CHAPTER 8-FORK OF DESTINY
Time stood completely still. The world, and everything in it, was erased. Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Oore, and all the land masses were gone. The oceans and the seas, the lakes, rivers and tiny streams. Humans, pokemon, and animals alike, they were all scoured from the earth. New Bark Town, the Pokemon Trainers School, all ceased to exist. The bright yellow flowers, the gently swaying grass, the wrecked buildings, all disappeared. All that was left was nothingness, a void...And Mark's lone figure. The sole thing in existence, such was his frame of mind. Mark was shaking visibly. "No..." he breathed, not daring to believe. "No..... No...." was all he seemed to be able to utter.
The second passed, and time resumed its normal passing. "NO!!!" shouted Mark, still not believing. Then, turning swiftly, but less than quietly, he positively fled, his feet thumping as they touched the grass. He was running quicker than he had ever done before, leaving everyone behind in a matter of seconds and disappearing around the corner. Officer Jenny just stood there and looked on sadly, making no effort at all to stop Mark.
"Leave him be for now," she said quietly to the ambulance crews. "He needs time to think," she decided.
"Dragonite!" cried Dragonite, sharing part of Mark's anguish, for although it knew Mark was not the best of trainers, he was still its trainer, and so it grieved. "Dragonite!" it called, looking up at the sky. Slowly, the glint off a tear seemed to form at the edge of Dragonite's eyes, but was gone the next second, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Wow, what a sight!" marveled Officer Jenny. "Was it just an illusion? Or was it for real?" she asked herself. Slowly, a little afraid at first, she walked up quietly behind Dragonite. Dragonite turned a little, analyzing her, before accepting her and turning back to look at the slowly dipping sun. Officer Jenny was both encouraged and moved by this gesture, and put one soft hand on Dragonite's shoulder, thinking. Thinking of Mark, of Dragonite, and of today's unexpected events.
The strands of time desperately trying to hold that moment weakened, then snapped, and the familiar sense of duty once again returned to Officer Jenny. "Dragonite, you... You need to be with Mark," she said to the majestic pokemon. Dragonite looked up slowly into the sky again, as if it was sighing to the heavens, and then slowly nodded. "Or rather, Mark needs you," she added. "He may be too angry and proud to admit it, but someday, he'll look back and appreciate you being there Dragonite," she told him. "Or at least, I certainly hope he will," she muttered. Dragonite shook his head exasperatingly in agreement. "Also, give him this when you find him please," said Officer Jenny, taking off the leather satchel strapped to her shoulder, which seemed to contain a bulky object inside. "I was supposed to give this to him along with the news, but under the circumstances..." she broke off.
Dragonite looked at the item inside, and then nodded, albeit dubiously. "Yeah, I know, I know. But give these to him after he calms down a bit, and maybe then he won't act too brash," replied Officer Jenny, who understood Dragonite's thoughts on this matter all too well for her own liking. "Not that it would matter, from what I've seen of Mark," she thought. "I wouldn't be surprised if he just smashes them to bits when he sees it. Still, I have to try," she continued. "Good luck Dragonite," she murmured. "You'll need a lot of it."
"Officer!" interrupted a voice, just as Dragonite was about to take off. "We've found someone in the wreckage!" the distant voice continued. From the distance, the tall figure of one of the ambulance officers came running towards Officer Jenny. "He is still breathing and has a weak pulse, but he's out. I believe he may be in a coma," she said. "His name appears to be Joseph Maros, but we're not one hundred percent sure," she told her. "He's sustained a few injuries, but most of it is just bruising. He was very lucky," she told Officer Jenny. "A part of the fence fell on him," she continued.
"Ouch!" commented Officer Jenny, wincing. "He was lucky. Well, this isn't good for Mark," she stated. At the confused glance from the other woman, she took to explaining the situation. "Well, Joseph was Mark's best friend. His only friend too," she added. Her eyes clouded. "Dragonite, wait just one sec. She took out a pen and a pad of paper and began writing furiously. "Someone needs to tell him of Joseph too," she explained.
Finally, after two minutes of writing, she stopped. Putting away her pen, she then folded and gave Dragonite an A4 page. "Put it in the bag," she said. "Well, you'd better get going, you have a lot of work to do," she sighed.
"So, the events have come, and the stage has been set. The question is, what will you do now with your life, Mark Witsinski?" she asked in her head. "We shall see I suppose," she thought. Turning to the ambulance crews which had now assembled, along with a stretcher bearing the unconscious and battered body of Joseph, she said "come on. I've had enough of this place anyway. Other policemen will be here soon to check things out. I'll escort you to the hospital. Let's get going." And, with a last glance at the nexus point of today's events, or rather, what was left of it, she hopped onto her police motorbike and zoomed out, with the ambulances in tow, their combined sirens screeching into the air.
Dragonite opened its majestic yet relatively small wings as it prepared to take off. They were not the kind of wings you would expect from a dragon, the huge wide wings you might see on television. Dragonite slowly began to flap its wings, and then lifted off the ground.
Mark sped aimlessly through town like a madman, so engrossed in his rage was he. He didn't care where he went; he just knew he had to get away from it all. Thus he ran, faster than he had ever done so before. His feet beat the ground firmly with every step. Countless men, women and children alike yelled and shouted angrily as he violently pushed past them. This, Mark did not notice. Pokemon barked and growled as he half tripped over them. This, he did not notice. Cars blared loudly at him as he ran across roads, often blocking what traffic there was (as New Bark Town was generally a very small and quiet town) and generally causing chaos on the roads. This, he did not notice either, such was his sorrow.
He was in agony. Such exquisite pain was impossible for Mark, or anyone else, to fully describe. His emotions sprang up all at the same time, all fighting to come out. His body was burning, screaming, protesting at the torment. For Mark, who had lost his parents early in his life, had now lost the last semblance of family. The bonds barely holding him and his feeble self together had snapped. This was pure, vile anger. The only thing in his mind that actually formed enough to become intelligible to Mark's brain was but one word: run.
And by the gods, run he did all right. His rampage continued as he ran like a stampeding horde of Tauros, past the newsagent, where adults were buying newspapers and magazines of all sorts, past the candy store full of children, and many other small shops selling this tidbit or that thingamajig. He turned, and kicked a metal bin, making a huge clanging noise, making onlookers stare, as well as giving the bin a huge dent. He put all his emotion into the kick, as well as his considerable body strength.
All this time, he was yelling his head off. "NO!" he cried, "Gramps! Gramps! Paul!" he yelled, which was probably the first time he had called his Grandfather by that name. "Grandfather!" he continued, stopping his frenzied dash, if only for a few seconds. "Why did you go? NO!" he shouted, clenching his fists. His anger soared to even more incredible heights. "PAUL! GRAMPS! GRANDFATHER!" he yelled at the top of his voice, straining his lungs to no end. People just stood there, gaping, muttering amongst themselves. But no person present wished to try and stop Mark, which was probably a good thing. "GRANDFATHER!" he shouted again, still clenching his fists hard, fingernails digging into his skin, though he seemed not to notice. "ARGH!" he yelled, and right on cue, the fire hydrant top suddenly rattled violently. People nearby started turning their attention to the suddenly mobile top of the fire hydrant. "GRANDFATHER!" yelled Mark for the third time in his anguish. The fire hydrant top exploded off, flying many metres into the air. The water contained inside it sprayed out with it, flying even higher than the top, and drenching everyone within a radius of about ten metres. People blinked, unsure of what had just occurred. Cars skidded to a halt. Office assistants stopped their usual work and looked out of the windows. Mark took one glance at the high fountain of water, before snapping once again into his trance-like state of chaos. "NO!" he yelled, taking off again at breakneck speeds. Passers by simply blinked meekly again, not quite sure what to make of the strange proceedings. It was certainly not the average day at work for most residents.
