Clark's Story
As the luminous rays of the early morning sun shone through a window, the outline of a boy was visible. A sixteen year old boy stood there, awash in the golden light that filled his room. The light filled the room with a luminous glow that made it seem a sort of ethereal place. The effect of the light reflecting off of his silvery hair added to his effect.
For the past 5 years, he had stood in this same spot on the same day, watching and waiting. Every year past, he had watched three different kids strut by. Ten year old brats, boastful and immature.
What marked them different was what would walk by their side, a pokemon. They would strut by, boasting of the deeds they would accomplish, becoming the pokemon master, taming mewtwo himself and the like. Immature brats he thought, they don't deserve a pokemon.
How the watching boy hated them, and how much he wished to be one of them.
"Clark, could you come down here," his mother called , her vice sounding strange through the intercom "Your breakfast is getting cold."
"I'll be down in a minute," he called back. Sighing, he proceeded to slowly dress himself. Every year, he had watched this, and it still bummed him as much the first time as it did now.
Slowly, he pulled on his clothes: a pair of jeans, and his favorite sweater. He then spent the next couple of minutes trying to comb his silvery hair into a semblance of decency, but as usual he failed. He then proceeded to slowly walk out of his room and promptly managed to trip himself on a rug and fall, tumbling down the stairs.
The only thing that saved him from an untimely demise was the lush rug located at the foot of the stairs.
"Another rug?? What, there's only like 50 of them in this stinking place.
He slowly got up, taking no time to glance at the beautiful paintings, with more than a few Van Gogh's, that graced the wall, or at the priceless Ming dynasty vases held by exquisite hardwood stands.
He proceeded to walk though the series of rooms that led to the kitchens, not lingering at the many trophies with his name on them, or the series of strange mechanical things that stood in glass containers, each having at least one security guard to stand watch over it.
He ignored all of it, as it was all normal to him. He entered the kitchen, and pulled up a seat to the smell of delicious food prepared by the finest chefs.
"Hello Clark," his mother greeted him cheerfully, "did you have a good night's sleep?"
"Yeah fine," he grunted in reply.
"Let me guess," She said, "its journey day again."
"Clark, you know very well, why your father and I couldn't let you go on a journey. You needed to be prepared to take over the company. You're the only one capable of handling the company," she said too yet again no reply.
His mother turned to face the opposite direction. It was no use reasoning with her son she realized. Ever since all the other children his age went off on their pokemon journey's he became more and more sullen. He just wouldn't understand that he had to be ready to take over the company.
She quietly turned and observed her son. He was morosely staring at his breakfast, his favorite too.
Just then she heard a gaggle of speech from outside and went to investigate. It was a troop of trainers. They all had their pokemon out, and they were happily conversing among themselves and their pokemon.
Hearing the noise, Clark sat up and glanced out the window, what he saw made him even unhappier.
At seeing this, his mother made a decision, company or no company; she would let her son go out on his journey. He'd observed year after year, trainers coming home for a break, listened to the tales of adventure that they spun.
She had known for years that she would eventually have to let this happen. She had been putting it off, thinking of the responsibilities that they faced.
She slowly walked from the room, into an adjacent one. She paused between two small tapestries.
"Now, was it behind this one or that one," she murmured to herself. She waked up to the first one and took hold of a hook that was protruding from the wall beneath the tapestry, and pulled on it. Nothing happened.
"It must be the other one then," she said. She walked up to the next tapestry and pulled on the hook below it. It opened up to reveal a state-of- the-art-vault with a small retinal scanner next to it. She walked up to the scanner and let it scan her eye.
At that instant, the locks all slowly clicked open, and the door slowly swung open. Within it, there was contained a silvery sphere, that looked as if it might be a poke ball. She reached in and carefully took it out.
She paused to close the vault and put the tapestry into place before walking back into the kitchen.
"Clark," she said, "I have something for you."
Slowly, he looked up and saw the ball in her hands, his face taking on an expression of pure joy.
"You mean?"
"Yes, I do. I've been holding you here too long." She replied.
"Tomorrow, you start your journey."
