The New Generation
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It was a relatively sunny morning and light filtered through the window of Bradley and Evan's room, casting a soft glow on the chamber's sleeping inhabitants. Evan stirred from his peaceful slumber and rolled onto his back silently before sitting upright, his back rigid and tense, on the white sheets of his bed. The Asian boy yawned in the same way a contented feline would and stretched his lean arms upward. Evan slowly got out of his bed and walked lazily to the window, raising his arms above his eyes to protect himself from the blinding glare of the sun. He then pushed the sliding windowpane up and let a cool winter breeze rush in. Evan's black ponytail fluttered with the wind and he proceeded to fix it in an unhurried, absentminded way. "It is 9 am, Bradley... You should get up from your sleep."
Bradley let out a giant yawn from the bed adjacent to his and got out from underneath his warm blanket. The blonde European shook his head and begun to commence his morning exercises. He cocked his head in the direction of his roommate and greeted him, "Mornin', Evan."
"Same to you, Brad. I believe Father Matthew wanted us to see him today."
"Oh yeah... I'll just get changed and head downstairs."
Bradley's emerald green eyes traveled to his companion and immediately noticed Evan was already wearing a clean white t-shirt and khaki pants. He raised an eyebrow questioningly but shrugged off his bewilderment. Bradley, however, could not resist inquiring about the rapidity of his friend's change of clothes and as he pulled out a long black jacket from their reasonably small wardrobe, shot a question at his best friend.
"How did you change so unbelievably fast?"
"I slept in these clothes. It's a useful strategy."
"What! Won't they get wrinkled?"
"I don't move in my sleep, Brad."
"..."
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"Good morning to both of you, Evan and Bradley."
"Good morning, Father Matthew."
"Sit down over there. I have something important to ask of you two, my sons."
Bradley, dressed in a neat sleeveless white shirt and clean blue jeans, sat down along with his stoical friend. Father Matthew, who was sitting quietly on a small bench, smiled at his two orphans and placed his wrinkled and frail hands on his lap. "My good friend Allen Dickinson visited our center yesterday afternoon and asked a favor of me."
Evan stared, apparently zoned out, at the wall a few good meters away from the elder priest's face and continued to do so, nodding silently in response. Bradley stole a quick glance at his friend, who was visibly absorbed in thought, and returned his attention to the ever cheerful Father Matthew. The European teenager then stretched his arms above his head and said,
"Okay, but what does this have to do with us?"
As the subject had turned to a matter that was of relevance to him, Evan's eyes snapped to Father Matthew's smiling face and watched him intently. Inside his heart was pounding loudly, as if shouting aloud: "This is it, Evan! Someone wants to take you in!" But he shut out the nagging thought and kept his mind blank and free from such a hopeful notion.
The priest chuckled, remembering what he had said to Mr. Dickinson but yesterday, and looked straight at his young wards.
"My friend is holding a beyblading tournament right here in our city and is inquiring if you two wish to participate in the competition. The winner is drafted into a new team and will travel the world, battling other enthusiasts of the sport."
Bradley's jaw dropped and words were pouring into his mouth like a flood of rushing water. A thousand voices were screaming in his head, telling him this was it, an opportunity to get out of St. Joseph's Center for Children and see the rest of the planet. But there was something else in that flow, pounding against the back of his skull endlessly; telling him something was wrong and that his dream would not be fulfilled...
"We don't have beyblades." Evan's voice, cold and unfeeling yet also sharp, sliced through the tense air.
The Asian teenager looked down at the floor, his eyes filled with a sorrow darker than any night, and rested his forehead on his tan palms. Bradley sighed, bit his lip, and stared at his rubber shoes as well, holding back the frustration and anger that coursed through every nerve in his body. An amused laugh was received by their ears however and the two boys looked at Father Matthew with inquiring eyes.
"A few dozen years back, a long time before beyblading was popular, my friend Allen excitedly gave me a few of the very first of those beyblades ever created and I've kept them with me since then. They might be a bit antiquated but I believe they'll suit you fine."
Father Matthew turned his gaze to the high ceiling of the former church turned orphanage and twiddled his thumbs, trying to ignore the obvious excitement of his two protégées.
"So, do you two boys accept?"
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Bradley ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his jaw slightly ajar, and gently fingered his somewhat dusty beyblade, which was a pure white color, as it was entirely unpainted. He ran a finger across its smooth attack ring, feeling its edges, dulled over the course of many years, and intently gazed at it like he owned for months.
It was already quite late at night but Bradley continued ogle at his new beyblade as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He realized that he and Evan were supposed to wake up bright and early as Father Matthew would be taking them to a small establishment where young beybladers gathered to train but he couldn't keep his eyes off his beyblade. But at long last, after a few dragging hours of meticulous examination, Bradley yawned, exhausted from the day, and laid his ancient beyblade down on the bedside table, right next to the rosary with the angel carving.
"Tomorrow is the first day I get a chance to beyblade... Stupid me for not asking Father Matthew if I could a long time ago..."
He yawned, dropped down onto his bed and pulled his blanket over himself, drifting off into dreamland...
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~You there! Why do you possess me?~
What are you talking about? I don't have anything...
~You are wrong! You have me! But why? Are you not to weak to control me?~
Who are you? And in what am I too weak?
~You shall discover that when I decide you are worthy.~
Answer me! Who are you and what do you want with me?
~Good night, Bradley! I shall return when you are stronger.~
Hey, wait, a second! No way are you escaping!