In a matter of minutes Mark's continual destructive frenzy (for he had attacked everything from the simple garbage bin to brick walls everywhere) had taken him past the business district of New Bark Town (if you could call it that, for the "district" was hardly a few kilometers squared) and into the quieter residential district, distinctly larger than its busier counterpart. Gradually, the small number of cars that were on the roads of New Bark Town lessened, as did Mark's collisions with pedestrians, though this in part was due to the fact that word had been spread about a "raving lunatic".
Yet still, despite the lack of people, Mark still ran, past the numerous brick houses, not forgetting to kick the gate, past garages both new and old, and past the occasional mansion, still shoving aside the unlucky person once in a while. He punched the lamp post, hammered the concrete and threw sticks at walls. Everything that could be done was done. And thus the same continued for several minutes, until his painful grief took him outside the town, and onto a large hill on the outskirts, overlooking all of New Bark Town.
It was only here that the highly agitated form of Mark stopped, though it seemed only for a rest, for he was panting hard indeed. This hill proudly stood alone overlooking the city, for the rest of the land north and east of New Bark Town was all dedicated to farming as far as the eye could see. There was short grass all around but not a tree to be seen anywhere near the vicinity, though there was but one boulder on that hill, strangely enough. How it had gotten there Mark had no idea, and nor did he have any interest in finding out, though it was most likely the remnants of a battle held previously on that ground. Elsewhere, all around Mark, paddocks, their golden produce basking gloriously in the sun as they showed themselves off, and the ocean just south of the town could just be glimpsed, those majestic green-blue waters extravagantly reflecting the sun's rays. To the west, the route leading towards Cherrygrove city, Route 29, could be seen. Yet Mark, though stopped, nonetheless still did not notice these things, instead, sadly, focusing on his rage again. -- "GRAMPS!!!" he screamed one more time, putting all his grief, anger, sadness, and indeed all the emotions in his fragile body into the scream of anguish. Without warning at all, the nearby boulder suddenly fractured, and split into tiny pieces before you could utter a sound. One moment it was there, and the next, fragments of the large boulder were flying every which way. Mark Witsinski stopped, and fell on his knees, collapsing to the ground. And there he remained; sobbing uncontrollably at all he had lost today.
Dragonite looked down at the city in a mixture of sadness and amazement as he flew over. At one intersection, two cars had crashed, although thankfully both drivers seemed to be okay. One car had skidded into a traffic light. That was now rather went, and definitely out of commission for a while. Another small kid not yet seven perhaps was being helped to walk, as he himself was limping. The poor kid's leg was bandaged by a makeshift material, probably from someone's shirt, and held crude crutched made from wood, which nevertheless seemed to dot he trick. Further on in the chaos, the fire hydrant was still spewing water high into the air, the likes of which might be seen in a natural geyser in certain places. Dragonite didn't even want to know what had happened there, or anywhere else really for that matter.
Mark's trail was fairly easy to follow, especially in the busier bits of town, (just follow the grey concrete road with rubbish all over it) though as Dragonite got into the more residential-based areas, its job did get a bit harder, though not impossible by any means. In fact, the destruction was perhaps even more of a stand out, for the marks left by Mark were easily spotted from the air with Dragonite's keen eyes.
It was amazing how much chaos one little kid could cause by himself in the city. Garbage bins were spewing their unwanted contents along roadsides, one light pole seemed to have a rather large dent in it, and one gate to a mansion was reasonably bent. It seemed that Mark had not only run, but had gone out of his way to destroy anything he had come across. This angered Dragonite slightly, though it certainly didn't blame the boy. So sadly following the trail of destruction, Dragonite dutifully flew in search of its master, along with its payload.
This route took him outside the city, where the destruction it seemed had finally stopped, though of course this was probably due to the lack of objects to throw, kick, punch or smash. From the outskirts, Dragonite, being a dragon, could see quite clearly that Mark's solitary figure was perched on top of the only hill around for miles. Flying forward quickly, it flew straight, and then up, directly attacking the cliff face, and then hovered in front of Mark's shaking form. Dragonite landed softly on the grass next to Mark, who was still kneeling, and put one thick orange hand softly on Mark's back comfortingly, making sure Mark knew that Dragonite was there for him. Mark continued to sob quietly, on and on. Yet Dragonite let him cry, and hopefully Mark would get some of that anger out of him. Or at least, that was Dragonite's plan anyway. In so many ways, Dragonite wanted to say something to Mark to make him feel better, to comfort him. It wished it could ease its master's pain. Yet something rightfully told Dragonite there was nothing it could do, except be there.
Instead, Dragonite looked around and saw the fragments of the boulder, but didn't ask any questions for obvious reasons. Instead, it saw that Mark had been injured, presumably by a flying piece of the rock. It knew Mark would be fine, even without any treatment for the injury, for it was only a flesh wound, and would heal in time. But pressed by Dragonite's feeling of helplessness, combined with its good nature, it focused its mythical powers, and glowed blue as it emitted the soothing blue waves. For Mark, there was an immediate and almost unbelievable change. The physical pain was gone. But in reality it did little for Mark, for that physical pain nothing, not even comparable to the emotional pain he was experiencing. It was doubtful that he even noticed. If anything, the absence of physical pain made the emotional pain worse, and even more unbearable, for with his injury, there was something to divert his thoughts.
And so Mark got up silently, walked to the edge of the cliff, and remained there, dangerously close to the edge, which led to quite a drop, perhaps a hundred metres or so in height. Not that Mark knew, or cared most likely. Dragonite was prepared to stand for however long it took until Mark got going again though, for it understood Mark's pain, and, in its own little way, shared it too. Perhaps Mark was not the easiest trainer to get on with, but he most certainly did have his qualities.
Memories flowed through Mark's head, ones from years ago, and ones from but a few days previous, yet all were linked to his Grandfather. "He was always there..." murmured Mark, lost in his thoughts.
The first time he had seen Paul through his baby eyes; those sparkling blue eyes of Paul's, which had always seemed to light up with crackling energy and joy at the sight of Mark. He picked up the then tiny Mark, smiling to no end, laughing with the kid, and playing with him. "This was taken from me..." muttered Mark, clenching his fists and tensing slightly.
More memories sprung to mind. The first word he learned to speak, his parents had told him, was "Gramps", though "food" and "Mama" had apparently come soon after. "He was...Such a great guy," admitted Mark, "and he never ever minded me calling him Gramps either!" he remarked sadly, remembering. "When I was learning to walk, Gramps was always there to pick me up, to help me get up one more time than I fell," he thought. Pictures came flashing back. Him when he was a little toddler, crawling on the floor of their old mansion back in Hoenn. Paul had always chased the energetic toddler then, always encouraging him and giving him motivation to try harder, and go for higher things. "He always helped me succeed in my life, no matter how ignorant I was of him..." he murmured sadly. "Yet now..." he broke off, unable to continue.
Instead, additional pictures, images, memories came flooding back. The time when he had learned to ride a bike, Paul had been there, sharing his lovely memories of that time, looking on proudly, rewarding and congratulating him. He had vague memories of falling over on his little bike then, which was no more than half a metre tall. Yet his Grandfather had been there for him, to lift him up again, look after the wound, and happily sending him off to play again. Laughing, rejoicing, dancing, nothing had stood between their joyous times together when he was young. "It was snatched from me!" he thought fiercely, with more life in him now. Dragonite, standing a bit behind him, noticed this, but couldn't tell for sure whether this was a good or bad thing.
And so Mark did stand thus, for minutes, then hours on end. Remembering, thinking, recalling memories, some of which had been long forgotten. Many times he seemed asleep, although Dragonite could always sense that pulsating anger from Mark, which disturbed it a fair bit. Yet it allowed Mark to continue, undisrupted.
Through the night, when all children should go to bed and rest, Mark still stood. The stars seemed not to twinkle this unhappy night, but instead seemed bleak, and miserable. They lacked the shine that they usually possessed. "The same shine in Gramps' eyes," reminisced Mark, perhaps his first observation since the tragedy. The frowning dark night came and went, chased off by the glorious sun. Yet still, Mark stood.
