Story Notes:
I use a series of symbols, so this may be a little complicated.Something that looks like dialogue but looks like (this) is a thought inside of Dillon's mind.[These] indicate song lyrics playing in Dillon's head.If {these things} surround something, then it is a dream that Dillon is having.If squiggly lines ~that look like this~ surround something, then that something is written.__________________________________________________________If the above line separates two things, then Dillon has written the passages at different times.__________________________________________________________ For example, if Dillon wrote these story notes, then he would have written the explanation of symbols first, then he would have come back in a little while because he remembered that he forgot to add an explanation for the lines. Then he would have come back and written this part because he forgot to include an example of how the lines work to make it easier for you, the reader, to understand. You got all that?__________________________________________________________NEW SYMBOL FOUND IN CHAPTER 5! If stars *like these* surround a word, then it is only onomatopoeia for a sound that is being made. __________________________________________________________NEW SYMBOL THAT WILL APPEAR IN CHAPTER 6! When two lines || That resemble something like this || are around something, it is a written side note.
"You're a part of this team"
"Will you just wake up already?" In truth, I was only pretending to be asleep. No matter how hard she tried, my mom couldn't make me go to school as long as she couldn't get me out of bed. I'd done that once before and was hoping that it would enable me to stay home again. "We're wasting time, get up!" I missed three little details that were essential for me to remember exactly was happening. The first was that it was Sunday. The second was that my mother and Shanon's voices sounded completely different.
The third was that my parents wouldn't smack me awake. "OW! Hey!"
"Swampert's getting tired or waiting for you, and so am I. So get going!" I'd fallen asleep in the lobby last night while trying to write, or so I found out upon looking around. When I shifted my attention to my paper, I found it covered in lines, scribbles, things that were crossed out, and "~I suck~" written by somebody who wasn't me. No lyrics, though. (Just great.)
"Fine, but I'm gonna nuke some leftover pizza first. It's a good thing these places have microwaves in the rooms." One failed attempt, two burnt pizza pieces, and three burnt fingers later, I ended up with heaven in my mouth. Yeah, I REALLY like pizza, so much that if you went to the Cici's that I lived close to and asked for the "Dillon Special", they would know what you mean. The Dillon Special, by the way, is just an adult buffet with water as a drink and a large plain cheese pizza to go, except that they sprinkle your pizza with pepper and salt. Oh, so good! Oh crap, I got lost in thinking about pizza, didn't I?
"Let's get going," said Michael when I finished eating.
"Not yet, there's one more thing that I need to do while we're here. Where's Swampert?"
__________________________________________________________
(Come on, come on, come on...) I was inside very nervous about two particular things. The first thing is that I wanted more than anything to be partners with Swampert, and knew that he did too, which meant that a lot of responsibility was on me. I always liked to think that I could fight well enough, but never REALLY needed to before then, unless you count a couple of sparring matches during the brief time period three years ago when I took Tae Kwon Do and even made it to the rank of a high green belt. (I'm going to have to use my head because muscle is going to get me nowhere fast, even if I was fighting another human.) The second, stronger fear was that for my own bodily safety.
"Maybe I haven't known you too long, but I still think I can call you my best friend," I called, "which means that under NO circumstances do I want you to go easy on me. To hold back on an opponent is to underestimate them, and to do that is to insult them!" But I wasn't letting fear number two stand in my way, not when my very future was on the line. I tried to keep my cool on the exterior, and I think that I did pretty good doing it, but inside I was screaming like a little girl.
Swampert nodded. He then assumed a fighting stance and a serious, focused expression, his eyes now striking additional fear instead of the calming effect I'd come to know so well. (His legs look a little short, which means kicking and balance will be his biggest weaknesses, but those arms are long and muscular so I probably want to get in close to avoid that reach, even if that's not my normal thing.) A larger than normal percentage of my height was made up of my long legs, so I preferred to use kicks to keep an opponent at a distance. (If I can knock him down somehow, maybe take out his legs from beneath him, then this will be a whole lot easier.)
