chapter one: struck by lightning

I remember learning something in science class as a little kid, something that stuck with me. One in twelve-thousand people are struck directly by lightning in their lifetime. I thought about it a lot that night. One minute you're living your life, rolling up your car windows, getting the mail, waving goodbye to a loved one.

Crack!

A split-second later you're on the ground. Three-hundred-million volts of electricity just surged through your body. Are you okay? Can you speak? Do you even remember who you are? I imagined getting struck by lightning was a life-changing event. Of course it is potentially life-ending, but what about the times in which survival follows? Is it for the better? How does one cope?

I entertained these thoughts in the back of my mind on the night I was struck by lightning. I sat on the edge of the Camphrier flax fields along Versant Road close to the eastern town arch, staring absentmindedly into the full moon. I rested my chin on my knees, arms wrapped around my legs as that one gentle beam of light illuminated the expansive darkness, shamelessly exposing the night and its vices.

I could say I went there to be dramatic, to brood and contemplate and feel bad for myself, but to avoid negative connotations, and because I know my feelings are entirely justified, I won't describe it that way. I went there and sat in the glaring moonlight – as I often did – plainly and simply to be alone. Because the trees look like shadows, and I like watching the breeze make them dance. Because the wind-wrought smell of the flax comforts me. Because in living under an oppressive government, alone time is valuable.

I learned later the moment I snapped out of my trance was the moment that fateful barrage of bullets sent that man to the ground. Less than a second is all it takes to be struck by lightning. In less than a second, a man died by gunfire. In less than a second, my entire serenity was broken and disregarded because I felt threatened by the systematic crack of a death sentence occurring not a mile from where I sat.

In less than a second, I was up and running.

When you're scared and alone among a throng of trees at an undisclosed time of night, everything is particularly blurry. Suddenly, the gracefully-moving treeline isn't charming anymore. Instead it's a painful reminder of how lost and panicked and alone you are when there's a crazed gunman – or as I learned later, gunmen – on the loose.

With each snap of a twig under my foot, I felt my desperation climb to greater heights. The air around me suddenly became an all-too-precious resource that I felt I could never get enough of. The blurry images I passed seemed as if they were now spinning and blending together. Fear became a driving reason I was losing control.

In a split second, I was on the ground. I tripped. I don't remember over what because the next thing I saw zapped my mind of everything I ever knew. Was I okay? Could I talk? What was my name? Couldn't remember. Quite possibly the last Ampharos in existence was currently staring at me from behind a red plastic barrier.

Firstly, I need to mention that I never knew pre-regime schooling offered equal balance to those deemed "core" subjects until after I became one of Kalos' most-wanted that night. I never payed much attention in school because I did not like neither science nor history and those were the two most important subjects as deemed by the oligarchy when I was a kid. But I do remember having a specific interest in mega evolution when we learned about it in both those classes. I had every cataloged Kalosian mega pokémon memorized. Secretly, I imagined owning one.

I never expressed much interest in becoming a trainer, mostly because I knew it was dangerous, but something about having that one special pokémon and that one special stone tantalized me. I always knew it was nothing but a perverse fantasy, but until the oligarchy could learn to read my mind, it was a perverse fantasy that I indulged often.

In actuality, we were fed facts about pokémon and their mega evolutions in school in hopes that it would deter us from their majesty at a young age. They drilled it into our heads that these pokémon were unstoppable forces, very dangerous and violent. This knowledge was essential. It is the duty of a Kalosian citizen to report any pokémon with the potential for mega evolution so it can be captured or euthanized. Similarly, it is the duty of a Kalosian citizen to report any person or persons unlawfully owning or harboring a pokémon with the potential for mega evolution.

As I grew older, my childhood fantasy faded, not because of the ever-prescient threat of the government or because I was afraid of these pokémon. But when I grew up I realized how selfish my fantasy was. Mega evolution was a big deal, and it cost a lot of pokémon and people their lives. It felt wrong for me to want one just as an accessory, just for me to say "hey, I'm Moira and this is my super-special-totally-unique-one-of-a-kind-mega pokémon."

Also, it would be kind of hard for me to accessorize it anyway if the minute I pulled it out to show someone, they immediately responded by shooting me nineteen times.

That, however, wasn't the moral dilemma I faced when I saw Ampharos' poké ball lying on the ground. In fact, I didn't give the results of my education – or anything else for that matter – a second thought. What I did think about was the fact that there was a poké ball lying in front of me with a pokémon inside that had potential to mega evolve, and it was therefore my civic and moral duty to report it. I may have been a little naive at this point in time, but I knew what would happen to Ampharos if I turned it in.

I slowly pushed myself off the ground with my hands as Ampharos steadily held my gaze from its plastic prison. We both sat there in cold silence just staring at each other, waiting for what I was about to do, the decision I was going to make.

The thing that still makes me sick to this day is that I contemplated reporting it. I was going to turn around and walk back to Camphrier and tell the local stasis officer where and how exactly I stumbled upon this very feral and aggressive man-eating monster.

But then I remembered no one knew I was out there, and no one would know if I just got up and walked away. Hell, I could even convince myself I never saw it if I tried hard enough. Somebody one day would stumble upon it, and like a curse it would suddenly be their burden instead of mine.

I was originally content with this plan, but the moonlight that provided me comfort not ten minutes earlier betrayed me that night. As I pushed myself up off the cold ground and began to walk away, I faintly saw that glimmer of hope in Ampharos' eyes disappear, the glimmer of hope that resulted from the possibility I would consider picking it up and taking it with me, and it broke my heart.

So I stopped in mid-stride. Closing my eyes, I turned back around and picked up the cool red-and-white plastic capsule, shoving it deep into the pocket of my hoodie, and in that moment, I sealed my fate. Because even just picking up its poké ball is a capital crime in post-regime Kalos.

In that moment, my life changed forever.