As the luminous rays of the early morning sun shone through a window, the outline of a boy was visible. A sixteen year old boy stood there, awash in the golden light that filled his room. The light filled the room with a luminous glow that made it seem a sort of ethereal place. The effect of the light reflecting off of his silvery hair added to his effect.
For the past 5 years, he had stood in this same spot on the same day, watching and waiting. Every year past, he had watched three different kids strut by. Ten year old brats, boastful and immature.
What marked them different was what would walk by their side, a pokemon. They would strut by, boasting of the deeds they would accomplish, becoming the pokemon master, taming mewtwo himself and the like. Immature brats he thought, they don't deserve a pokemon.
How the watching boy hated them, and how much he wished to be one of them.
"Clark, could you come down here," his mother called , her vice sounding strange through the intercom "Your breakfast is getting cold."
"I'll be down in a minute," he called back. Sighing, he proceeded to slowly dress himself. Every year, he had watched this, and it still bummed him as much the first time as it did now.
Slowly, he pulled on his clothes: a pair of jeans, and his favorite sweater. He then spent the next couple of minutes trying to comb his silvery hair into a semblance of decency, but as usual he failed. He then proceeded to slowly walk out of his room and promptly managed to trip himself on a rug and fall, tumbling down the stairs.
The only thing that saved him from an untimely demise was the lush rug located at the foot of the stairs.
"Another rug?? What, there's only like 50 of them in this stinking place.
He slowly got up, taking no time to glance at the beautiful paintings, with more than a few Van Gogh's, that graced the wall, or at the priceless Ming dynasty vases held by exquisite hardwood stands.
He proceeded to walk though the series of rooms that led to the kitchens, not lingering at the many trophies with his name on them, or the series of strange mechanical things that stood in glass containers, each having at least one security guard to stand watch over it.
He ignored all of it, as it was all normal to him. He entered the kitchen, and pulled up a seat to the smell of delicious food prepared by the finest chefs.
"Hello Clark," his mother greeted him cheerfully, "did you have a good night's sleep?"
"Yeah fine," he grunted in reply.
"Let me guess," She said, "its journey day again."
"Clark, you know very well, why your father and I couldn't let you go on a journey. You needed to be prepared to take over the company. You're the only one capable of handling the company," she said too yet again no reply.
His mother turned to face the opposite direction. It was no use reasoning with her son she realized. Ever since all the other children his age went off on their pokemon journey's he became more and more sullen. He just wouldn't understand that he had to be ready to take over the company.
She quietly turned and observed her son. He was morosely staring at his breakfast, his favorite too.
Just then she heard a gaggle of speech from outside and went to investigate. It was a troop of trainers. They all had their pokemon out, and they were happily conversing among themselves and their pokemon.
Hearing the noise, Clark sat up and glanced out the window, what he saw made him even unhappier.
At seeing this, his mother made a decision, company or no company; she would let her son go out on his journey. He'd observed year after year, trainers coming home for a break, listened to the tales of adventure that they spun.
She had known for years that she would eventually have to let this happen. She had been putting it off, thinking of the responsibilities that they faced.
She slowly walked from the room, into an adjacent one. She paused between two small tapestries.
"Now, was it behind this one or that one," she murmured to herself. She waked up to the first one and took hold of a hook that was protruding from the wall beneath the tapestry, and pulled on it. Nothing happened.
"It must be the other one then," she said. She walked up to the next tapestry and pulled on the hook below it. It opened up to reveal a state-of- the-art-vault with a small retinal scanner next to it. She walked up to the scanner and let it scan her eye.
At that instant, the locks all slowly clicked open, and the door slowly swung open. Within it, there was contained a silvery sphere, that looked as if it might be a poke ball. She reached in and carefully took it out.
She paused to close the vault and put the tapestry into place before walking back into the kitchen.
"Clark," she said, "I have something for you."
Slowly, he looked up and saw the ball in her hands, his face taking on an expression of pure joy.
"You mean?"
"Yes, I do. I've been holding you here too long." She replied.
"Tomorrow, you start your journey."