1. Arrival

I was late for rehearsal, and my drummer was going to kill me. We had only two days left to really nail our setlist before the biggest gig of our career. While I was incredibly hyped, I still had my day job to deal with. Hence the lateness, because my manager had insisted it was suddenly my turn to help close the store so that he could get off early and I'd very maturely refrained from flipping him off. Not very rock 'n roll of me, I know, but whatever pays the bills.

Still I hauled ass out of there the moment I could, heaving my guitar case over my shoulder as I raced for five blocks to the bus stop. To make matters worse, rain poured down like a biblical deluge and too many damn people loitered on the sidewalk holding their stupidly big umbrellas in my way. I could feel my phone blowing up with angry texts every few seconds, but I only ran faster because I couldn't afford to miss this bus for anything.

Turns out my drummer did not kill me. Some jackass in a Bulbasaur t-shirt did by bumping into me so I tripped, slipped and cracked my head open on the goddamn curb, which took me a long time to really come to terms with. Mostly because it was a stupidly embarrassing way to go. I'd have taken a truck, a truck was dignified, a truck was a classic in stories like this. But no. A bonerattling impact rang through my skull as I hit the concrete, then—

I woke up face down in the sand. What? I spat out a mouthful of grains, pushing myself to my knees with a tremendous effort that left me winded. My whole body hurt like I'd been bludgeoned all over with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. My clothes were filthy all over. My head burned whenever the sunlight hit my eyes. I lifted a hand to shield them and squinted, glancing around blearily. I found myself surrounded by sandy ridges dotted with people in swimsuits splayed out on their beach towels, and past them, the blue expanse of a sparkling sea. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark blur laying by my side, which I recognized as my guitar case as my vision cleared.

I reached for it instinctively. What was I doing at the beach? I was late for rehearsal! Had I gotten shitfaced and passed out? As I grabbed the case, scrambling to my feet despite the pain, memories flooded in and nearly knocked me on my ass again.

I'd been running in the rain, then I'd hit my head. Ah, so I must've gotten a concussion. Short-term amnesia and all. First order of business: figure out what date and time it was and whether I'd missed my rehearsal, or worse... our big gig. I cringed to even think of it. Call my bandmates, explain, apologize. Second order of business: go to a hospital and get my head checked, then call in sick at work.

With these goals in mind, I reached for my phone, only to find it very much missing. Ugh, someone must have robbed me while I was passed out. At least they hadn't taken my guitar. I opened the case to check: my precious was still there and unharmed. Satisfied, I zipped it up again and slung it over my aching shoulder.

Then I hobbled up to the nearest person on the beach, a tanned old lady in an one-piece polka dot swimsuit and a horrendously oversized straw hat.

"Hi," I croaked out.

She looked up at me with a scowl. "Not up for battling today."

I stared. She thought I wanted to... fight her? What the hell? I'm not in the habit of beating up old ladies at the beach, come on. "Girl, what? I just wanna know what time it is."

Her eyebrows rose over the brim of her sunglasses. "Nine in the morning."

Shit. I'd somehow blacked out through the night, or more. I rubbed my face. "And what day is it?"

"Saturday," she said. "July tenth."

...Huh? Last time I'd checked, I'd been on a thursday in march. There was no way I'd been passed out for four whole months. Unless I'd been in a coma. Or maybe this lady was just nuts. I squinted at her, her straw hat, her floral beach towel and her... wait. What was that thing laying next to her purse, wrapped up in the towel?

It was small, round and pink, two long leaves sticking out from the top of its head. Guess she was a Pokémon fan. Cute Hoppip plushie, probably expensive. Its leaves looked almost real, glossy green and swaying in the breeze.

The Hoppip plushie blinked its beady yellow eyes at me.

My brain shortcircuited.

"What's that?" I screamed, pointing.

The lady lifted up her sunglasses to shoot me the dirtiest look ever. "She is a Hoppip. Obviously. Are you fresh off the boat from Paldea or whatever ill-mannered region you've arrived from?"

The Hoppip doll rolled out from under the beach towel and bounced into her lap.

I took an instinctive step back. "It's alive!"

"Of course she is," she replied, staring at me like I was being crazy. She stroked the Hoppip, who smiled and made a quiet purring noise.

With a tremendous effort, I picked up my jaw off the floor and clenched it shut. Then I closed my eyes and pinched myself repeatedly. It hurt. And as I opened them again, the Hoppip was wriggling around in her lap, still very much alive. The wind whipped across my face, the sun was warm on the back of my neck and I could smell the salt in the air. Everything felt so real.

"What..." I choked out. "What is this? Where am I?"

"Coumarine city," the lady said, her frown turning faintly tinged with concern. "Are you quite well?"

"Mhmm, mhm-mhmm," I replied incoherently, running away without knowing where I was going. But everywhere I turned, more and more living impossibilities jumped out right before my eyes. A flock of Wingull flying over the beach, spitting out jets of water at each other. A little girl building a sandcastle with her Octillery. A Lapras ferrying people from the beach out into the ocean.

I crumpled down on the sand, hugging my guitar as I took in this crazy world around me, and wondered what the hell was I going to do.

Author's Note: Rock 'n roll, that's what we're going to do. Soon.