Wood grain.
Fascinating stuff, wood grain. If you stare at it long enough, anyway. The patterns, the waves, the shading, the subtle differences. He sat, head buried in his hands, at the counter of the Pokemart. There hadn't been any customers yet today. Or yesterday. Or this week. For three months he had been trying to make a living managing a small Pokemart at the base of Mt. Moon. It seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway. You know, trainers are going in for a half-day hike through there, they might want to stock up, right? Well, he was right. Too bad they all stock up at the Pokemart in Pewter. At least it was the middle of the week. Business was always a little better on weekends.
Wood grain. It always comes back to the details, doesn't it? The way the light sinks into the indentations…the waves. The fading in certain areas. Details. He noticed things like this. The scuff marks on his counter from where the delivery man puts the boxes every other Thursday. The slight bends under the spot where the cash register used to be, before he rearranged the shop out of sheer boredom.
Andy was 28 years old, 7 years removed from his graduation from the Kanto branch of Earl's Pokemon Academy, and 6 Years removed from his failed attempt to open his own Pokemon school. Andy hated kids. Why he thought he could teach them…he'd probably never know. He had been bouncing around from town to town, doing odd jobs, helping out in Pokemarts and Pokecenters. He had even applied for gym trainer status, but was rejected on account of the fact that he had no Pokemon, nor any desire to catch them.
("Why can't you just…give me some?"
"You can't be serious.")
Wood grain. It occupied him, while he mulled over his regrets. Not becoming a trainer at 10…or 11…or 12…or ever. Maybe it was his independence. The fact that he didn't ever want to have to rely on someone else…something else…to get him out of trouble. He'd rather just stay out of the trouble in the first place. Maybe it was his impatience. Pokemon were worse than kids. They need all your attention, they can't do anything unless you spend hours upon hours teaching it to them, and they can't even speak. Maybe it was his rebelliousness. He thought it was much cooler to be the one kid who didn't want to be a trainer. It set him apart, right? Yeah…it set him apart, all right. Set him apart from the kids who went on to enjoy life. Set him apart from the successful. It was really 'cool' to run your own Pokemart…and drive it bankrupt in a few months because of stupid planning. He rocked back in his chair, for no other reason than to force him to stop staring at the wood grain of the countertop. This was not a rocking chair however, and the hind legs of the rusty metal stool began to wobble under his weight. He felt this happening beneath him, and shifted his weight to counter-balance the wobbling. Unfortunately, the shift in weight caused the back legs to slip a little in the soft earth that comprised the floor behind the counter. (he didn't have enough money when he built this place to have the entire thing floored) The chair shot forward out from under him, leaving Andy on his back, and in the dirt. He stayed there for a few minutes…longer than he probably should have, considering how much his back was hurting…but there wasn't much else to do, so he figured he'd save "getting up" for when he got really REALLY bored.
Besides, dirt proved to be almost as engrossing as wood grain.
He poked around in it for a while, pushing his index finger back and forth, lightly and with a little more force, uncovering lighter and darker patches, softer and more granulated areas. Wet and dry. He allowed his other fingers to join the fun, and he raked the dirt for a while, letting his thoughts drift back to where they always did…regrets. Never telling Erika how he felt back in school. He could go see her…he figured…but she was going to be a gym leader now, and he was a…dirt raker. Giving up on so many things in his life, because they didn't work at first, and he would just grow impatient with them.
His self-deprecating thought process was interrupted (thankfully) by his sudden inability to rake any more. He looked down, and realized that he had worn a hole a good seven or eight inches into the ground. Peering into the hole, Andy saw something absolutely remarkable. The ground had become quite hard, with a creamy tan hue, and a spiral pattern engraved into it. Was it the floor of a former establishment? No…he had bought recently-excavated land. There used to be boulders here. Was it some sort of tribal artifact from a period long forgotten? Maybe there was a tunnel buried deeper underground… and this was the roof? Scrambling to his knees from the twisted position he had been occupying previously, he began prodding the ground with his fingers.
