Steel (Poke)Ball Run

Chapter 7 – VS FRICTION OF STRANGERS

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It was brief. It was tantalising. It was all Johnny had ever wanted ever since his legs had become paralysed. From his waist down, there was feeling. His arms flailed. He stumbled forward like a newborn Ponyta but he walked. It was barely even half a step but he had walked. He could cry, he was so emotional over it but for now, his eyes remained dry.

He reached out and his hands brushed over the stranger's. The stranger did not recoil. He did not intercept. He merely let Johnny stumble as he did. His eyes, green as spring foliage, carefully watched Johnny: every movement was carefully observed under such eerie eyes.

The stranger extended a leg and he kicked the wheelchair upright. Johnny fell back into it. With his eyes wide and a puff of exhaled breath, he looked as though he had witnessed a miracle. And truth be told, he had.

Johnny put his hands over his knees. His fingers dug into the fabric over his knee. He dug in as hard as he could go but his knees didn't feel a thing. Not even a scant trace of pressure. In his head, his heart beat as loud as a drum. Babump, babump, babump: a steady noise as he questioned what had just happened.

Johnny turned his head wildly as he tried to work out if anyone else had seen what he had seen. He had to know he wasn't dreaming. He was so certain but sometimes, he got phantom sensations confused with reality. He was hoping this wasn't one of those times but what if it was?

It seemed so impossible.

It had been two years since that incident so it had to be impossible. If that incident hadn't have happened, his life would have been extremely different.

Already, the stranger was gone but Johnny would forever have that appearance imprinted on his mind: an above average heighted man with sandy brown-blonde hair and a purple shirt, a holey hat with bizarre glasses attached, and strange, green PokeBalls strapped into his holsters. He was unmistakable. Especially those eyes. Not quite harsh and unforgiving, possibly not altruistic, but beautiful all the same.

And a man fitting such a description had already mounted a Mudsdale further down the street from the row of stores and clerks. Its tail swayed in time with the man's hair.

Johnny's heart pounded to a different tune. He had gone from awe and wonder to selfishness in record time. He pushed himself and his chair forward. He dived through the crowd.

'Out of my way, Slowpokes!' he yelled. 'Move, you're in my way, dammit!'

He hadn't felt this revved up in years. At least not with a productive emotion, anyway. He trundled through the crowds and shoved himself through the thin pockets between people.

'The hell did you say to me?'

'Shut up!' Johnny barked back to a random cowboy; completely shoving him out of the way and using that to gain more momentum.

He had to catch up to that Mudsdale. Catching up to that Mudsdale was more important than anything else in his life. He was lucky it was just stomping through at a leisurely pace. Eventually, he got there. He trundled along beside its legs. He looked up at the man. Out of breath, hot, and a tad sweaty as his blood pulsated excitedly inside his body.

'Wait!' Johnny yelled. 'I need to know; tell me! I need to know what happened to me, what was that?'

Johnny couldn't have been more certain. In the past two years, he couldn't even move his legs a millimetre. Just then, he had walked. He was certain. For two years, either through words or through silence, the public had told him to give up. Just who was this man on the beach?

Shadows shrouded the man's face from Johnny's angle. And yet, those eyes remained bright as he looked down and assessed Johnny. He brought his Mudsdale to a halt softly, slowly. Then, he spoke.

'Do you know what the leading causes of death are? First, is sickness carried by parasites. Being killed by a mount Pokemon, or a Pokemon in general, is after that. Do you plan on changing those rankings?'

He spoke calmly. There was a hint of an accent but Johnny couldn't place it. He couldn't place that vaguely flowery, lyrical accent that was brought out by the man's slow, calm drawl.

He rested back on his saddle, tilted his head to one side. 'Don't get any foolish expectations. I don't know your circumstances. But you standing up just then, it was a coincidence. It was just a body reflex. Nothing more.'

He flicked the back of his spurred boots into the ribcage of his Mudsdale. It whinnied and sniffled then finally decided that it may start to lumber off.

'Reflex my ass!' Johnny yelled. 'I know that it had something to do with that spin thing! From your PokeBall. I think you have some sort of technique to strengthen Pokemon through that spin and I think it might work on me too!'

Johnny trundled forward, trying to keep pace with the man's Mudsdale before it could start to get too much speed on him. Johnny continued to pester.

'Can we at least try? That spin thing?' he begged.

The Mudsdale picked up a tad more speed; more than Johnny could keep with whilst talking. The man half swivelled around and bade him farewell with a falsely sympathetic hand gesture.

'I'm done talking.' he said simply. 'I've got no such special technique.

Blatant lies! Johnny reached out his hand over his knees as far as he could go. His wheelchair skidded forth.

'I'll pay you! Let me try!'

There wasn't even a further word from him. Johnny reared back but after such a mere brush with progress, even the idea of progress, and he wasn't going to give back. He burned with a bright determination. He launched himself forward and declared on the top of his lungs:

'Then I'll just touch those balls of yours again myself!'

The bloke from earlier passed by and Johnny rammed him down without a second thought. Once more, he used him as a means to gain speed but this time, also jump height. He left skid marks on the back of that old man but didn't give a second thought to him. His own goals, his own choices, mattered so much more than anyone else. Everyone else except this man mounted atop a Mudsdale mattered.

Johnny flew up and reached out his hand for the PokeBall holstered to the man's belt. His fingers brushed over its cool surface and his skin wrenched. His fingers from their tips to their knuckles wrenched and curled. He spat and hissed in pain. The man swatted his hand off casually.

His wheelchair fell back and Johnny forced his torso to swing around. He grabbed onto the railing belonging to an overhanging veranda. His shirt rode up as he gripped on as tight as he could. He ignored the burning sensation aflame along his forearms.

The Mudsdale reared up again. It snorted impatiently; seeming not to enjoy stopping and starting so much.

'Before I knock you off, i will compliment you.' the man informed him. 'You have very strong muscles, or at least your upper body does. However, there is nothing too special about my PokeBalls. They're something like weapons, I suppose you could say. Therefore, they won't help a man like you walk again; no matter how hard you try.'

He clicked his tongue and jabbed his spurs in his mount's ribs once more. It pawed at the ground and shook its head. With a flick of its tail, it began to get going once more.

'You can't even ride a mounted Pokemon and the Steel Ball Run is about to start. Sorry, my friend but I've got to go. I'm not staying on this beach, I got a region to cross, more importantly, a championship to win.'

He chuckled to himself as he rode off.

Johnny unhooked his fingers from the rafters and tried to land on the wooden floorboards beneath him as softly as he could. The immediate relief from his arms was unbelievable but now he had a new problem. He rolled over to his stomach and started to drag himself towards his wheelchair.

In the late September of 1890, upon this very beach, a beautiful glimmer of hope had manifested from within despairing. Johnny realised now that he had been drawn here for a purpose and he was going to take this opportunity. He was certain that strange foreigner was lying. Johnny knew the man had some sort of technique that bettered the muscles, he just knew it.

'Alright dammit…' Johnny muttered under his breath. 'I'll get on a mount and I'll run this race.'

He would chase that light called hope that the foreigner exuded. He refused to allow this opportunity let slip.