I lie on my bed – it feels like a hard block of ice. At least it's not boiling in here like it is outside, though there is a barred window leading to hot sunlight. No one has tended to my head; blood still slowly trickles down from my temple. So, is my execution date tomorrow? Maybe I'll die of blood loss before then. . .

. . .The night drags on and on. No one has fed me, but I guess I don't need to be fed. I can't sleep. I keep waiting and hoping for my friend to appear outside the barred window, ready to melt through the metal with a swift flick of her paw. She never comes, though. I can only assume that she's already been restrained or shot, just like the rest of the rioters. The island seems to have quieted down. I guess all the rioters have been taken control of. Well that's just great.

The sun eventually rises. I didn't get a single hour of sleep, and I still feel horrible. After a few more hours of looking out the window of my dark and musty cave, praying for my friend to find me, a guard unlocks the gates and stands at the entrance of my cell. My heart is about to explode. It beats so rapidly that it sends uncomfortable tremors throughout my ribcage. The man emerges from the darkness of the outside corridor and approaches me. He then wraps my wrists behind my back with a durable rope. I'm then lead from my cell and towards the exit of the jail.

The sunlight greets me in all its bright and cheery glory. After what feels like eternity, the man reaches the end of his escorting: a large, dead tree that looms over a wooden platform (I think this platform served as the gallows long ago, before the noose's peg was removed for constitutional reasons; the faint outlines of the trapdoor are still visible). Of course, there's a crowd hollering at me angrily.

On such an island as this, death by hanging seems like it'd be considered wrong and highly unorthodox. So then why is everyone in favor of my hanging? Speaking of which, why can't I just repent for what I have done, so we can forget this entire thing?

I'm guided up the steps and onto the pallets. A poorly tied noose waits for me, hanging from one of the branches of the tree. They probably made this for me last night. The man works the rope around my neck. I take this last moment to look around, at all my old fellow island citizens. Suddenly, I'm no longer afraid to die. I don't want to live knowing that I've failed my attempt to redeem the world. I don't want to live knowing that several slaves have died on account of my initiative.

I'm sorry I let them down.

The guard is no longer on the boards. He now stands by with his hand on the trapdoor's lever (maybe the lever's too old to work properly). I recognize the policeman from yesterday among the crowd. He stares at me, eagerly waiting for the trapdoor to open. I look around for my parents. No, they're not here. Had my parents known anything about this, my mother would have objected my execution to the police, surely. One can only imagine what she and her husband are doing now. Evidently, they must be pretty oblivious to all the events that took place yesterday.

When is he going to push the lever? If they don't kill me soon, the suspense will do it for them.

...The boards of the platform beneath me begin to vibrate gently. This is it. I'm going to die. Moments later, the boards begin rattling violently. The crowd looks around, confused. The man guarding the lever seems to be just as puzzled as the crowd. Everything grows dark when something beastly and unidentifiable blocks out the sun like the moon during an eclipse. The silhouette then descends, allowing the sun to shine once more, and it becomes clear what the silhouette truly is:

A pokémon. To be exact, it's a—

"Legendary!" someone in the crowd shrieks at the top of their lungs.

The pokémon's white, sleek skin glistens in the light. Its flat, hand/wing-like appendages beat towards the ground, helping It stay in the air. It lets out a bellow of exasperation and disappointment as people begin to scatter in every which way in a state of panic. Before the people make it far though, the legendary lets out a shrill, ear piercing roar, aiming Its maw towards the scatterers. I cringe at the horrific sound. I think it's an attack of some sort. Whatever it is, it stops numerous people dead in their tracks. Clouds of blood burst from their temples and ears, and, for certain unlucky people, even out of their eyes. The natives collapse here and there on the ground.

The legendary, known as the almighty Lugia, beast of the hadal zone surrounding this chain of isles, ceases Its roar and tilts Its head to me. Something warm runs from my ear down my cheek. Dammit, Lugia, you're gonna kill me if you keep this up. But, the last thing I should be doing now is mentally scolding you. After all, you did finally answer my "prayers". I notice the lever guard has run off. While people still run here and there, occasionally running into one another, I use the opportunity to free myself from Death's necklace. At least I try to, anyway. My arms would help me, but they're still tied behind my back. It's useless.

Lugia lands on the dirt, sending dust up into the air. It takes another moment to look at me. While we exchange stares, my eyes drift off to Its back, where my friend clings onto one of Lugia's blue dorsal protrusions. She looks back at me and grins; her pearly fangs and her ruby eyes are perfectly clear from here, despite how we're a good distance away from each other. So, she hasn't been captured. Just in time, Lucario. Just in time.

Or so that's what I thought.

The policeman from yesterday still remains in the same place, but now there's a blue vein running along his forehead. He turns from Lugia to me, greatly incensed. He yells, "You! You-ou-ou-ou! You caused this!" as he charges towards the gallows. Funny how he went from being "all about compassion" to this. What's his problem all of a sudden? My attention immediately shifts from the officer to the bright flashes of Glocks and rifles, accompanied by the sounds of crackling gunpowder. Lugia hobbles about in confusion as It grunts and looks around, trying to decipher the source of the excruciating stinging that drills through Its body.

I open my mouth to warn It, but as I do so I feel my body fall through the wood. I drop a couple feet before the length of rope above runs out, and my body's reduced to a limp rag doll, bouncing up and down slightly, suspended in the air. One of my vertebra pops, and my neck is close to breaking, but due to the sloppiness of the makeshift scaffold, the height isn't quite enough to do the trick. I'm left hanging there, frantically kicking at the air and swinging around while I try to the best of my ability to prevent my strangulation. Everything surrounding the scaffold becomes dark, as if the planet's been enshrouded by a thick, gray smog. My mind begins to fade away... I can't... I can't hold out for much longer...

I think to myself, How did it become this way? What happened?

Suddenly, I find myself sitting on my lounge chair on my backyard beach like I had been weeks before, as if I have miraculously gone back in time, simultaneously losing all knowledge of the future. What just happened? I must've dosed off.

In my hands is my history book. Oh, no wonder I dosed off! This boring piece of garbage! I flip through the pages, gathering tidbits of information as I go.

1472. The first slave trade takes place, conducted by the Portuguese.
1503. The Spanish and Portuguese replace Native American gold miners with African slaves in Central America and the Caribbean.
1791. Eli Whitney patents the cotton gin, a tool used to clean the cotton that slaves pick, providing an easier and more efficient method of cotton cleaning. With the invention of this tool came the wider expansion of slavery.
1820. The Missouri Compromise is established, abolishing slavery in Maine but letting Missouri remain a slave state, thus temporarily ending the feud between the North and the South.
1831. Turner's Rebellion takes place, causing mass bloodshed in Southampton County. Lead by Nat Turner, enslaved Virginians attempt to start an uprising. All surviving slaves are hanged, including Turner.
1863. Abraham Lincoln ratifies the Emancipation Proclamation, abolishing completely the enslavement of Africans.
1868. The fourteenth amendment is ratified, allowing former African slaves citizenship.
1879. The Subjugation Relief Act is brought into effect, replacing the newly freed African slaves and filling in their previous positions with "less sentient" beings (pokémon).