A nice thought, but I ended up being the one knocked down after a single blow to the head that came so swiftly that I was literally on the ground before I knew it. I recovered as quickly as I could, lifting my back and backside off of the ground with my arms as if I was about to start crab-walking. Apparently he took my words to heart, though, because he didn't let me back up, but tried to stomp down on me. If I didn't have the naturally quick reflexes that I did, I would have gotten a face full of foot instead of blocking it with an outstretched arm. Unfortunately I didn't have the strength to hold both his foot and my body up with one arm, so I had to push his leg away from me and roll away in order to buy enough time to stand up. When I pushed Swampert off, he stumbled back a bit but kept his balance, which was exactly what I was hoping not to happen. I suppose I should be satisfied that I was able to reach my feet, though.
We were now too far away from each other for either of us to strike, so we were now at a standoff, both of us waiting for the other to make his move. (No way, I'm not falling for that one. I've got all day.) It wouldn't be me who made the mistake of charging, that much was certain. Swampert looked to have caught on to my immobility and initiated the next move. He got down on all fours, which he could do with his feet still flat on the ground due to his gorilla-like arms, and opened his maw as wide as he possibly could. (What the- oh crap!) Swampert let loose a jet of flying mud straight at me, and it hit me like a battering ram. However, I saw it coming in good enough time to allow me to keep my balance, but that was about all. I was pushed back a ways and ended up completely covered in mud.
(Crap!) The mud had also completely covered my glasses, making sight an impossibility. (Whoa! Was that mud shot?!) My only option was to shed my glasses, and quickly, if I was to counter what would come next. The swampert, who was free to get closer to me because of my temporary lack of sight, attempted to barrage me with a flurry of flying fists. One came from above, and I stopped it by bending my arm at the elbow into about a 100 degree angle and raised it above my head, catching the fist before it hits my head. Then I swiftly turn my left side to face Swampert, making it easier for me to grab his now vulnerable wrist with the same hand that I blocked his punch with. After getting a grip, I then performed a basic hip throw by turning so we were facing the same direction, and then bending down to push my hip into his stomach while pulling at the arm I controlled.
But he was just too heavy to move. All I really that really happened was that I bent down while holding on to his arm.
There was still a way to salvage the situation, though. I released Swampert's arm as it was no longer any use to me. Then, in a somewhat complicated maneuver, I placed both of my hands on the ground and kicked Swampert's knee in as hard as I could just for the purpose of getting him the slightest bit off guard, and slipped my heel behind the knee I just kicked and pulled forward, which caused his knee to bend and the mass it supported to come tumbling down.
(There!) I the proceeded to flip onto my back since that was quicker than trying to stand, plucked a poke-ball from the belt that Pine gave to all three of us, and hurled it at my quarry. Unfortunately I overthrew it by a lot. (Oh, come on!) Without missing a beat, though, I plucked another one and threw it with a little more control. I nearly overshot it again but the ball just barely grazed Swampert's body before opening and sucking him in like a vacuum.
But that vacuum was tossing to and fro like it would if you accidently sucked up a lizard. Trust me, you do NOT make that mistake more than once.
Everybody, me, Michael, Shanon, even Charmander and Treeko were all staring unblinkingly at the small red and white sphere which was still jerking and shaking violently after fifteen seconds. Every passing second made the shaking more and more violent. (Uh-oh.) I took a third ball from my belt and moved to a position that would place me behind Swampert should he escape.
Good thing, too. As soon as I believed myself to be in the correct spot, the ball burst open and Swampert was free. I hit him with a swift stepping side kick to the back followed by a back kick, then a roundhouse, a front kick, and finally an inside crescent kick to the head. Just take my word for it that you do NOT want to be on the wrong end of my inside crescent kick, a fact that was made apparent by Swampert tumbling down like a pile of Jenga blocks that were badly stacked. He didn't stay down for long, though, but as he attempted to stand up I tossed the ball which I was smart enough to already have in my hand. It bounced off of his right shoulder and took him back in again, this time to be a permanent resident.
