OK, well, this is my first story on FanFiction. Well, under this pen name. I've tried before a few years ago, and I was so disatisfied with the result that I didn't even want to use that name again. But, that was quite some time ago. I really hope I am better at this now.
So, some housekeeping...
The One and only Pokémon Disclaimer for the entire story!
(Mostly due to the fact that I am really really lazy)
Pokémon is trademarked and copyrighted to Nintendo, Game Freak, Creatures, Genius Sonority, Pokémon Co. Ltd. Japan and Pokémon USA Inc. All canon characters (Including all of the current official species of Pokémon as well as human characters from the video games and anime) and places and things (such as Hoenn or the PokéDex, for example) are owned by the aforementioned companies and the author (Sweet Apple Pi) only uses them to show his highly committed fanservice to this franchise. All original characters (Including human characters as well as fanmade Pokémon) and places and things originally created by this author are under the ownership of the author (Sweet Apple Pi), have no purposeful correlation to any other original character by another author, and may not be used without notification of the author.
I think that covers all the bases. Hehe. Yes, there will be fanmade Pokémon, but they do not appear until later into the story.
This fanfiction is rated T. That means that there will be some violence, coarse language, and some adult content. Basically, I wouldn't recommend this to anyone under say 13 or 14 or so... even though you're supposed to be at least thirteen to be on FanFiction, right? crickets
Please read, and review if you want to. Constructive criticism is highly requested, although I like praise too. Flaming will be laughed at.
Oh, and as for the title, Plain White T's Hey There Delilah does make a brief mention later in the story, but I'll make a mini-disclaimer when I get to it. Promise.
So, I really hope you enjoy!
Chapter One: Bang.
I was hiding under the bed when it happened. That's where I was told to hide. All I heard was a bang downstairs and I knew that my life would never be the same again.
It was a few days before Christmas, actually. We just finished putting up the Christmas tree and everything. The lights were really pretty that year - usually, my dad didn't do much more than a half-ass job setting up the lights, but that year, he made it his best effort to make the string of lights even around the tree and made doubly sure that every last green and red bulb was in good working order. He knew how much I liked Christmas. I think most eight-year-olds like Christmas, but I know that now I cannot stand Christmas at all.
But, like I was saying, it was a few days before Christmas, and we set up the tree and Dad made the lights all fancy and stuff. Oh, another thing that I remember about that day was the cookies. Yes, the cookies. They were sugar cookies (which still happen to be my favorite, even to this day), shaped in various Christmas-ish shapes such as evergreen trees with jagged lines to represent the branches or one of Santa's Stantler, except stubbier and more cartoon-like then the actual Pokémon itself. There was a heavy dose of frosting on them, just the way I like it. I remember biting the heads off of one of those Stantler cookies. No real importance at all, I just remember sinking my teeth right where the neck was and munching on the sugary cranium of the Pokémon. Well, if this isn't a tangent, I don't know what is.
Anyway, my father and I were sitting in the kitchen, looking at the Christmas tree with pride, and eating our Christmas cookies with plenty of milk. That's when I heard a knock on the door. Just two cold, loud knocks, not the kind of knock that the neighbor's kids used to do, which had its own rat-a-tat-tat, or like my mom's knock, which was soft and almost sheepish in the sound it gave of, but more of a stern knock that meant serious business. I should've known right then, I told myself for many years afterwards. I should've known then that there was going to be trouble, as there was no one that wanted to do serious business so close to Christmas. Or so I thought. I got up from my seat to walk up to the front door and let the visitor in, but my father stopped me from advancing by placing his arms on my shoulders. Well, I could've still moved had I really wanted to, but it was the feeling that my father emitted from his hands that made me know that I was to sit back down.
My father was a pretty big man, and not just in the eyes of an eight-year-old. He was about six-foot even, from my own recollections as well as stories that I have been told by my mom, and he was quite wide across the shoulders. He wasn't the fittest guy ever, but he definitely was muscular, muscular enough to pick me up and spin me around as if I was a Taillow flying. You would think that someone with an Ursaring of a figure such as my dad could've stopped what was going to happen, but I guess fate is an inevitable biotch when it wants to be. He opened the door only slightly before he turned back around. The last time I saw his face, it was in a look of concern: "Lennox, go upstairs please." I didn't ask why, I just did it. The way he said it gave no free room for questioning. I marched up the staircase and made it into my room, closing the door slowly and quietly behind me. I didn't want to come out as I had no clue as to what was going on downstairs. I put my body flat on the floor and strained to hear what my father and the visitor were conversing about downstairs, although it was in vain as they were speaking softly, making the voices inaudible through the hardwood floors.
It was then that I felt a strange sensation. In retrospect I guess I would have to call it a premonition. I didn't know how or why, but I just knew that there was something bad going on downstairs and it was heading for the worst. I don't even know how to explain it; the air just felt thick and heavy, humid with misfortune. My mind panicked; I desperately thought of something I could do. Do for what? I remember asking myself. I don't even know who's in trouble! Plus, I'm only eight years old! If there's one thing you have to know about eight-year-olds, as if you weren't probably one yourself once upon a time, is that they cannot do much. Sure, they can shout off their times tables, but eight-year-olds are just simply unequipped to handle definite trouble. Since that day, I wish they were.
I just stood there in a sense of self-chaos until something else happened that scared the pants off of me (well, figuratively, not literally. Although at that time I didn't care what kind of clothes I had on or off). A lamp down in the living room fell, hitting the floor and shattering in many pieces. Well, that's what I found out later. I couldn't recognize the sound upstairs, which made it about twenty times scarier than it should've been. I jumped in sheer terror. I was sweating bullets in late December. I felt like crying right then and there but then another premonition came over me, that the broken lamp was the least of my troubles. But this time, rather than just this feeling, there happened to be a guiding voice leading me to under my bed. This one is hard to explain too. Maybe I'm just a loony, and there were no premonitions, and I just created that memory to help me figure out why I survive, but nonetheless I swear that to this day I remember something within me telling me to get myself under my bed. I had to push a few things out - a couple of board games, a book on Pokémon, a picture of a snowman I drew last week in school (boy, it's amazing the things that we remember) - and I shoved myself under that bed. I was shaking by then, quite violently, if I remember right, and that's when I heard it.
Bang.
It was just one clean shot, right through the heart, according to what the doctor told my mom. I sat there in horror - I knew what sound a gun made. I lost it then. Tears were cascading down my round face, hitting the floor under my bed. Every muscle in my body was limp, preventing me from scratching my nose let alone try to escape. I just sat there and silently bawled until who-knows-when. I guess I eventually passed out, and woke up the next morning at my mother's house.
I was excited about Christmas that year too. I wanted a bicycle. My dad was going to buy one the next day.
Just an introduction to the character, Lennox, therefore it's a little on the short side. I like the name, don't you? Anyway, It'd be appreciated if you review, but if you don't want to I won't be truly bothered. Thanks for reading!