Start of a Journey
No screaming came from anyone that night. It passed peacefully under the watch of a waning gibbous moon, alternatively illuminating the night sky and being obscured by clouds. But the stars did not shine through, and there was never enough moonlight spilling into Omar's room to make his pokemon seen to any curious eyes. As the moon set, and the sun began to rise, light filtered into the room, gently playing on the sleeping boy's face. No other creature was there though. The light revealed nothing.
It was Saturday morning, so Omar was not wakened by the angry voice of his mother for sleeping too long. And so it was that he had the chance to catch up on his sleep. An especially good chance, since tonight's sleep had been devoid of dreams. But he had a mission. And apparently once you start a mission, the value of a little extra sleep goes down considerably. Omar is an impractical boy, it seems, who believes he can do things with enough will that physical needs do not matter. How will he fare with this quest, then? He will stumble on the path if he doesn't keep track of his feet…He set an alarm clock.
RING! RING-ETY-RING! The jangling discordant sound of an old-fashioned alarm clock sounded from the table by Omar's bed. It sat just next to a small sphere, red on the top, and white beneath. The energetic shaking of the thing bumped the little pokeball, and it rolled slightly away. Eyes opened reluctantly, and he sat up slowly. Raking a hand loosely through his hair, he reached out with his other arm and closed his hand down over the still-ringing bells. The sudden quiet was both harsh and welcome. He looked around groggily, rubbing lightly at his face, and noticed the pokeball. "Gone back inside have you?" the boy muttered to himself. "I wonder when you did that. If it was too soon after I fell asleep, and I might have dreamed badly, I'll be angry with you." Then he shook his head. "But then again, I suppose you wouldn't hardly care. You never seem to, do you, my friend?" He looked at it with a frustrated fondness, such as one would give a particularly troublesome friend when they couldn't see. "Well, then, it's time to go. We've gone on living this comfortable life long enough. Now it's time to have some purpose. You'd like that wouldn't you?" The ball didn't move. "I mean it, I'm going to find her, if it's the last thing I do." He glared for a moment at it, then pulled himself up and began his preparations.
"First I'll need my trusty recorder, and some tapes. I will not forgo my practicing while I travel." So saying, Omar dug out his tape recorder, along with several blank tapes, and put them on his bed. Then he ransacked his closet, choosing clothes he felt were best for travel. Long, thick jeans and pants to ward keep his legs protected from the elements, a few shirts of various styles and arm-lengths, and a pair of jackets, one for cold and one for rain. These he added to the pile on his unmade bed. Next he got dressed, using different clothes than those already set out. After these basic necessities, there were only a few more things he needed that would be in his room. A few extra pokeballs, just in case. A sleeping bag and blanket for possible nights on the road. Flashlights, cell phone, and extra batteries. A large dark blue backpack to carry everything in. When he was satisfied with the things he'd gathered, Omar started stuffing things into his bag. It took a considerable amount of time to compress all the cloth so it would fit, but eventually he managed. The extra pokeballs he decided to put in his pockets. Once he had packed everything he thought was needed, he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the room.
Closing the door behind him, he walked slowly and silently down the stairs. Discovery now would be the worst of possible things to happen. His quest might end in failure before he even left his front door. But it was all quiet. Apparently even mothers slept in on weekends. He tiptoed quietly through to the kitchen, where he got what would be arguably the most important thing for his trip: food and water. No fancy foods for Omar; he didn't have room to bring a cooking pot, and he was no world-class chef either. When he could not buy food on his own, he would have to stick to dried ones. Energy and candy bars, nuts and dried fruits, bottled water; only these portable things he chose. They would last long as well. He brought only one metal plate for eating, just as a precaution. When his bag was full enough that he could barely zip it closed, he had to stop cramming things in. Even his pockets bulged with useful items. He had spent enough time preparing; now it was time to go. If he put it off now he would never leave.
Omar raked a hand through his unbrushed hair and sighed, eyes looking sadly around his house one last time. "Good-bye," he whispered to the room. "You have been a good home to me, but I must move on." He put his bag on his back and strode out the door, closing it behind him.
There, in the garage, his scooter. He considered whether or not he should take it. Omar didn't have enough money to take a train. True, he had a credit card his mother had given him, but it made his mouth twist sourly at the thought of free-loading off of her. And while he had some vague idea of being able to live off his abilities as a commentator, or even stretching that to be a speaker of any sort, that whole thing was a somewhat iffy proposition, and it was best to conserve what he had for an emergency. Yes, the scooter would serve him well. After all, it wouldn't take too long to get to the Lustre League, would it? Poor boy, so inexperienced in foot travel. So he took it, and while the morning dew had not yet burned into the air from the heat of the sun, he rode away from his house, not knowing when or if he would return.