After an entire hour, the ball's tremors slowly but surely came to a standstill. OK, so it was actually only ninety seconds, but that's still a very long time and it felt like an hour to me. It was a good thing that it was over then, because my breathing was already very heavy.
Now, my father is a big, and I mean BIG sports fan. Any sport at all, be it basketball, American football, golf, hockey, or soccer, or "football" as you Europeans call it. You silly Europeans with your public urinals and lack of ice in your drinks! Anyway, I've heard from my father quite often that how one reacts to both victory and defeat says a great deal about a person. He always said that a true champion reacts to both the same way: with dignity, modesty, and grace. He wasn't wrong either, at least not in my view. He would be somewhat disappointed, though, to find out that his son is not a true champion.
"Yes! Yeah!" I was jumping and punching the air as if I'd just scored the winning basket for my team, despite the fact that I have no way of knowing what that feels like. Shanon let out a "Woo!" but that was nothing compared to Michael; the typically docile Michael was jumping up and down while shouting incomprehensible things at the top of his lungs. (Must be the AD/HD, he hasn't had his medication- oh crap! Not only are Michael's meds now unavailable to him, but mine aren't either!) As previously stated, I would take medication for stress, anxiety, and depression, though I don't think that I really needed the depression stuff anymore. Still, the possibility of adverse effects from being suddenly cut off from my medicine was present.
I put all of that out of mind, though, as I claimed my prize: one orange-sized ball. I lifted it from the ground and above my head, displaying it to the sky. Then I let it drop, but Swampert reemerged before it hit the ground. The two of us just stood and stared at each other, both smiling. When I smile, by the way, I don't show any teeth, kind of like a smirk. Anyway, neither of us moved a muscle for nearly a minute. We just smiled at each other the whole time, pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist.
Until Shanon broke it up. "Alright, that's enough. You gonna battle me or what?" (Oh, you've GOT to be kidding me!)
"Do I... do I look like I'm... like I'm fit to fight?" I gasp when I could find time in between the deep inhalations and the swift exhalations. "I'm... we're gonna sit... sit this one out. Oh man... I gotta lay down." I let myself plummet down to earth like a ton of bricks. Swampert looked down at me with what I thought was a concerned expression, but I told him, "I'm alright," and that seemed to put him at ease.
"Oh come on!"
"Shanon, right now you couldn't get me to battle if you pointed a gun at my head. I'd suggest you... just take Michael."
He didn't like the sound of that, "What? No way, I'm not-"
"Either you battle her or you're sleeping out... outside. After all, this is only meant to be a three person tent." He perked up after that.
Treeko and Charmander were already deployed, so their trainers need only to take positions twenty paces away from each other and direct their pokemon to where they wanted them to start. Once in place they squared off for only a brief moment before Michael initiated.
"Treeko, pound!" Treeko quickly closed the little distance between herself and her opponent, then spun around to smack Charmander with her tail. It looked like it hurt, too. Charmander tried to duck below it, but that only got him hit in the head instead of the body. Charmander kept on his feet, though.
"Scratch!" Shanon yelled. Upon recovering from the blow, Charmander leaned back to avoid a second hit and then counterattacked by aiming a swipe of his claws at Treeko's front. His claws weren't very long though, so the inflicted wounds didn't bleed despite the fact that they had to hurt. "Keep going!" Charmander continued to scratch and scratch repeatedly and non-stop. He ended up building a rhythm of about three or four hits per second, and boy was it a sight to see!
At the end of the battle, there had to be more scratches on Treeko than there was Treeko on Treeko! She ended up collapsing after receiving the devastating flurry of swipes, the speed of which left no opening for defense of counterattacking. Shanon and Charmander pretty much dominated Michael and Treeko after Treeko initiated the first strike. It seemed Michael was going for the "strike first, strike last" strategy, but was unable to properly execute it. I'd say Shanon didn't succeed as much as Michael failed.
