------------------
Pokemon in no way belongs to me. If it did, I'd have more money than I knew what to do with and I'd buy a big house in the country and do nothing but write fanfiction. So if any of my fans could arrange for me to own Pokemon, it would be much apprectiated. ^^; Until then, just enjoy the story as a fanfic.
Notes: This takes place shortly before the second movie, and it's from Lugia's POV (in case you can't guess). In addition to the movie, I also reference the Pokemon games (Gold, Silver, and Crystal). This includes references to Ho-Oh and the three Legendary Speed pokemon. If you don't know who they are it doesn't matter that much. It's only a vague reference anyway.
------------------
Snatches of melody. Fragments of a tune that I knew long ago, but never heard.
There is nothing beneath the waves. Simply the roar of the ocean and the promise of a past that I never knew and may never remember. Who am I?
The melody is the only key. Pieces, glimpses of song that are there and gone again like phantoms in the mists, so quickly. And yet I know if I could only catch them, put them all together I would know. I would remember who I am. There would be answers to the questions.
Who am I? Why am I here? Why is it that I am destined to forever flit beneath the waves, confined to the darkest depths of the ocean? What am I waiting for? What is it that keeps me locked in this prison?
I could escape. I could so easily breach the surface and breathe, and look about to see the world, find myself, but I cannot.
Cannot leave. My vigilance. It is so important, but why, why, WHY?
A stirring. A stirring presence in the back of my mind. The children squabble pettily over their territory. My children? I do not know. They do it so often. Why always at war? Can they not see that they will destroy each other?
Too much destruction. Was there destruction in my past? I remember...
I remember a mate... a brother? Sister? Only a flash of gold across my memory. He... she? Has children as well. Not like mine. Three shapes, fast blurs, no more than a light color, a chance recollection of a tail or head or eye. Not offspring, but children. He brought them to life. No... not to life. Back into life, maybe? And so they are his children as these are mine...
A great sundering. Some catastrophe that no one could forsee and no one can remember but for legends and stories. What happened? We were driven apart. So much loss, when we were seperated. My children, with me. And the others all fled. No! Why must you all leave me! Please, I don't want to be alone!
Alone, with nothing but the maddening half-glimpsed memories of a tune long forgotten.
I have always known it, it seems. Was I born with it? Is the song but a memory of the void of creation? Was I ever born? Or have I been forever existant, always swimming in this sea of time, as ancient as the song which I cannot remember?
A boy. He has no face, for he has every face. Indeed I often feel that maybe somewhere, just beyond the tip of my mind it is there, waiting with all my other memories, the face of this boy. Is he someone I knew? From my past? I know him and yet we have never met, but for my far-distant past that no longer exists, or perhaps a future that has not yet occurred.
The boy and the song. The song and the boy. The two are always there, so important! So important and yet why? Why can I not remember their purpose? Why can I not remember the song?
A faint snatch of the music, gone too quickly. It slips from my mind so easily, as though it somehow cannot find a way to hold on, nor I to it, for it is gone and I cannot remember the piece, the small piece!
And again it comes, is it the same piece? A new snatch? A new piece of the puzzle come to torment the mind that realizes nothing?
The children, again they fight. They must not fight. It is important that they remain balanced. The balance is so important.
The song. The song is balance. Somehow, if I could only remember, the song will balance everything again. The children will not fight.
A fragment. It crawls through my mind, lingering longer than some, but of course not staying. But somehow... there is more than before.
The song each day becomes more of a reality. Soon I will remember, and then I can once more rise above the sea. Soon, soon, soon. When?
But... above the sea? Do I really wish to know the past? Can I remember the breaking without sorrow? Was it sorrow that drove me below the waves? I am scared. I am scared that the melody, once complete, may not be something that I wish to hear. And a mind, once awoken, cannot forget again.
As much as I fear it I need it. I need the completeness, even if it will tear knew holes in me. I need the knowledge, even if it will torment my mind with its presence.
The song. Snatches of faint melody getting louder.
Soon the song shall be played.
or
Feed the Tiger