Update: Tuesday, October 16th, 2018 — Life is a strange and curious beast, if you're willing to brave his wilds. I had totally abandoned this story, once upon a time. A bad habit of mine ruled me (to start something, then to lose interest and never finish). What's more, I had no vision for the story. No direction. Well, as Life should have it, that changed last night. Now I return to a story from 7+ years ago, a story which began like the mere, lingering traces of a dream: a faint glimmer, a taste, and nothing more. But this time ... this time I have a vision, a purpose. A direction. And I ...? I am different from who I used to be.

So then, let it be a prophecy when I say,

"This story shall have an end!"

Note: Critiques welcome! I'm using this story to practice my writing, so don't fret about offending me. :]

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from this story. All unoriginal characters and content belong to their creators; Pokemon is a registered trademark of Satoshi Tajiri and Nintendo.

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Blank Canvas

To take a photo is to remember a moment;

But to paint a picture is to bring it back to life.

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Prologue: Aftermath

-...the storm came out of nowhere, a typhoon unlike anything seen before. Wind speeds reaching over 200 miles per hour mark this as the worst category-5 hurricane on record; and while no one has yet determined the cause of this disaster, sources claim that, what with the sudden appearance and disappearance, it could not have been natural. For the passengers of luxury cruise-liner S.S. Fairmont, there was no warning...-

I had slowed to a stop behind the couch, the mention of the Fairmont arresting my attention. Chills crept up my back and down my arms. With my eyes glued to the screen, I sensed rather than saw the others react. The clatter of dishes in the kitchen ceased, the white noise of the faucet following soon after. My little sister looked up from where she played on the carpet.

"Isn't that the boat big brudder's on?"

"Quiet, Sally," mother snapped, stepping hastily into the room.

I tensed at the tightness in her voice.

-...diplomats, businessmen, and celebrities alike all survived due to the quick thinking of young World Champion, Tobias White, who according to eye-witnesses used his glacion to encase passengers in bubbles of ice that served both as lifeboat and protection from the storm...-

A grin slid onto my face at my brother's genius. It didn't touch my eyes. My teeth clenched, jaw locked tight. Why mention eye-witnesses when they could've just had Tobi explain it himself? I clenched the back of the couch. Where was my brother? Where was he?

-...survivors are incredibly grateful to the young man who saved their lives. Tragically, among them, young Tobias himself has yet to be found. In the blinding storm, no one saw...-

The blood turned to ice in my veins. My skin prickled, hot and cold at the same time. The voice of the reporter ... of my mother's muffled sobbing ... of little Sally, so scared and confused, her usually quiet voice climbing into a keen ... it all faded away, muted, as if it were happening in a room many walls distant. In my ears a dull sound beat stedily, like the crashing of many waves.

It couldn't be true. Not my brother, not him. He wouldn't just–

My brain shut down. I couldn't even think the word. Like a small child, a part of myself curled up. A part deep inside. I sensed it happen. The child curled into a ball and began to shrink, smaller and smaller, fading farther and farther away. And I just watched. Somewhere, some part of me knew that I needed to act. Something irreversible was about to happen. I needed to move, to grab hold of that child! I couldn't let the child disappear.

A part of me knew this. And I just watched the child slip away.

Gone ... gone. No more playing. No more adventuring together. No more playful teasing and tickling as we wrestled about, even after we'd been told to go to bed. No more help on my homework. No more tips on how to train. All of it, just–

The front door struck wall with enough force to tear me out of my thoughts.

"Turn that damned machine off!"

Father's voice hammered into us, and I flinched yet again. Finding my arms around my knees, wondering why they were there, it took me a moment to register why he was home. By the time it clicked — that this was normal, that this was always the time he got home from work — he was already halfway from the front door to the family room.

"Rylie! You hear me? I said, Turn. It. Off!"

If the boom of his voice wasn't enough to get me moving, the look on his face was. I scrambled to my feet, vaulting over the couch to reach the TV before he reached mother.

By the time I turned around, father had his arms encompassing her, rocking mother back and forth. He looked at me and nodded at Sally. I quickly followed his lead, scooping her up into my arms. Sally's wailing barely calmed. She clung to me, crying into my shirt, more so out of confusion that any degree of understanding. She was too young to really grasp this kind of loss. Then again, was I any better off? Not yet large enough to hold her with ease, I shifted her in my arms, leaning back and gently bouncing her the best I could. For the moment, it seemed to be working. I glanced back at father.

He held mother so gently, an expression of tenderness softening his face.

A sudden, unexpected anger burned behind my eyes, and I quickly looked away. For a moment, the child reappeared. My chest ached. My throat stung.

Sally squirmed, her crying pitching higher. I returned my attention to her, painting on a smile as I cooed and bounced, cooed and bounced.

The child began to fade.

We have a family to hold together, I told the child, trying my best to focus on my little sister. That was a good enough reason, right? I clenched my eyelids shut and breathed deep. "We have a family to hold together," I whispered. My eyes still burned. But when I opened them, the child was gone.

Somewhere far away, on an undisturbed beach, a young man awakes. Eyelids barely slits in a pale and lacerated face, his head shifts, gaze drifting, but taking in nothing. His body suddenly tenses. Head jerking to the side, he retches, water mixed with bile mixed with blood, pooling on the sand. As the fit passes, he remains there, curled. Holding himself. His whole body tense, brow sweat-flecked with pain, he waits.

A forest borders the beach.

Eventually, his eyes open once again.

The shadows grow long, his own reaching for the cover of the trees. A pair of krabbies emerge from the brush and skitter past him into the gentle waves. The first of the two ignores him. The second passes, then pauses ... then carries on. But the youth's gaze follows. Even if for but a moment, the image sparks something within him. Something perhaps forgotten. A hand clenches, fingers digging into sand. Finally, he moves, each action isolated from the rest. Slow and deliberate. He gets an arm under him and pushes. Jaw tightens. Eyes water. He coughs again, and nearly screams. But even so, he continues, pulling himself across the sand while the sun bleeds out into the sea.

By the time he reaches the treeline, day is dead. He slumps against a tree and slips down, down, down into the dirt. A trail is left behind him in the sand, a ragged scar flecked with shades of rusty brown. A wind blows in from the ocean, and he shivers violently. But this time, there is no scream. His face droops, eyes glassing over. Shallow breaths cloud the night. When he breathes out, it comes with the sound of burbling.

The sea laps at the shore. Smoothing it. Beginning its nightly task of cleansing away any marks left by the day before.

In the forest, a shape moves. Eyes reflecting in the light of a shallow moon, it regards the stranger. Waiting. Watching.

And the wind moves.