"Not bad!" I call from my spot on the grass next to Swampert, "Hey Shanon, did that last attack look a little like fury swipes to you?"
__________________________________________________________
We were back in our room inside of the pokemon center. Treeko and Charmander were withdrawn into their balls, so it was just the four of us. I didn't want to keep Swampert in there, though. I enjoy his company too much and I'm sure that most pokemon prefer staying outside anyway, though it wasn't like I could just take a poll on pokemon opinions towards poke-balls.
I was already packed up and waiting for the other two humans to finish with their stuff. The three of us made absolutely sure to visit that supply shop and pick up extra food, sleeping bags, matches, and all of your other basic camping stuff.
"Are you done yet? We're waiting on you!" Actually, I didn't say that. Shanon did and she was saying it to me.
"Are you done already? Hang on, I want to finish this last little bit."
"What are you even doing?"
"Exactly what it looks like. I'm writing a little journal for myself. I started it around when I first met Swampert. I'm not missing a single second of this little adventure, and hopefully writing everything down will help me keep what little sanity I think I have."
"You have sanity?" Michael jokes. I knew it was a joke, but still found it rather insulting that the remark had to be at my expense.
"Michael, what exactly what was the point in that?" I ask in return to his comment. His face changes from one of amusement to confusion in the blink of an eye. "What did I do to deserve that comment? Last I checked, I never used you as the butt of one of my jokes for my own amusement. Can I ask you to watch what you say?"
He nodded. When I turned around, though, he muttered, "Look who's talking." He wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. Shanon, Swampert, and I all turned to face him, and Shanon and Swampert could practically hear an alarm go off upon the uncalled for statement being spoken.
Anger was something else I was medicated for. "Michael, it's a good thing that I just imagined you saying that, because if that was real then I'd be a little pissed off. May I suggest, though, that you pay extra attention to what you say, both in the near and distant future, if you expect your parents to be able to identify your remains." In all truth, I wanted to slug him right there, but I knew what was really going on inside of his head: the same thing that was in mine. I learned in drama class that as opening night gets closer, the actors, techies, and everybody else involved in a play gets a little stressed and takes it out on each other. Lots of things are said that aren't meant, and are later regretted and subsequently apologized for; I've even been guilty of committing said act. Still, the stress factor may have been a decent explanation, but it was definitely NOT an excuse.
"Let's go. Dillon, just finish what you're writing when we make camp. Swampert, can you carry my sleeping bag since I've got the tent and the food?" interrupted Shanon, and a more timely and welcome interruption I have never seen.
"Sure."
"And Michael, you might wanna take Dillon's advice. Now can we please get going?"
"You're not wrong, there. Hey where's my amp? Oh nevermind, it's right there. Is that everything?" I said
"Yeah," replied Shanon
"Then I guess it's time to be somewhere else."
Unfortunately, Michael agreed to battle so we couldn't force him to sleep outside. Swampert volunteered to do it saying that he was, in his exact words, "used to it. Honestly, I can't understand why all of you are so unwilling." I was ready to take the position of the dirt-napper myself, but he beat me to it.
"No, don't bother," I reply, "I'm OK with it."
"No, you sleep in your tent."
"You're a part of this team, which means it's your tent, too, as much as it is Shanon's, Michael's, and mine." I could see that I wasn't getting anywhere by arguing, but still felt bad about requiring him to be in the least comfortable position, as if he was a rank below the rest of us. I gave though, "But if you really insist, then I also insist that you at least use that sleeping bag we got for you." Did you think we only got three? Of course not!
Swampert's sleeping bag was red-orange in color with no pattern. My gray and black camo-patterned sleeping bag lay at the far right side of the tent, that is if you're looking at it from the perspective of somebody who is inside the tent and facing towards the door. Shanon's pure white sleeping bag with a picture of a black, flaming skull sat in between my own and Michael's, which was navy blue without a picture or pattern on the outer shell, but revealed a teal on the inside.