"He was the first to show me a pokemon..." Mark remembered. "It was... a.... Butterfree, yeah that's it!" he thought. The most beautiful thing..." he whispered. "But then, he was taken from me...TAKEN!" he roared out loud. Dragonite shifted slightly, still observing Mark.
Dragonite sense a shift of emotion in Mark-his thoughts became darker and darker, angrier, as time went on. He was thinking of nothing, yet everything at the same time. And so Dragonite stood watch over this unstable and melancholy figure.
Mark thoughts unwillingly drifted to his first day in Kindergarten. A bully had come and teased him. In his mind, he remembered crying out helplessly as they called him names. Nothing that would bother him now-he had gotten smarter than that, but at that age, knowing nothing but the joys of living, playing, and being a child, he had cried, and the bullies just stood, watched, and laughed. They had scorned him, and laughed at him.
When he was doing a presentation of a project in fourth grade, the year before his parents disappeared, he had fallen of his chair. All the students had laughed and pointed at him then. Mark boiled with anger at the thought. He had been helpless. His state of mind twisted his thoughts, as he revisited that day. He fell of his chair, and when he looked up, everyone was staring, laughing. But suddenly, one face started to change. The expression changed from good natured laughter, to a more subtle, malicious intent. Slowly, all the faces around him changed into angry faces, accusing, malicious. Mark trembled. "NO!" he yelled, pulling himself out of the vision. He grabbed his head by his golden hair, and violently shook it from side to side for a few seconds. By the end of that time, he was sweating and breathing hard.
When he was playing basketball, he remembered running towards the hoop. His teammate threw the ball at quick quickly, seeing an opening. Mark concentrated on the ball, and prepared to catch. But his concentration on the ball ultimately led to a lack of concentration in other areas. He didn't watch his feet, and tripped over his own laces. He seemed to fall slowly in his mind, as he continued to stare at the ball even as he was falling. The lines on the basketball gained life, and started
shifting. They formed into various shaped in seemingly random spots, but when they stopped, Mark gasped. Now they were random shapes no longer, but a face! A dark, laughing face. He could imagine everyone around him, looking, laughing, and pointing, at his clumsiness. The black lines continue to spread as the ball became not orange, but the deepest black. The ball ceased to be a ball, but was instead just a shape, sliding around.
The image disappeared, and Mark was again left clutching his head.
Thus the thoughts came on and on. Each one a dark memory. His mind twisted and shaped each one, turning them into horrible nightmares. But Mark could not stop himself from thinking these thoughts. Dragonite could sense Mark's emotions. Every dark thought came, and went, each slowly torturing Mark in his mind, before leaving.
And then that day too passed on, as the impatient night came once again. The stars twinkled, all seeming to look upon Mark, yet he noticed not the distinct yet suppressed beauty of the stars. Yet still Dragonite stood by its master, watching over him sadly.
Now the memories were nothing short of evil. When his parents had had arguments at night, Mark had laid in his pokemon bed, cowering, afraid. But when they had left... At first he had believed what his Grandfather had said, that they would return soon. That everything would be alright. In his naïveté, he had believed him. Yet, as each day passed, his hopes had dwindled. He remembered that he would ask his Grandfather every day after school "Has Mum and Dad come back?" in his sweet voice.
Each day he would get the same reply from Paul. "No, not today Mark. But soon," he had always said. Gradually, as he faced life, Mark transformed himself, though typically, he would never admit it. "Why, he...he lied to me! He lied!" he cried softly. Again, he crumpled on his knees and fell silent, thinking about that one thing. "He lied to me, he lied to me!" was all that ran through his head. There he remained, head bowed, anger coursing through him. At times, his fists were clenched together tightly. Others, he seemed to be perfectly calm, almost asleep in tranquility. Still other times, Mark simply seemed lost.
That night came too, and was gone again. But that night was not like the previous days. Dragonite sensed something...strange. At times, Mark seemed to be in great anger and pain. But as the night went on, Mark anger seemed less obvious. Though this was on the face of it good, Dragonite felt nervous. Something was wrong, it could sense, with Mark's character. Something Dragonite had never felt, experienced or seen before.
The third day commenced, and still Mark was rooted in the same position, not moving, but most definitely not sleeping, though his eyes had begun to droop a little as of late. But Dragonite would have no more, and finally decided to put an end to this. He began to walk up to Mark, intending to wake him up from his trance like state.
Mark stood up suddenly, just as Dragonite was no more than a metre from Mark, shocking the great dragon pokemon. Mark was... Different, Dragonite sensed. It was one fluid motion that Dragonite had seen, smooth and elegant, contrasting strongly to the movement last made by Mark three days ago. Movements that had been jerky and filled with anger.
Dragonite could still sense the continual anger in Mark. Yet this anger seemed not to be as prominent in Mark's mind as it was before. It now seemed to dwell deeper within the confines of his mind. It should have been a relief to Dragonite; yet it remained wary.
Mark looked up slowly to the sky, filled with dark, threatening clouds, greyer and more formidable than usual. It was completely unbroken, and filled the entire sky as far as the eye could see. "Come, Dragonite! Let us make for Cherrygrove City," he called, almost as a statement to himself rather than Dragonite. His icy, jagged voice cracked through the air like a whip, momentarily stunning Dragonite. This was a vast change from when last he spoke. Mark's voice was now clear, loud, and betrayed absolutely no emotion whatsoever, save for the coldness.
Dragonite did not like this change, and retained a wariness towards Mark. After all, if such anger could be quelled so suddenly...
Remembering something all of a sudden, Dragonite pulled itself out of its disturbing thoughts, hovered, and swiftly flew in front of Mark, who was in the process of turning, finally breaking his gaze from the still sleepy city and the dark ominous clouds which had captured it for so long. Mark stopped in mid-turn, and stayed there, motionless. Dragonite stopped, gauging Mark's reaction. "What on earth is the matter now?!" he snapped irritably.
And snapped was right, Dragonite sensed. Mark's face began to contort with rage. His eyes narrowed and his head pounded. Quickly, Dragonite put one large paw on Mark's shoulder, not wanting to see what Mark would do. Dragonite had a feeling it wouldn't exactly have been pretty. Mark glanced up sharply. His previously innocent blue eyes were now colder than ever before. They sparkled not with the brightness of a clear blue sky, but with the cold, frozen ice realms of the extreme north and south. The eyes alone made Dragonite shiver; never something which could be done withy ease. Before Mark could erupt in more fiery words, Dragonite removed its paw from Mark's shoulder and down into the brown leather satchel Officer Jenny had given it.
Fumbling for but a second, Dragonite took out the light, though bulky, parcel. Mark, after being offered the plain brown paper parcel, took it silently, his hands briefly touching Dragonite's paw. Dragonite shivered at the touch; they were freezing! Yet... That was not all. There was also a strange coldness that was conveyed by Mark's touch; and this went deeper than being physically cold for sure.
The violent sound of paper being ripped by Mark interrupted Dragonite's thoughts. Mark took out the Pokedex slowly, as if studying something he had not seen before. The pokedex was quite a bulky object, and frankly, didn't look like more than a piece of junk. There was a large array of relatively tiny and complicated-looking buttons, with only small abbreviations to show there use. Plainly, it was mind-boggling. The screen looked quite tiny, no more than perhaps two by three centimeters. Mark pushed the comparatively large red button which bore the words "ON/OFF" in plain, albeit large, white text. While waiting for the machine, mark silently glanced at the various buttons, taking in each little detail, while recalling each button's use.
For this machine, though still a prototype and very crude, was no stranger to Mark; this device had in fact been designed by Mr. Maros, Joseph's father. As such, Mark had often seen plans for this device. Though it was by all means a great invention, Mark usually had no interest in technology, especially since his parents had disappeared.