As the sun continued to rise in the sky, Omar headed east, into its light. He was a lone silhouette on the sidewalk, gliding along on a scooter and pushing to add to his momentum every once in a while. So early in the morning, no one else was awake to bear witness to his leaving. It was a bit sad, really. And it made him feel lonely.
Gradually the city streets and houses gave way to more open spaces. First large suburban mansions, with great plots of empty lawn or sodden flower beds. Omar knew Sereih lived somewhere around here, but he wasn't sure of the exact address. Nor did he especially wish to speak with anyone now. Though he was lonely, he was used to it, had sought solitude much of his life. It was a comfortable loneliness; it didn't make him content, but it brought him peace enough. Adding someone else just now, someone he would have to share the sunrise with, would throw of the serenity of the moment with meaningless small talk as they both tried to connect to one another. No, he had no desire to seek out Sereih, even if he knew where to go. But as luck would have it, he passed by her house anyway. It was a large, pale blue wonder, looking to be fully four stories in height, and wider than it was tall. The lights in all of the windows were off and they themselves were closed, so Omar spared it no more than a glance.
But he was given more attention, albeit unknowingly. From one window on the third floor, grey eyes watched him closely, recognizing him. Sereih had taken to waking up this early in order to give her Pidgeotto a chance to have a morning flight and greet the sun as it awoke. Before she had done more than go to the window though, a figure passed by in the early morning light. On a scooter, and a familiar one at that. She had the undeniable feeling that she knew this person. It must be Omar, she guessed, because no one else she knew rode a scooter like that. Where was he going? There was nothing beyond her house of any importance to him, for she lived on the very outskirts of the city. The girl wracked her mind quickly and remembered something from the day before. After giving a lovely and flattering speech about her battle yesterday, Omar had stopped as if shot when someone had mentioned the Pokemon League. Had it stuck in his mind, and he was running off to the Lustre League? He was going in the right direction, so Sereih supposed it was possible. And he was just the kind of impulsive boy to do something like that on a whim even, if it were strong enough. Perhaps….Time would tell, she knew. For now she did not call out to him, but merely watched with blurring grey eyes as he moved out of her line of sight. Omar, what are you thinking? she wondered to herself.
Oblivious to the questions his presence had raised in someone, Omar rode on, leaving that pale blue house behind without a backward glance. He had no way of knowing what it would cause. Soon even the towering houses disappeared, leaving farmland in its wake. Golden fields of wheat were the predominant landscape now. Sometimes he saw some Miltank and Tauros too. They were contentedly grazing on green pastures, or laying down, asleep or awake. The Miltank were luckier than the Tauros. They would be used for their milk, and coddled for all of their lives, provided with food and shelter with only their milk given in exchange. Tauros though, could have two different fates. The lucky few who were chosen for breeding would live a life even cushier than the dairy cows, but only a small percentage would be given this gift. All the rest of them would be slaughtered and processed until they eventually emerged as slabs of beef that would be sent to hungry people all over the world. All in all, Omar thought he'd rather be a Miltank.
He was interrupted by a rut in the road, which had rudely pitched his scooter over, and himself off of it. Picking himself up and brushing off a bit of dust, Omar looked around him. The quality of the path was sharply deteriorating. It was still not much of a problem for walking, or perhaps for cars either. But a scooter's wheels were far smaller than a car's, and it would have more trouble. How long would the scooter be more help than hindrance? But you never knew when the road before you might level out again, smoothed by some thoughtful individual you would never know and could never thank. How sad unclaimed gratefulness is.
Now the road split into two roads. One went to the east, another northeast. He had to stop, because he wasn't quite sure which way to go. Forced to stop again, he had to consult a map that he had wisely chosen to bring. After puzzling over the confusing thing for about ten minutes, he was nearly run over by a large pickup truck, saved only by the honk that made him look up. Diving aside into the hard road and an only slightly less hard wooden fence, he barely managed to drag his scooter out of the way before the truck rushed by, honking angrily. This was the second time in as many days he'd nearly been run over, and Omar started to think that perhaps he'd been marked, or had somehow offended the world of drivers. Realistically though, he merely got himself into so much danger because he spaced out around them. Silly boy. He shrugged off such morbid and paranoid thoughts, and looked at the map for a minute more. Left was the way to go. Northeast towards the Lustre League headquarters.