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End of Chapter
Okay, that's it. In the next chapter they meet Mr. Dickinson and get a few lessons in street beyblading from the neighborhood champions.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
It was a relatively sunny morning and light filtered through the window of Bradley and Evan's room, casting a soft glow on the chamber's sleeping inhabitants. Evan stirred from his peaceful slumber and rolled onto his back silently before sitting upright, his back rigid and tense, on the white sheets of his bed. The Asian boy yawned in the same way a contented feline would and stretched his lean arms upward. Evan slowly got out of his bed and walked lazily to the window, raising his arms above his eyes to protect himself from the blinding glare of the sun. He then pushed the sliding windowpane up and let a cool winter breeze rush in. Evan's black ponytail fluttered with the wind and he proceeded to fix it in an unhurried, absentminded way. "It is 9 am, Bradley... You should get up from your sleep."
Bradley let out a giant yawn from the bed adjacent to his and got out from underneath his warm blanket. The blonde European shook his head and begun to commence his morning exercises. He cocked his head in the direction of his roommate and greeted him, "Mornin', Evan."
"Same to you, Brad. I believe Father Matthew wanted us to see him today."
"Oh yeah... I'll just get changed and head downstairs."
Bradley's emerald green eyes traveled to his companion and immediately noticed Evan was already wearing a clean white t-shirt and khaki pants. He raised an eyebrow questioningly but shrugged off his bewilderment. Bradley, however, could not resist inquiring about the rapidity of his friend's change of clothes and as he pulled out a long black jacket from their reasonably small wardrobe, shot a question at his best friend.
"How did you change so unbelievably fast?"
"I slept in these clothes. It's a useful strategy."
"What! Won't they get wrinkled?"
"I don't move in my sleep, Brad."
"..."
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
"Good morning to both of you, Evan and Bradley."
"Good morning, Father Matthew."
"Sit down over there. I have something important to ask of you two, my sons."
Bradley, dressed in a neat sleeveless white shirt and clean blue jeans, sat down along with his stoical friend. Father Matthew, who was sitting quietly on a small bench, smiled at his two orphans and placed his wrinkled and frail hands on his lap. "My good friend Allen Dickinson visited our center yesterday afternoon and asked a favor of me."
Evan stared, apparently zoned out, at the wall a few good meters away from the elder priest's face and continued to do so, nodding silently in response. Bradley stole a quick glance at his friend, who was visibly absorbed in thought, and returned his attention to the ever cheerful Father Matthew. The European teenager then stretched his arms above his head and said,
"Okay, but what does this have to do with us?"
As the subject had turned to a matter that was of relevance to him, Evan's eyes snapped to Father Matthew's smiling face and watched him intently. Inside his heart was pounding loudly, as if shouting aloud: "This is it, Evan! Someone wants to take you in!" But he shut out the nagging thought and kept his mind blank and free from such a hopeful notion.
The priest chuckled, remembering what he had said to Mr. Dickinson but yesterday, and looked straight at his young wards.
"My friend is holding a beyblading tournament right here in our city and is inquiring if you two wish to participate in the competition. The winner is drafted into a new team and will travel the world, battling other enthusiasts of the sport."
Bradley's jaw dropped and words were pouring into his mouth like a flood of rushing water. A thousand voices were screaming in his head, telling him this was it, an opportunity to get out of St. Joseph's Center for Children and see the rest of the planet. But there was something else in that flow, pounding against the back of his skull endlessly; telling him something was wrong and that his dream would not be fulfilled...
"We don't have beyblades." Evan's voice, cold and unfeeling yet also sharp, sliced through the tense air.
The Asian teenager looked down at the floor, his eyes filled with a sorrow darker than any night, and rested his forehead on his tan palms. Bradley sighed, bit his lip, and stared at his rubber shoes as well, holding back the frustration and anger that coursed through every nerve in his body. An amused laugh was received by their ears however and the two boys looked at Father Matthew with inquiring eyes.
"A few dozen years back, a long time before beyblading was popular, my friend Allen excitedly gave me a few of the very first of those beyblades ever created and I've kept them with me since then. They might be a bit antiquated but I believe they'll suit you fine."
Father Matthew turned his gaze to the high ceiling of the former church turned orphanage and twiddled his thumbs, trying to ignore the obvious excitement of his two protégées.
"So, do you two boys accept?"
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Bradley ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his jaw slightly ajar, and gently fingered his somewhat dusty beyblade, which was a pure white color, as it was entirely unpainted. He ran a finger across its smooth attack ring, feeling its edges, dulled over the course of many years, and intently gazed at it like he owned for months.
It was already quite late at night but Bradley continued ogle at his new beyblade as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He realized that he and Evan were supposed to wake up bright and early as Father Matthew would be taking them to a small establishment where young beybladers gathered to train but he couldn't keep his eyes off his beyblade. But at long last, after a few dragging hours of meticulous examination, Bradley yawned, exhausted from the day, and laid his ancient beyblade down on the bedside table, right next to the rosary with the angel carving.
"Tomorrow is the first day I get a chance to beyblade... Stupid me for not asking Father Matthew if I could a long time ago..."
He yawned, dropped down onto his bed and pulled his blanket over himself, drifting off into dreamland...
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
~You there! Why do you possess me?~
What are you talking about? I don't have anything...
~You are wrong! You have me! But why? Are you not to weak to control me?~
Who are you? And in what am I too weak?
~You shall discover that when I decide you are worthy.~
Answer me! Who are you and what do you want with me?
~Good night, Bradley! I shall return when you are stronger.~
Hey, wait, a second! No way are you escaping!
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
End of Chapter
Okay, that's it. In the next chapter they meet Mr. Dickinson and get a few lessons in street beyblading from the neighborhood champions.