The machine hummed to life suddenly; a sharp, cracking noise which immediately quieted down into a low, monosyllabic drone. The pokedex vibrated quickly in Mark's hands. At the same time, the tiny screen lit up, now a bright, fluorescent shade of blue, rather than the dull, lifeless brown which had previously inhabited the space. After a second of delay, the plain, black word "Pokedex" showed on the screen, the background of which was still the same shade of fluorescent blue.
Mark sneered. Bringing up his tightly clenched fist, he suddenly slammed it down onto the "ON/OFF" switch violently, making a crunch on impact. Removing his fist, mark simply looked at the now lifeless machine. In a swift, fluid movement, mark took one step forward, and in the next instant, flung the bulky machine straight over the cliff! Dragonite didn't react. It just stood there, rooted by Mark's action. A loud bang was heard soon enough; the screeching and complaining of metal as it was bent and twisted on impact.
"I need to help," stated Mark arrogantly in a low tone. "I need only myself. Now, come Dragonite!" he said, and began to walk towards Route 29, which of course led to Cherrygrove City. Dragonite was just glad the Pokedex hadn't simply exploded on impact. Slowly, it began to follow Mark.
But Mark stopped. Dragonite quickly followed suit, waiting for Mark. "Dragonite," Mark began, "go to Joseph's place and tell him to come to Route 29. We'll leave as soon as he gets here," he planned, utterly unaware of Joseph's present condition.
Slowly, Dragonite, who had forgotten completely about Joseph, reached once more into the pouch and grimly took out the only object inside, a neatly folded piece of paper. Mark stuck out a hand and hesitantly took it. Unfolding the paper, it read:
Mark Witsinski,
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Joseph Maros was present at the PTS during your battle with Mr. Despotta. He was knocked unconscious by the blast during the battle, and as a result is now in a coma. At this time, his condition is uncertain. He has also suffered several physical injuries, but the full extent of these are yet to be known. However, it is also my pleasure to tell you that doctors believe at this stage that Joseph should wake up from his coma in a few days, and that his physical injuries will heal in time. My deepest sympathies are with you at this troublesome time, Mark.
Yours truly,
Officer Jenny
Dragonite watched Mark, holding its breath. Mark just kept staring at the page, so fiercely it was as if he was willing the page to disappear. Unsurprisingly, it did not. Slowly, Mark crunched up the letter in his fist. "...Joseph..." Mark murmured.
It was certainly not the response Dragonite had been expecting. Instead of being angry, or sad, or anything like that, Mark seemed... Confused, almost. He seemed to be thinking. "Joseph...Joseph..." continued mark quietly as if in a trance. All of a sudden, his ice cold eyes shattered, and became warm again, lighting up. Then, just as suddenly, Mark's eyes flickered, and the warmth which had lit his eyes only moments before was driven out. His eyes froze and hardened, becoming cold once more.
"Come on, Dragonite! Joseph will be fine!" he declared, though he sounded a tad uncertain. He quickly squashed that however. "He'll know where we're headed." He walked off without another word. Dragonite sighed, and looked back towards New Bark Town. Everything looked perfectly normal now. Dragonite frowned, or at least, its equivalent of a human frown. Using its considerably eyesight, it could see a lone figure... Concentrating, Dragonite could just make out the figure-Officer Jenny.
She was standing outside the city's main gate, holding binoculars to her eyes, watching the two. When it thought Officer Jenny was looking at it, it nodded slowly. Dragonite saw Officer Jenny's head dip slightly, then rise again in answer. Dragonite turned, and hurried to catch up to Mark.
Officer Jenny simply stood there. She could not help remembering Mark's eyes-they had lit up, if only for a second. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Mark Witsinski."
Joseph's eyelids rose and his pupils once again received the glorious light of day. Sleep's dark wisps never remained around Joseph after he woke up, clouding his memory as it did to some. Immediately, he remembered what had transpired. The battle. Camerupt. Dragonite. The PTS. The blast. The destruction. Mr. Despotta. Mark. Mark! Joseph began to bolt upright only to be stopped by a strong, male hand.
"Hey, you've come to!" a man, obviously a doctor, said cheerfully. He was wearing a white overcoat, navy pants and a pair of brown leather boots, but that was basically all Joseph could see. "Just lie down for a bit," the guy ordered. "Oh, and watch your arm-it's broken. I'll be right back, I'm just gonna get another fellow to come have a look at yaw, okay?" he asked, and left, winking, without waiting for an answer.
Joseph lay back down slowly, watchful of his arm, and looked around. There was not much to see really. Joseph's bed was surrounded by a green curtain, blocking all view of the outside. The ceiling was plain white, much like the bed. The only other thing in sight was a small wooden table, bearing a clock. "I wonder what time it is..."he thought, as he twisted to look at the clock. "Three o'clock in the afternoon, 29th September," he read aloud. "Crikey! That means I've been unconscious for three days!" he exclaimed.
The curtain was pulled back a little, though not enough for Joseph to see anything major. The first doctor entered with another, taller doctor, with the same uniform as the first, and someone who Joseph knew, though not personally, as Officer Jenny. "Yep, you were knocked unconscious. Apparently, a gate fell on ya," stated the first doctor rather cheerfully. "You slipped into a coma," he continued nonchalantly, ignoring Joseph's obvious concern. "The gate protected you from a lot of the small debris that was flying around, so you didn't get cut up to bad," he said. "Of course, your arm did get broken," he added.
"Well, Joseph certainly seems fine," remarked the second doctor in a lower voice. "Especially considering he's just slipped out of a coma. His physical wounds won't be a problem," he told Joseph.
"Yeah, and you just watch that arm of yours kid, you dig?" interrupted the first doctor with the ever present grin on his face. Joseph nodded.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but could I please speak with the patient? Alone?" asked Officer Jenny politely. The two doctors nodded and left without another word.
"So, how're you feeling?" she asked. Joseph simply nodded, waiting to hear more. "Well, let's get right down to it. Mark's just gone through a lot recently, after his battle. There was some very sad news you see, and as a result, Mark has...changed. Let me fill you in on what's happened since Mark's battle," she said, and began to explain all.
"Well, I take it you'll be going after Mark?" she asked knowingly. Joseph nodded only slightly, still taking in all of Officer Jenny's words; just as Officer Jenny had expected. Joseph naturally wanted to help his friend. "And heck does Mark need helping," she thought privately. "So, be careful. Like I've said, he's changed. He's grown more...angry, and...unpredictable. I think he'll need you more than ever now, Joseph," she told him. "But never give up hope on him. You'll understand when you meet him for yourself."
Joseph at this point didn't really understand. But, at the same time, he knew that if she said there was something to look out for, Joseph was sure there was something to look out for. Something about Officer Jenny made him trust her more than anyone else in this matter. "Mark..." he thought sadly. "How will he react? Is he alright?" Questions ran through his head, but he quickly pushed them into an obscure part of his brain when he realised Officer Jenny was waiting for him.
"The doctors?" Joseph asked, quickly glancing at the clock once more. It now read fifteen past three. He stood up, as did Officer Jenny. "Come on Joseph, you gotta believe in yourself man!" he though inwardly. As stupid as the thought may have sounded, it gave Joseph courage.
"I'll deal with them," interrupted Officer Jenny, putting one hand on Joseph. "But for now, you must catch up to Mark," she said. She had a knack for understanding people, and it was in times like these that it really helped. She felt as if she knew Joseph and Mark. It was a strange feeling.
"He left a few hours ago, so you'd best hurry. I'm sorry I can't take you there myself... But first-go to level 4, parking space 110. Grab the backpack from my motorcycle. Now go, Joseph. Good luck," she said, and gave him a little push. She knew that Mark needed Joseph if he was to be healed. He had caused chaos by himself for a day in the small town. She didn't even want to think about Mark, alone, in the big city.
"Thanks!" Joseph smiled. Then, turning, he quickly ran off. "I'm coming, Mark. I'm coming."