His rich dark brown hair looked lighter than normal with the amount of dirt that had fallen into it. He didn't notice though, for about ten more minutes, continuing on until he saw a small dirt path leading to a park bench and decided to take a short break. He walked his scooter over there, since it was rather uneven. When he sat down, leaning forward, a light brown grit fell onto his lap. At first Omar thought it was coming from above, as there was a tree blessing the bench with its shade. But as blue eyes traveled upwards and head tilted back, more dirt slid down his face, crumbling and getting in his eyes. Cringing away, he flipped his head downward to shake the dirt out, and rubbed at his eyes vigorously. Once his eyes stopped tearing, the boy sat up again, raking a hand through his hair to prevent a repeat of the incident. It was gritty, and dirty, and stuck to his fingers, and it was all in his hair. The next few minutes were spent correcting that.
It took all the break time he had allotted himself, but finally his hair no longer shed particles of dust and grime when he moved his head. A major accomplishment. With that done, Omar picked himself up and moved back to the road. He rode on. For a great deal of time he was undisturbed, and the scenery gradually changed once more. Trees, before never there except for orchards, now began to dominate. Shaded from the sun that was growing higher in the sky, he continued unboiled by the heat, stopping occasionally to consult his map, and the route he had marked out on it. With a red highlighter he had gone over it before leaving, and now as he crossed major intersections, he marked them with blue, making a purple line of his chosen path in the end.
And in this manner Omar moved onwards through what was now a forest, still heading in a northeasterly direction. He didn't zone out very much now, though, and kept his eyes looking sharply at everything around him in turn. He spotted a few pokemon, but didn't go after any of them. He wasn't after becoming a pokemon master after all, nothing so cliché. Besides, most of them were underevolved bug pokemon. In fact, just about every pokemon he saw was a bug type. This forest must be popular with them, he thought absently after seeing his fifteenth Weedle waddling around. Most of them were staying off the path though, and that was relieving. It would take far too long if he had to battle every fifth pokemon he saw, and he'd miss the League entirely. Wouldn't that be awful? He sped up in his pace, rolling along on a layer of fallen pine needles from last year.
But alas, there are few places in the world you can simply pass through without trouble of some sort. Before he had any chance to react a green streak flew darted through the trees and crossed the path right in front of him. It moved so fast that he could barely make out that it was a Scyther before he crashed into it. With a thump boy, pokemon and scooter all went down onto the forest floor. Everything went still for just a breathless moment.
Omar picked himself up grumbling, and leaned back down to retrieve his scooter. A most lucky thing to do, as the blade whistling above his head, and cutting off a few ends of his hair proved a mere half-a-second later. It occurred to the boy that not only was he a recent target of cars, but his hair also seemed to be most extremely abused lately. Unfortunately, by the time this inopportune thought had finished, Scyther was attacking with another swipe, and he had to throw himself to the side to avoid it. Now there was dirt and pine needles in his hair that had been given an unnecessary cut. "What in the world did I do to you?" he gasped to himself as he rolled to evade another jab of the sharp scythes. "It was your own fault you ran in front of me." Another roll, and he slammed into a tree hard enough to lose his breath. Wheezing lightly, he reached in panic towards his belt. There, his pokemon. Normally never one to throw his pokemon into battle, in this emergency Omar didn't hesitate. He grasped the small sphere, and pressed the expanding button as he threw it wildly into the air.
The pokeball hit Scyther on the forehead, and fairly hard too, from such a close position. It skipped backwards, hissing, and the ball hit the ground. It opened in the customary flash of light, which also seemed to disorient Scyther in this dim forest light. When the pokemon blinked and cleared its sight though, it could still only see the boy that had run into it, who had picked himself up and was now crouching with his back against the tree that had halted his roll. No emerged protector could be seen, but the boy looked quite confident now. He smiled, and it was not the sort of smile to make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was cold, and a little cruel, more of a smirk perhaps. Could the brat's pokemon be so fast that it was in hiding already? Scyther looked all around it, seeking an enemy. But there was none to be seen. And yet the boy looked not in the least bit scared now. Angry and cocky, but no fear. Whoever his partner was, he must trust it would easily dispose of the bladed bug. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Not if Scyther had anything to say about it.