Camp is all set up, and I'm writing this last section in my Guitar Hero pajamas while listening to my IPod. I'm about to go to bed without turning off the IPod; I like to listen to it while I sleep. As soon as I finish writing this sentence, I'm going to lay down and the first song that I'm going to play is "Welcome to Wherever You Are" by Bon Jovi.
[Welcome
to wherever you are!
This is your life!
You made it this far,
Welcome!
You gotta believe,
that right here right now,
you're exactly where you're supposed to be,
Welcome
to wherever you are...]
The third was that my parents wouldn't smack me awake. "OW! Hey!"
"Swampert's getting tired or waiting for you, and so am I. So get going!" I'd fallen asleep in the lobby last night while trying to write, or so I found out upon looking around. When I shifted my attention to my paper, I found it covered in lines, scribbles, things that were crossed out, and "~I suck~" written by somebody who wasn't me. No lyrics, though. (Just great.)
"Fine, but I'm gonna nuke some leftover pizza first. It's a good thing these places have microwaves in the rooms." One failed attempt, two burnt pizza pieces, and three burnt fingers later, I ended up with heaven in my mouth. Yeah, I REALLY like pizza, so much that if you went to the Cici's that I lived close to and asked for the "Dillon Special", they would know what you mean. The Dillon Special, by the way, is just an adult buffet with water as a drink and a large plain cheese pizza to go, except that they sprinkle your pizza with pepper and salt. Oh, so good! Oh crap, I got lost in thinking about pizza, didn't I?
"Let's get going," said Michael when I finished eating.
"Not yet, there's one more thing that I need to do while we're here. Where's Swampert?"
__________________________________________________________
(Come on, come on, come on...) I was inside very nervous about two particular things. The first thing is that I wanted more than anything to be partners with Swampert, and knew that he did too, which meant that a lot of responsibility was on me. I always liked to think that I could fight well enough, but never REALLY needed to before then, unless you count a couple of sparring matches during the brief time period three years ago when I took Tae Kwon Do and even made it to the rank of a high green belt. (I'm going to have to use my head because muscle is going to get me nowhere fast, even if I was fighting another human.) The second, stronger fear was that for my own bodily safety.
"Maybe I haven't known you too long, but I still think I can call you my best friend," I called, "which means that under NO circumstances do I want you to go easy on me. To hold back on an opponent is to underestimate them, and to do that is to insult them!" But I wasn't letting fear number two stand in my way, not when my very future was on the line. I tried to keep my cool on the exterior, and I think that I did pretty good doing it, but inside I was screaming like a little girl.
Swampert nodded. He then assumed a fighting stance and a serious, focused expression, his eyes now striking additional fear instead of the calming effect I'd come to know so well. (His legs look a little short, which means kicking and balance will be his biggest weaknesses, but those arms are long and muscular so I probably want to get in close to avoid that reach, even if that's not my normal thing.) A larger than normal percentage of my height was made up of my long legs, so I preferred to use kicks to keep an opponent at a distance. (If I can knock him down somehow, maybe take out his legs from beneath him, then this will be a whole lot easier.)
A nice thought, but I ended up being the one knocked down after a single blow to the head that came so swiftly that I was literally on the ground before I knew it. I recovered as quickly as I could, lifting my back and backside off of the ground with my arms as if I was about to start crab-walking. Apparently he took my words to heart, though, because he didn't let me back up, but tried to stomp down on me. If I didn't have the naturally quick reflexes that I did, I would have gotten a face full of foot instead of blocking it with an outstretched arm. Unfortunately I didn't have the strength to hold both his foot and my body up with one arm, so I had to push his leg away from me and roll away in order to buy enough time to stand up. When I pushed Swampert off, he stumbled back a bit but kept his balance, which was exactly what I was hoping not to happen. I suppose I should be satisfied that I was able to reach my feet, though.