Time stood completely still. The world, and everything in it, was erased. Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Oore, and all the land masses were gone. The oceans and the seas, the lakes, rivers and tiny streams. Humans, pokemon, and animals alike, they were all scoured from the earth. New Bark Town, the Pokemon Trainers School, all ceased to exist. The bright yellow flowers, the gently swaying grass, the wrecked buildings, all disappeared. All that was left was nothingness, a void...And Mark's lone figure. The sole thing in existence, such was his frame of mind. Mark was shaking visibly. "No..." he breathed, not daring to believe. "No..... No...." was all he seemed to be able to utter.
The second passed, and time resumed its normal passing. "NO!!!" shouted Mark, still not believing. Then, turning swiftly, but less than quietly, he positively fled, his feet thumping as they touched the grass. He was running quicker than he had ever done before, leaving everyone behind in a matter of seconds and disappearing around the corner. Officer Jenny just stood there and looked on sadly, making no effort at all to stop Mark.
"Leave him be for now," she said quietly to the ambulance crews. "He needs time to think," she decided.
"Dragonite!" cried Dragonite, sharing part of Mark's anguish, for although it knew Mark was not the best of trainers, he was still its trainer, and so it grieved. "Dragonite!" it called, looking up at the sky. Slowly, the glint off a tear seemed to form at the edge of Dragonite's eyes, but was gone the next second, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Wow, what a sight!" marveled Officer Jenny. "Was it just an illusion? Or was it for real?" she asked herself. Slowly, a little afraid at first, she walked up quietly behind Dragonite. Dragonite turned a little, analyzing her, before accepting her and turning back to look at the slowly dipping sun. Officer Jenny was both encouraged and moved by this gesture, and put one soft hand on Dragonite's shoulder, thinking. Thinking of Mark, of Dragonite, and of today's unexpected events.
The strands of time desperately trying to hold that moment weakened, then snapped, and the familiar sense of duty once again returned to Officer Jenny. "Dragonite, you... You need to be with Mark," she said to the majestic pokemon. Dragonite looked up slowly into the sky again, as if it was sighing to the heavens, and then slowly nodded. "Or rather, Mark needs you," she added. "He may be too angry and proud to admit it, but someday, he'll look back and appreciate you being there Dragonite," she told him. "Or at least, I certainly hope he will," she muttered. Dragonite shook his head exasperatingly in agreement. "Also, give him this when you find him please," said Officer Jenny, taking off the leather satchel strapped to her shoulder, which seemed to contain a bulky object inside. "I was supposed to give this to him along with the news, but under the circumstances..." she broke off.
Dragonite looked at the item inside, and then nodded, albeit dubiously. "Yeah, I know, I know. But give these to him after he calms down a bit, and maybe then he won't act too brash," replied Officer Jenny, who understood Dragonite's thoughts on this matter all too well for her own liking. "Not that it would matter, from what I've seen of Mark," she thought. "I wouldn't be surprised if he just smashes them to bits when he sees it. Still, I have to try," she continued. "Good luck Dragonite," she murmured. "You'll need a lot of it."
"Officer!" interrupted a voice, just as Dragonite was about to take off. "We've found someone in the wreckage!" the distant voice continued. From the distance, the tall figure of one of the ambulance officers came running towards Officer Jenny. "He is still breathing and has a weak pulse, but he's out. I believe he may be in a coma," she said. "His name appears to be Joseph Maros, but we're not one hundred percent sure," she told her. "He's sustained a few injuries, but most of it is just bruising. He was very lucky," she told Officer Jenny. "A part of the fence fell on him," she continued.
"Ouch!" commented Officer Jenny, wincing. "He was lucky. Well, this isn't good for Mark," she stated. At the confused glance from the other woman, she took to explaining the situation. "Well, Joseph was Mark's best friend. His only friend too," she added. Her eyes clouded. "Dragonite, wait just one sec. She took out a pen and a pad of paper and began writing furiously. "Someone needs to tell him of Joseph too," she explained.
Finally, after two minutes of writing, she stopped. Putting away her pen, she then folded and gave Dragonite an A4 page. "Put it in the bag," she said. "Well, you'd better get going, you have a lot of work to do," she sighed.
"So, the events have come, and the stage has been set. The question is, what will you do now with your life, Mark Witsinski?" she asked in her head. "We shall see I suppose," she thought. Turning to the ambulance crews which had now assembled, along with a stretcher bearing the unconscious and battered body of Joseph, she said "come on. I've had enough of this place anyway. Other policemen will be here soon to check things out. I'll escort you to the hospital. Let's get going." And, with a last glance at the nexus point of today's events, or rather, what was left of it, she hopped onto her police motorbike and zoomed out, with the ambulances in tow, their combined sirens screeching into the air.
Dragonite opened its majestic yet relatively small wings as it prepared to take off. They were not the kind of wings you would expect from a dragon, the huge wide wings you might see on television. Dragonite slowly began to flap its wings, and then lifted off the ground.
Mark sped aimlessly through town like a madman, so engrossed in his rage was he. He didn't care where he went; he just knew he had to get away from it all. Thus he ran, faster than he had ever done so before. His feet beat the ground firmly with every step. Countless men, women and children alike yelled and shouted angrily as he violently pushed past them. This, Mark did not notice. Pokemon barked and growled as he half tripped over them. This, he did not notice. Cars blared loudly at him as he ran across roads, often blocking what traffic there was (as New Bark Town was generally a very small and quiet town) and generally causing chaos on the roads. This, he did not notice either, such was his sorrow.
He was in agony. Such exquisite pain was impossible for Mark, or anyone else, to fully describe. His emotions sprang up all at the same time, all fighting to come out. His body was burning, screaming, protesting at the torment. For Mark, who had lost his parents early in his life, had now lost the last semblance of family. The bonds barely holding him and his feeble self together had snapped. This was pure, vile anger. The only thing in his mind that actually formed enough to become intelligible to Mark's brain was but one word: run.
And by the gods, run he did all right. His rampage continued as he ran like a stampeding horde of Tauros, past the newsagent, where adults were buying newspapers and magazines of all sorts, past the candy store full of children, and many other small shops selling this tidbit or that thingamajig. He turned, and kicked a metal bin, making a huge clanging noise, making onlookers stare, as well as giving the bin a huge dent. He put all his emotion into the kick, as well as his considerable body strength.
All this time, he was yelling his head off. "NO!" he cried, "Gramps! Gramps! Paul!" he yelled, which was probably the first time he had called his Grandfather by that name. "Grandfather!" he continued, stopping his frenzied dash, if only for a few seconds. "Why did you go? NO!" he shouted, clenching his fists. His anger soared to even more incredible heights. "PAUL! GRAMPS! GRANDFATHER!" he yelled at the top of his voice, straining his lungs to no end. People just stood there, gaping, muttering amongst themselves. But no person present wished to try and stop Mark, which was probably a good thing. "GRANDFATHER!" he shouted again, still clenching his fists hard, fingernails digging into his skin, though he seemed not to notice. "ARGH!" he yelled, and right on cue, the fire hydrant top suddenly rattled violently. People nearby started turning their attention to the suddenly mobile top of the fire hydrant. "GRANDFATHER!" yelled Mark for the third time in his anguish. The fire hydrant top exploded off, flying many metres into the air. The water contained inside it sprayed out with it, flying even higher than the top, and drenching everyone within a radius of about ten metres. People blinked, unsure of what had just occurred. Cars skidded to a halt. Office assistants stopped their usual work and looked out of the windows. Mark took one glance at the high fountain of water, before snapping once again into his trance-like state of chaos. "NO!" he yelled, taking off again at breakneck speeds. Passers by simply blinked meekly again, not quite sure what to make of the strange proceedings. It was certainly not the average day at work for most residents.