He kept digging outward around the strange…almost shell-like texture, trying to find an edge. He finally found one after getting a foot or so further towards the counter, and was surprised to find that it was round. He dug the opposite side, and found another edge. No wonder it felt shell- like. This was a shell. Ignoring the pain in his back, he rushed to his feet and lifted the shell out of ths hole. Andy slapped a "Closed" sign on the door, (like it mattered) locked it, and started off towards the Pewter City Pokemon Museum. There had to be someone there who knew what this thing was, right? Running as fast as he could without harming the strangely-heavy shell, he maneuvered his way through the dirt maze that comprised the path that stretched from Pewter to Mount Moon.
"Hey! You're not wearing shorts!" yelled a young trainer from behind a row of bushes. He was waiting to ambush travelers and coax them into battling him.
"It's October, kid. Of course I'm not." Andy replied, and hurried past him, ignoring the boy's request for a battle.
A few hundred feet later, he was at the entrance to Pewter City. The museum was located on the outskirts of the drab municipality, which is too bad. It could breathe some life back into the area if more people knew about it. He slowed his pace as he neared the entrance…and grew quite discouraged when he saw the sign..
"Admission - $500"
He placed the shell on the ground and felt around in his pants pockets to see if maybe…just maybe he had some cash left from last week's few sales. A shopping list, a receipt for a pair of socks he had just bought, a few notes to himself reminding him of various things…but no money. He walked closer to the gate, hoping that someone would notice that he was carrying something…that may or may not be important. Someone did notice.
"Whoa! What's that?" The shouter was a man, maybe in his early 40's; quite skinny, with thick glasses and shoulder-length black, straggly hair. "That's Omanyte!! OMANYTE!!"
Andy thought he had some sort of valuable mineral for a second. "Armenite?" he asked.
"Here! Come here!! NOW!" he ran out from behind the turnstile that guarded the entrance to the museum, and escorted (pushed) Andy to a back entrance that had been hidden from his view. The museum attendant knocked once…twice…………then a third time after a short pause. The steel door opened, and another skinny man with glasses…this one with shorter hair and a lab coat…stood in the doorway, jaw dropped, eyes wide open.
"oh………oh my……….." he stuttered as he drew closer and closer to the shell, still in Andy's arms. Adjustiing his glasses, he continued muttering to himself "yes……….yes, very much…………..oh…………..oh yes……………..oh this is wonderful………….."
"what….." began Andy, only to be cut off by the man in the lab coat again.
"WHAT? WHAT! You don't know what this is? This is…was….could be….an Omanyte Shell."
"what's….armanite?"
"Omanyte, not 'armanite.' O.M.A.N.Y.T.E." He spelled it out "It was one of three known species of prehistoric Pokemon. Long believed to be extinct, no recent traces of them had ever been found before now. We had seen fossils in the past, but never any actual shell. "This shell would…" he tapped the shell with his fingernail "…should…have disintegrated ages and ages ago." He reached for the shell with both arms extended. "May I?"
Cautiously, Andy handed the shell over to the scientist, who nearly doubled over when he let go.
"…..heavy……too…..heavy……" Andy dropped to his knees and placed his hand underneath the shell, supporting it from the bottom.
"…thank you. This is far too heavy to be merely a shell. Take this to a Pokemon Center. I think you may have found yourself an Omanyte."
"……you mean…." Andy gazed quizzically at the man, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. "……A live one?"
"You'll find out soon, won't you. If so, this would make an amazing addition to your Pokemon collection."
"I…don't have a Pokemon collection."
"Well…." Replied the scientist, not expecting that response. "…it's never too late to start one. But if you don't want it, we'd love to have it here at the museum…."
Andy turned away from the scientist without acknowledging his last comment. What to do……Was it really "never too late?" Or did this thing belong here at the museum? Was it even alive? If so, how did it stay like this? What happened to it? Was it really "never too late?" Could he take care of this thing? Did he even want to try? Should he sell it? Was it really "never too late?"