We were now too far away from each other for either of us to strike, so we were now at a standoff, both of us waiting for the other to make his move. (No way, I'm not falling for that one. I've got all day.) It wouldn't be me who made the mistake of charging, that much was certain. Swampert looked to have caught on to my immobility and initiated the next move. He got down on all fours, which he could do with his feet still flat on the ground due to his gorilla-like arms, and opened his maw as wide as he possibly could. (What the- oh crap!) Swampert let loose a jet of flying mud straight at me, and it hit me like a battering ram. However, I saw it coming in good enough time to allow me to keep my balance, but that was about all. I was pushed back a ways and ended up completely covered in mud.
(Crap!) The mud had also completely covered my glasses, making sight an impossibility. (Whoa! Was that mud shot?!) My only option was to shed my glasses, and quickly, if I was to counter what would come next. The swampert, who was free to get closer to me because of my temporary lack of sight, attempted to barrage me with a flurry of flying fists. One came from above, and I stopped it by bending my arm at the elbow into about a 100 degree angle and raised it above my head, catching the fist before it hits my head. Then I swiftly turn my left side to face Swampert, making it easier for me to grab his now vulnerable wrist with the same hand that I blocked his punch with. After getting a grip, I then performed a basic hip throw by turning so we were facing the same direction, and then bending down to push my hip into his stomach while pulling at the arm I controlled.
But he was just too heavy to move. All I really that really happened was that I bent down while holding on to his arm.
There was still a way to salvage the situation, though. I released Swampert's arm as it was no longer any use to me. Then, in a somewhat complicated maneuver, I placed both of my hands on the ground and kicked Swampert's knee in as hard as I could just for the purpose of getting him the slightest bit off guard, and slipped my heel behind the knee I just kicked and pulled forward, which caused his knee to bend and the mass it supported to come tumbling down.
(There!) I the proceeded to flip onto my back since that was quicker than trying to stand, plucked a poke-ball from the belt that Pine gave to all three of us, and hurled it at my quarry. Unfortunately I overthrew it by a lot. (Oh, come on!) Without missing a beat, though, I plucked another one and threw it with a little more control. I nearly overshot it again but the ball just barely grazed Swampert's body before opening and sucking him in like a vacuum.
But that vacuum was tossing to and fro like it would if you accidently sucked up a lizard. Trust me, you do NOT make that mistake more than once.
Everybody, me, Michael, Shanon, even Charmander and Treeko were all staring unblinkingly at the small red and white sphere which was still jerking and shaking violently after fifteen seconds. Every passing second made the shaking more and more violent. (Uh-oh.) I took a third ball from my belt and moved to a position that would place me behind Swampert should he escape.
Good thing, too. As soon as I believed myself to be in the correct spot, the ball burst open and Swampert was free. I hit him with a swift stepping side kick to the back followed by a back kick, then a roundhouse, a front kick, and finally an inside crescent kick to the head. Just take my word for it that you do NOT want to be on the wrong end of my inside crescent kick, a fact that was made apparent by Swampert tumbling down like a pile of Jenga blocks that were badly stacked. He didn't stay down for long, though, but as he attempted to stand up I tossed the ball which I was smart enough to already have in my hand. It bounced off of his right shoulder and took him back in again, this time to be a permanent resident.
After an entire hour, the ball's tremors slowly but surely came to a standstill. OK, so it was actually only ninety seconds, but that's still a very long time and it felt like an hour to me. It was a good thing that it was over then, because my breathing was already very heavy.
Now, my father is a big, and I mean BIG sports fan. Any sport at all, be it basketball, American football, golf, hockey, or soccer, or "football" as you Europeans call it. You silly Europeans with your public urinals and lack of ice in your drinks! Anyway, I've heard from my father quite often that how one reacts to both victory and defeat says a great deal about a person. He always said that a true champion reacts to both the same way: with dignity, modesty, and grace. He wasn't wrong either, at least not in my view. He would be somewhat disappointed, though, to find out that his son is not a true champion.