In a matter of minutes Mark's continual destructive frenzy (for he had attacked everything from the simple garbage bin to brick walls everywhere) had taken him past the business district of New Bark Town (if you could call it that, for the "district" was hardly a few kilometers squared) and into the quieter residential district, distinctly larger than its busier counterpart. Gradually, the small number of cars that were on the roads of New Bark Town lessened, as did Mark's collisions with pedestrians, though this in part was due to the fact that word had been spread about a "raving lunatic".
Yet still, despite the lack of people, Mark still ran, past the numerous brick houses, not forgetting to kick the gate, past garages both new and old, and past the occasional mansion, still shoving aside the unlucky person once in a while. He punched the lamp post, hammered the concrete and threw sticks at walls. Everything that could be done was done. And thus the same continued for several minutes, until his painful grief took him outside the town, and onto a large hill on the outskirts, overlooking all of New Bark Town.
It was only here that the highly agitated form of Mark stopped, though it seemed only for a rest, for he was panting hard indeed. This hill proudly stood alone overlooking the city, for the rest of the land north and east of New Bark Town was all dedicated to farming as far as the eye could see. There was short grass all around but not a tree to be seen anywhere near the vicinity, though there was but one boulder on that hill, strangely enough. How it had gotten there Mark had no idea, and nor did he have any interest in finding out, though it was most likely the remnants of a battle held previously on that ground. Elsewhere, all around Mark, paddocks, their golden produce basking gloriously in the sun as they showed themselves off, and the ocean just south of the town could just be glimpsed, those majestic green-blue waters extravagantly reflecting the sun's rays. To the west, the route leading towards Cherrygrove city, Route 29, could be seen. Yet Mark, though stopped, nonetheless still did not notice these things, instead, sadly, focusing on his rage again. -- "GRAMPS!!!" he screamed one more time, putting all his grief, anger, sadness, and indeed all the emotions in his fragile body into the scream of anguish. Without warning at all, the nearby boulder suddenly fractured, and split into tiny pieces before you could utter a sound. One moment it was there, and the next, fragments of the large boulder were flying every which way. Mark Witsinski stopped, and fell on his knees, collapsing to the ground. And there he remained; sobbing uncontrollably at all he had lost today.
Dragonite looked down at the city in a mixture of sadness and amazement as he flew over. At one intersection, two cars had crashed, although thankfully both drivers seemed to be okay. One car had skidded into a traffic light. That was now rather went, and definitely out of commission for a while. Another small kid not yet seven perhaps was being helped to walk, as he himself was limping. The poor kid's leg was bandaged by a makeshift material, probably from someone's shirt, and held crude crutched made from wood, which nevertheless seemed to dot he trick. Further on in the chaos, the fire hydrant was still spewing water high into the air, the likes of which might be seen in a natural geyser in certain places. Dragonite didn't even want to know what had happened there, or anywhere else really for that matter.
Mark's trail was fairly easy to follow, especially in the busier bits of town, (just follow the grey concrete road with rubbish all over it) though as Dragonite got into the more residential-based areas, its job did get a bit harder, though not impossible by any means. In fact, the destruction was perhaps even more of a stand out, for the marks left by Mark were easily spotted from the air with Dragonite's keen eyes.
It was amazing how much chaos one little kid could cause by himself in the city. Garbage bins were spewing their unwanted contents along roadsides, one light pole seemed to have a rather large dent in it, and one gate to a mansion was reasonably bent. It seemed that Mark had not only run, but had gone out of his way to destroy anything he had come across. This angered Dragonite slightly, though it certainly didn't blame the boy. So sadly following the trail of destruction, Dragonite dutifully flew in search of its master, along with its payload.
This route took him outside the city, where the destruction it seemed had finally stopped, though of course this was probably due to the lack of objects to throw, kick, punch or smash. From the outskirts, Dragonite, being a dragon, could see quite clearly that Mark's solitary figure was perched on top of the only hill around for miles. Flying forward quickly, it flew straight, and then up, directly attacking the cliff face, and then hovered in front of Mark's shaking form. Dragonite landed softly on the grass next to Mark, who was still kneeling, and put one thick orange hand softly on Mark's back comfortingly, making sure Mark knew that Dragonite was there for him. Mark continued to sob quietly, on and on. Yet Dragonite let him cry, and hopefully Mark would get some of that anger out of him. Or at least, that was Dragonite's plan anyway. In so many ways, Dragonite wanted to say something to Mark to make him feel better, to comfort him. It wished it could ease its master's pain. Yet something rightfully told Dragonite there was nothing it could do, except be there.
Instead, Dragonite looked around and saw the fragments of the boulder, but didn't ask any questions for obvious reasons. Instead, it saw that Mark had been injured, presumably by a flying piece of the rock. It knew Mark would be fine, even without any treatment for the injury, for it was only a flesh wound, and would heal in time. But pressed by Dragonite's feeling of helplessness, combined with its good nature, it focused its mythical powers, and glowed blue as it emitted the soothing blue waves. For Mark, there was an immediate and almost unbelievable change. The physical pain was gone. But in reality it did little for Mark, for that physical pain nothing, not even comparable to the emotional pain he was experiencing. It was doubtful that he even noticed. If anything, the absence of physical pain made the emotional pain worse, and even more unbearable, for with his injury, there was something to divert his thoughts.
And so Mark got up silently, walked to the edge of the cliff, and remained there, dangerously close to the edge, which led to quite a drop, perhaps a hundred metres or so in height. Not that Mark knew, or cared most likely. Dragonite was prepared to stand for however long it took until Mark got going again though, for it understood Mark's pain, and, in its own little way, shared it too. Perhaps Mark was not the easiest trainer to get on with, but he most certainly did have his qualities.
Memories flowed through Mark's head, ones from years ago, and ones from but a few days previous, yet all were linked to his Grandfather. "He was always there..." murmured Mark, lost in his thoughts.
The first time he had seen Paul through his baby eyes; those sparkling blue eyes of Paul's, which had always seemed to light up with crackling energy and joy at the sight of Mark. He picked up the then tiny Mark, smiling to no end, laughing with the kid, and playing with him. "This was taken from me..." muttered Mark, clenching his fists and tensing slightly.
More memories sprung to mind. The first word he learned to speak, his parents had told him, was "Gramps", though "food" and "Mama" had apparently come soon after. "He was...Such a great guy," admitted Mark, "and he never ever minded me calling him Gramps either!" he remarked sadly, remembering. "When I was learning to walk, Gramps was always there to pick me up, to help me get up one more time than I fell," he thought. Pictures came flashing back. Him when he was a little toddler, crawling on the floor of their old mansion back in Hoenn. Paul had always chased the energetic toddler then, always encouraging him and giving him motivation to try harder, and go for higher things. "He always helped me succeed in my life, no matter how ignorant I was of him..." he murmured sadly. "Yet now..." he broke off, unable to continue.
Instead, additional pictures, images, memories came flooding back. The time when he had learned to ride a bike, Paul had been there, sharing his lovely memories of that time, looking on proudly, rewarding and congratulating him. He had vague memories of falling over on his little bike then, which was no more than half a metre tall. Yet his Grandfather had been there for him, to lift him up again, look after the wound, and happily sending him off to play again. Laughing, rejoicing, dancing, nothing had stood between their joyous times together when he was young. "It was snatched from me!" he thought fiercely, with more life in him now. Dragonite, standing a bit behind him, noticed this, but couldn't tell for sure whether this was a good or bad thing.
And so Mark did stand thus, for minutes, then hours on end. Remembering, thinking, recalling memories, some of which had been long forgotten. Many times he seemed asleep, although Dragonite could always sense that pulsating anger from Mark, which disturbed it a fair bit. Yet it allowed Mark to continue, undisrupted.
Through the night, when all children should go to bed and rest, Mark still stood. The stars seemed not to twinkle this unhappy night, but instead seemed bleak, and miserable. They lacked the shine that they usually possessed. "The same shine in Gramps' eyes," reminisced Mark, perhaps his first observation since the tragedy. The frowning dark night came and went, chased off by the glorious sun. Yet still, Mark stood.