……………
"never too late……………"
Fascinating stuff, wood grain. If you stare at it long enough, anyway. The patterns, the waves, the shading, the subtle differences. He sat, head buried in his hands, at the counter of the Pokemart. There hadn't been any customers yet today. Or yesterday. Or this week. For three months he had been trying to make a living managing a small Pokemart at the base of Mt. Moon. It seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway. You know, trainers are going in for a half-day hike through there, they might want to stock up, right? Well, he was right. Too bad they all stock up at the Pokemart in Pewter. At least it was the middle of the week. Business was always a little better on weekends.
Wood grain. It always comes back to the details, doesn't it? The way the light sinks into the indentations…the waves. The fading in certain areas. Details. He noticed things like this. The scuff marks on his counter from where the delivery man puts the boxes every other Thursday. The slight bends under the spot where the cash register used to be, before he rearranged the shop out of sheer boredom.
Andy was 28 years old, 7 years removed from his graduation from the Kanto branch of Earl's Pokemon Academy, and 6 Years removed from his failed attempt to open his own Pokemon school. Andy hated kids. Why he thought he could teach them…he'd probably never know. He had been bouncing around from town to town, doing odd jobs, helping out in Pokemarts and Pokecenters. He had even applied for gym trainer status, but was rejected on account of the fact that he had no Pokemon, nor any desire to catch them.
("Why can't you just…give me some?"
"You can't be serious.")
Wood grain. It occupied him, while he mulled over his regrets. Not becoming a trainer at 10…or 11…or 12…or ever. Maybe it was his independence. The fact that he didn't ever want to have to rely on someone else…something else…to get him out of trouble. He'd rather just stay out of the trouble in the first place. Maybe it was his impatience. Pokemon were worse than kids. They need all your attention, they can't do anything unless you spend hours upon hours teaching it to them, and they can't even speak. Maybe it was his rebelliousness. He thought it was much cooler to be the one kid who didn't want to be a trainer. It set him apart, right? Yeah…it set him apart, all right. Set him apart from the kids who went on to enjoy life. Set him apart from the successful. It was really 'cool' to run your own Pokemart…and drive it bankrupt in a few months because of stupid planning. He rocked back in his chair, for no other reason than to force him to stop staring at the wood grain of the countertop. This was not a rocking chair however, and the hind legs of the rusty metal stool began to wobble under his weight. He felt this happening beneath him, and shifted his weight to counter-balance the wobbling. Unfortunately, the shift in weight caused the back legs to slip a little in the soft earth that comprised the floor behind the counter. (he didn't have enough money when he built this place to have the entire thing floored) The chair shot forward out from under him, leaving Andy on his back, and in the dirt. He stayed there for a few minutes…longer than he probably should have, considering how much his back was hurting…but there wasn't much else to do, so he figured he'd save "getting up" for when he got really REALLY bored.
Besides, dirt proved to be almost as engrossing as wood grain.
He poked around in it for a while, pushing his index finger back and forth, lightly and with a little more force, uncovering lighter and darker patches, softer and more granulated areas. Wet and dry. He allowed his other fingers to join the fun, and he raked the dirt for a while, letting his thoughts drift back to where they always did…regrets. Never telling Erika how he felt back in school. He could go see her…he figured…but she was going to be a gym leader now, and he was a…dirt raker. Giving up on so many things in his life, because they didn't work at first, and he would just grow impatient with them.
His self-deprecating thought process was interrupted (thankfully) by his sudden inability to rake any more. He looked down, and realized that he had worn a hole a good seven or eight inches into the ground. Peering into the hole, Andy saw something absolutely remarkable. The ground had become quite hard, with a creamy tan hue, and a spiral pattern engraved into it. Was it the floor of a former establishment? No…he had bought recently-excavated land. There used to be boulders here. Was it some sort of tribal artifact from a period long forgotten? Maybe there was a tunnel buried deeper underground… and this was the roof? Scrambling to his knees from the twisted position he had been occupying previously, he began prodding the ground with his fingers.