"He was the first to show me a pokemon..." Mark remembered. "It was... a.... Butterfree, yeah that's it!" he thought. The most beautiful thing..." he whispered. "But then, he was taken from me...TAKEN!" he roared out loud. Dragonite shifted slightly, still observing Mark.
Dragonite sense a shift of emotion in Mark-his thoughts became darker and darker, angrier, as time went on. He was thinking of nothing, yet everything at the same time. And so Dragonite stood watch over this unstable and melancholy figure.
Mark thoughts unwillingly drifted to his first day in Kindergarten. A bully had come and teased him. In his mind, he remembered crying out helplessly as they called him names. Nothing that would bother him now-he had gotten smarter than that, but at that age, knowing nothing but the joys of living, playing, and being a child, he had cried, and the bullies just stood, watched, and laughed. They had scorned him, and laughed at him.
When he was doing a presentation of a project in fourth grade, the year before his parents disappeared, he had fallen of his chair. All the students had laughed and pointed at him then. Mark boiled with anger at the thought. He had been helpless. His state of mind twisted his thoughts, as he revisited that day. He fell of his chair, and when he looked up, everyone was staring, laughing. But suddenly, one face started to change. The expression changed from good natured laughter, to a more subtle, malicious intent. Slowly, all the faces around him changed into angry faces, accusing, malicious. Mark trembled. "NO!" he yelled, pulling himself out of the vision. He grabbed his head by his golden hair, and violently shook it from side to side for a few seconds. By the end of that time, he was sweating and breathing hard.
When he was playing basketball, he remembered running towards the hoop. His teammate threw the ball at quick quickly, seeing an opening. Mark concentrated on the ball, and prepared to catch. But his concentration on the ball ultimately led to a lack of concentration in other areas. He didn't watch his feet, and tripped over his own laces. He seemed to fall slowly in his mind, as he continued to stare at the ball even as he was falling. The lines on the basketball gained life, and started
shifting. They formed into various shaped in seemingly random spots, but when they stopped, Mark gasped. Now they were random shapes no longer, but a face! A dark, laughing face. He could imagine everyone around him, looking, laughing, and pointing, at his clumsiness. The black lines continue to spread as the ball became not orange, but the deepest black. The ball ceased to be a ball, but was instead just a shape, sliding around.
The image disappeared, and Mark was again left clutching his head.
Thus the thoughts came on and on. Each one a dark memory. His mind twisted and shaped each one, turning them into horrible nightmares. But Mark could not stop himself from thinking these thoughts. Dragonite could sense Mark's emotions. Every dark thought came, and went, each slowly torturing Mark in his mind, before leaving.
And then that day too passed on, as the impatient night came once again. The stars twinkled, all seeming to look upon Mark, yet he noticed not the distinct yet suppressed beauty of the stars. Yet still Dragonite stood by its master, watching over him sadly.
Now the memories were nothing short of evil. When his parents had had arguments at night, Mark had laid in his pokemon bed, cowering, afraid. But when they had left... At first he had believed what his Grandfather had said, that they would return soon. That everything would be alright. In his naïveté, he had believed him. Yet, as each day passed, his hopes had dwindled. He remembered that he would ask his Grandfather every day after school "Has Mum and Dad come back?" in his sweet voice.
Each day he would get the same reply from Paul. "No, not today Mark. But soon," he had always said. Gradually, as he faced life, Mark transformed himself, though typically, he would never admit it. "Why, he...he lied to me! He lied!" he cried softly. Again, he crumpled on his knees and fell silent, thinking about that one thing. "He lied to me, he lied to me!" was all that ran through his head. There he remained, head bowed, anger coursing through him. At times, his fists were clenched together tightly. Others, he seemed to be perfectly calm, almost asleep in tranquility. Still other times, Mark simply seemed lost.
That night came too, and was gone again. But that night was not like the previous days. Dragonite sensed something...strange. At times, Mark seemed to be in great anger and pain. But as the night went on, Mark anger seemed less obvious. Though this was on the face of it good, Dragonite felt nervous. Something was wrong, it could sense, with Mark's character. Something Dragonite had never felt, experienced or seen before.
The third day commenced, and still Mark was rooted in the same position, not moving, but most definitely not sleeping, though his eyes had begun to droop a little as of late. But Dragonite would have no more, and finally decided to put an end to this. He began to walk up to Mark, intending to wake him up from his trance like state.
Mark stood up suddenly, just as Dragonite was no more than a metre from Mark, shocking the great dragon pokemon. Mark was... Different, Dragonite sensed. It was one fluid motion that Dragonite had seen, smooth and elegant, contrasting strongly to the movement last made by Mark three days ago. Movements that had been jerky and filled with anger.
Dragonite could still sense the continual anger in Mark. Yet this anger seemed not to be as prominent in Mark's mind as it was before. It now seemed to dwell deeper within the confines of his mind. It should have been a relief to Dragonite; yet it remained wary.
Mark looked up slowly to the sky, filled with dark, threatening clouds, greyer and more formidable than usual. It was completely unbroken, and filled the entire sky as far as the eye could see. "Come, Dragonite! Let us make for Cherrygrove City," he called, almost as a statement to himself rather than Dragonite. His icy, jagged voice cracked through the air like a whip, momentarily stunning Dragonite. This was a vast change from when last he spoke. Mark's voice was now clear, loud, and betrayed absolutely no emotion whatsoever, save for the coldness.
Dragonite did not like this change, and retained a wariness towards Mark. After all, if such anger could be quelled so suddenly...
Remembering something all of a sudden, Dragonite pulled itself out of its disturbing thoughts, hovered, and swiftly flew in front of Mark, who was in the process of turning, finally breaking his gaze from the still sleepy city and the dark ominous clouds which had captured it for so long. Mark stopped in mid-turn, and stayed there, motionless. Dragonite stopped, gauging Mark's reaction. "What on earth is the matter now?!" he snapped irritably.
And snapped was right, Dragonite sensed. Mark's face began to contort with rage. His eyes narrowed and his head pounded. Quickly, Dragonite put one large paw on Mark's shoulder, not wanting to see what Mark would do. Dragonite had a feeling it wouldn't exactly have been pretty. Mark glanced up sharply. His previously innocent blue eyes were now colder than ever before. They sparkled not with the brightness of a clear blue sky, but with the cold, frozen ice realms of the extreme north and south. The eyes alone made Dragonite shiver; never something which could be done withy ease. Before Mark could erupt in more fiery words, Dragonite removed its paw from Mark's shoulder and down into the brown leather satchel Officer Jenny had given it.
Fumbling for but a second, Dragonite took out the light, though bulky, parcel. Mark, after being offered the plain brown paper parcel, took it silently, his hands briefly touching Dragonite's paw. Dragonite shivered at the touch; they were freezing! Yet... That was not all. There was also a strange coldness that was conveyed by Mark's touch; and this went deeper than being physically cold for sure.
The violent sound of paper being ripped by Mark interrupted Dragonite's thoughts. Mark took out the Pokedex slowly, as if studying something he had not seen before. The pokedex was quite a bulky object, and frankly, didn't look like more than a piece of junk. There was a large array of relatively tiny and complicated-looking buttons, with only small abbreviations to show there use. Plainly, it was mind-boggling. The screen looked quite tiny, no more than perhaps two by three centimeters. Mark pushed the comparatively large red button which bore the words "ON/OFF" in plain, albeit large, white text. While waiting for the machine, mark silently glanced at the various buttons, taking in each little detail, while recalling each button's use.
For this machine, though still a prototype and very crude, was no stranger to Mark; this device had in fact been designed by Mr. Maros, Joseph's father. As such, Mark had often seen plans for this device. Though it was by all means a great invention, Mark usually had no interest in technology, especially since his parents had disappeared.
The machine hummed to life suddenly; a sharp, cracking noise which immediately quieted down into a low, monosyllabic drone. The pokedex vibrated quickly in Mark's hands. At the same time, the tiny screen lit up, now a bright, fluorescent shade of blue, rather than the dull, lifeless brown which had previously inhabited the space. After a second of delay, the plain, black word "Pokedex" showed on the screen, the background of which was still the same shade of fluorescent blue.
Mark sneered. Bringing up his tightly clenched fist, he suddenly slammed it down onto the "ON/OFF" switch violently, making a crunch on impact. Removing his fist, mark simply looked at the now lifeless machine. In a swift, fluid movement, mark took one step forward, and in the next instant, flung the bulky machine straight over the cliff! Dragonite didn't react. It just stood there, rooted by Mark's action. A loud bang was heard soon enough; the screeching and complaining of metal as it was bent and twisted on impact.
"I need to help," stated Mark arrogantly in a low tone. "I need only myself. Now, come Dragonite!" he said, and began to walk towards Route 29, which of course led to Cherrygrove City. Dragonite was just glad the Pokedex hadn't simply exploded on impact. Slowly, it began to follow Mark.
But Mark stopped. Dragonite quickly followed suit, waiting for Mark. "Dragonite," Mark began, "go to Joseph's place and tell him to come to Route 29. We'll leave as soon as he gets here," he planned, utterly unaware of Joseph's present condition.
Slowly, Dragonite, who had forgotten completely about Joseph, reached once more into the pouch and grimly took out the only object inside, a neatly folded piece of paper. Mark stuck out a hand and hesitantly took it. Unfolding the paper, it read:
Mark Witsinski,
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Joseph Maros was present at the PTS during your battle with Mr. Despotta. He was knocked unconscious by the blast during the battle, and as a result is now in a coma. At this time, his condition is uncertain. He has also suffered several physical injuries, but the full extent of these are yet to be known. However, it is also my pleasure to tell you that doctors believe at this stage that Joseph should wake up from his coma in a few days, and that his physical injuries will heal in time. My deepest sympathies are with you at this troublesome time, Mark.
Yours truly,
Officer Jenny
Dragonite watched Mark, holding its breath. Mark just kept staring at the page, so fiercely it was as if he was willing the page to disappear. Unsurprisingly, it did not. Slowly, Mark crunched up the letter in his fist. "...Joseph..." Mark murmured.
It was certainly not the response Dragonite had been expecting. Instead of being angry, or sad, or anything like that, Mark seemed... Confused, almost. He seemed to be thinking. "Joseph...Joseph..." continued mark quietly as if in a trance. All of a sudden, his ice cold eyes shattered, and became warm again, lighting up. Then, just as suddenly, Mark's eyes flickered, and the warmth which had lit his eyes only moments before was driven out. His eyes froze and hardened, becoming cold once more.
"Come on, Dragonite! Joseph will be fine!" he declared, though he sounded a tad uncertain. He quickly squashed that however. "He'll know where we're headed." He walked off without another word. Dragonite sighed, and looked back towards New Bark Town. Everything looked perfectly normal now. Dragonite frowned, or at least, its equivalent of a human frown. Using its considerably eyesight, it could see a lone figure... Concentrating, Dragonite could just make out the figure-Officer Jenny.
She was standing outside the city's main gate, holding binoculars to her eyes, watching the two. When it thought Officer Jenny was looking at it, it nodded slowly. Dragonite saw Officer Jenny's head dip slightly, then rise again in answer. Dragonite turned, and hurried to catch up to Mark.
Officer Jenny simply stood there. She could not help remembering Mark's eyes-they had lit up, if only for a second. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Mark Witsinski."
Joseph's eyelids rose and his pupils once again received the glorious light of day. Sleep's dark wisps never remained around Joseph after he woke up, clouding his memory as it did to some. Immediately, he remembered what had transpired. The battle. Camerupt. Dragonite. The PTS. The blast. The destruction. Mr. Despotta. Mark. Mark! Joseph began to bolt upright only to be stopped by a strong, male hand.
"Hey, you've come to!" a man, obviously a doctor, said cheerfully. He was wearing a white overcoat, navy pants and a pair of brown leather boots, but that was basically all Joseph could see. "Just lie down for a bit," the guy ordered. "Oh, and watch your arm-it's broken. I'll be right back, I'm just gonna get another fellow to come have a look at yaw, okay?" he asked, and left, winking, without waiting for an answer.
Joseph lay back down slowly, watchful of his arm, and looked around. There was not much to see really. Joseph's bed was surrounded by a green curtain, blocking all view of the outside. The ceiling was plain white, much like the bed. The only other thing in sight was a small wooden table, bearing a clock. "I wonder what time it is..."he thought, as he twisted to look at the clock. "Three o'clock in the afternoon, 29th September," he read aloud. "Crikey! That means I've been unconscious for three days!" he exclaimed.
The curtain was pulled back a little, though not enough for Joseph to see anything major. The first doctor entered with another, taller doctor, with the same uniform as the first, and someone who Joseph knew, though not personally, as Officer Jenny. "Yep, you were knocked unconscious. Apparently, a gate fell on ya," stated the first doctor rather cheerfully. "You slipped into a coma," he continued nonchalantly, ignoring Joseph's obvious concern. "The gate protected you from a lot of the small debris that was flying around, so you didn't get cut up to bad," he said. "Of course, your arm did get broken," he added.
"Well, Joseph certainly seems fine," remarked the second doctor in a lower voice. "Especially considering he's just slipped out of a coma. His physical wounds won't be a problem," he told Joseph.
"Yeah, and you just watch that arm of yours kid, you dig?" interrupted the first doctor with the ever present grin on his face. Joseph nodded.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but could I please speak with the patient? Alone?" asked Officer Jenny politely. The two doctors nodded and left without another word.
"So, how're you feeling?" she asked. Joseph simply nodded, waiting to hear more. "Well, let's get right down to it. Mark's just gone through a lot recently, after his battle. There was some very sad news you see, and as a result, Mark has...changed. Let me fill you in on what's happened since Mark's battle," she said, and began to explain all.
"Well, I take it you'll be going after Mark?" she asked knowingly. Joseph nodded only slightly, still taking in all of Officer Jenny's words; just as Officer Jenny had expected. Joseph naturally wanted to help his friend. "And heck does Mark need helping," she thought privately. "So, be careful. Like I've said, he's changed. He's grown more...angry, and...unpredictable. I think he'll need you more than ever now, Joseph," she told him. "But never give up hope on him. You'll understand when you meet him for yourself."
Joseph at this point didn't really understand. But, at the same time, he knew that if she said there was something to look out for, Joseph was sure there was something to look out for. Something about Officer Jenny made him trust her more than anyone else in this matter. "Mark..." he thought sadly. "How will he react? Is he alright?" Questions ran through his head, but he quickly pushed them into an obscure part of his brain when he realised Officer Jenny was waiting for him.
"The doctors?" Joseph asked, quickly glancing at the clock once more. It now read fifteen past three. He stood up, as did Officer Jenny. "Come on Joseph, you gotta believe in yourself man!" he though inwardly. As stupid as the thought may have sounded, it gave Joseph courage.
"I'll deal with them," interrupted Officer Jenny, putting one hand on Joseph. "But for now, you must catch up to Mark," she said. She had a knack for understanding people, and it was in times like these that it really helped. She felt as if she knew Joseph and Mark. It was a strange feeling.
"He left a few hours ago, so you'd best hurry. I'm sorry I can't take you there myself... But first-go to level 4, parking space 110. Grab the backpack from my motorcycle. Now go, Joseph. Good luck," she said, and gave him a little push. She knew that Mark needed Joseph if he was to be healed. He had caused chaos by himself for a day in the small town. She didn't even want to think about Mark, alone, in the big city.
"Thanks!" Joseph smiled. Then, turning, he quickly ran off. "I'm coming, Mark. I'm coming."