He kept digging outward around the strange…almost shell-like texture, trying to find an edge. He finally found one after getting a foot or so further towards the counter, and was surprised to find that it was round. He dug the opposite side, and found another edge. No wonder it felt shell- like. This was a shell. Ignoring the pain in his back, he rushed to his feet and lifted the shell out of ths hole. Andy slapped a "Closed" sign on the door, (like it mattered) locked it, and started off towards the Pewter City Pokemon Museum. There had to be someone there who knew what this thing was, right? Running as fast as he could without harming the strangely-heavy shell, he maneuvered his way through the dirt maze that comprised the path that stretched from Pewter to Mount Moon.
"Hey! You're not wearing shorts!" yelled a young trainer from behind a row of bushes. He was waiting to ambush travelers and coax them into battling him.
"It's October, kid. Of course I'm not." Andy replied, and hurried past him, ignoring the boy's request for a battle.
A few hundred feet later, he was at the entrance to Pewter City. The museum was located on the outskirts of the drab municipality, which is too bad. It could breathe some life back into the area if more people knew about it. He slowed his pace as he neared the entrance…and grew quite discouraged when he saw the sign..
"Admission - $500"
He placed the shell on the ground and felt around in his pants pockets to see if maybe…just maybe he had some cash left from last week's few sales. A shopping list, a receipt for a pair of socks he had just bought, a few notes to himself reminding him of various things…but no money. He walked closer to the gate, hoping that someone would notice that he was carrying something…that may or may not be important. Someone did notice.
"Whoa! What's that?" The shouter was a man, maybe in his early 40's; quite skinny, with thick glasses and shoulder-length black, straggly hair. "That's Omanyte!! OMANYTE!!"
Andy thought he had some sort of valuable mineral for a second. "Armenite?" he asked.
"Here! Come here!! NOW!" he ran out from behind the turnstile that guarded the entrance to the museum, and escorted (pushed) Andy to a back entrance that had been hidden from his view. The museum attendant knocked once…twice…………then a third time after a short pause. The steel door opened, and another skinny man with glasses…this one with shorter hair and a lab coat…stood in the doorway, jaw dropped, eyes wide open.
"oh………oh my……….." he stuttered as he drew closer and closer to the shell, still in Andy's arms. Adjustiing his glasses, he continued muttering to himself "yes……….yes, very much…………..oh…………..oh yes……………..oh this is wonderful………….."
"what….." began Andy, only to be cut off by the man in the lab coat again.
"WHAT? WHAT! You don't know what this is? This is…was….could be….an Omanyte Shell."
"what's….armanite?"
"Omanyte, not 'armanite.' O.M.A.N.Y.T.E." He spelled it out "It was one of three known species of prehistoric Pokemon. Long believed to be extinct, no recent traces of them had ever been found before now. We had seen fossils in the past, but never any actual shell. "This shell would…" he tapped the shell with his fingernail "…should…have disintegrated ages and ages ago." He reached for the shell with both arms extended. "May I?"
Cautiously, Andy handed the shell over to the scientist, who nearly doubled over when he let go.
"…..heavy……too…..heavy……" Andy dropped to his knees and placed his hand underneath the shell, supporting it from the bottom.
"…thank you. This is far too heavy to be merely a shell. Take this to a Pokemon Center. I think you may have found yourself an Omanyte."
"……you mean…." Andy gazed quizzically at the man, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. "……A live one?"
"You'll find out soon, won't you. If so, this would make an amazing addition to your Pokemon collection."
"I…don't have a Pokemon collection."
"Well…." Replied the scientist, not expecting that response. "…it's never too late to start one. But if you don't want it, we'd love to have it here at the museum…."
Andy turned away from the scientist without acknowledging his last comment. What to do……Was it really "never too late?" Or did this thing belong here at the museum? Was it even alive? If so, how did it stay like this? What happened to it? Was it really "never too late?" Could he take care of this thing? Did he even want to try? Should he sell it? Was it really "never too late?"
……………
"never too late……………"