"Yes! Yeah!" I was jumping and punching the air as if I'd just scored the winning basket for my team, despite the fact that I have no way of knowing what that feels like. Shanon let out a "Woo!" but that was nothing compared to Michael; the typically docile Michael was jumping up and down while shouting incomprehensible things at the top of his lungs. (Must be the AD/HD, he hasn't had his medication- oh crap! Not only are Michael's meds now unavailable to him, but mine aren't either!) As previously stated, I would take medication for stress, anxiety, and depression, though I don't think that I really needed the depression stuff anymore. Still, the possibility of adverse effects from being suddenly cut off from my medicine was present.
I put all of that out of mind, though, as I claimed my prize: one orange-sized ball. I lifted it from the ground and above my head, displaying it to the sky. Then I let it drop, but Swampert reemerged before it hit the ground. The two of us just stood and stared at each other, both smiling. When I smile, by the way, I don't show any teeth, kind of like a smirk. Anyway, neither of us moved a muscle for nearly a minute. We just smiled at each other the whole time, pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist.
Until Shanon broke it up. "Alright, that's enough. You gonna battle me or what?" (Oh, you've GOT to be kidding me!)
"Do I... do I look like I'm... like I'm fit to fight?" I gasp when I could find time in between the deep inhalations and the swift exhalations. "I'm... we're gonna sit... sit this one out. Oh man... I gotta lay down." I let myself plummet down to earth like a ton of bricks. Swampert looked down at me with what I thought was a concerned expression, but I told him, "I'm alright," and that seemed to put him at ease.
"Oh come on!"
"Shanon, right now you couldn't get me to battle if you pointed a gun at my head. I'd suggest you... just take Michael."
He didn't like the sound of that, "What? No way, I'm not-"
"Either you battle her or you're sleeping out... outside. After all, this is only meant to be a three person tent." He perked up after that.
Treeko and Charmander were already deployed, so their trainers need only to take positions twenty paces away from each other and direct their pokemon to where they wanted them to start. Once in place they squared off for only a brief moment before Michael initiated.
"Treeko, pound!" Treeko quickly closed the little distance between herself and her opponent, then spun around to smack Charmander with her tail. It looked like it hurt, too. Charmander tried to duck below it, but that only got him hit in the head instead of the body. Charmander kept on his feet, though.
"Scratch!" Shanon yelled. Upon recovering from the blow, Charmander leaned back to avoid a second hit and then counterattacked by aiming a swipe of his claws at Treeko's front. His claws weren't very long though, so the inflicted wounds didn't bleed despite the fact that they had to hurt. "Keep going!" Charmander continued to scratch and scratch repeatedly and non-stop. He ended up building a rhythm of about three or four hits per second, and boy was it a sight to see!
At the end of the battle, there had to be more scratches on Treeko than there was Treeko on Treeko! She ended up collapsing after receiving the devastating flurry of swipes, the speed of which left no opening for defense of counterattacking. Shanon and Charmander pretty much dominated Michael and Treeko after Treeko initiated the first strike. It seemed Michael was going for the "strike first, strike last" strategy, but was unable to properly execute it. I'd say Shanon didn't succeed as much as Michael failed.
"Not bad!" I call from my spot on the grass next to Swampert, "Hey Shanon, did that last attack look a little like fury swipes to you?"
__________________________________________________________
We were back in our room inside of the pokemon center. Treeko and Charmander were withdrawn into their balls, so it was just the four of us. I didn't want to keep Swampert in there, though. I enjoy his company too much and I'm sure that most pokemon prefer staying outside anyway, though it wasn't like I could just take a poll on pokemon opinions towards poke-balls.
I was already packed up and waiting for the other two humans to finish with their stuff. The three of us made absolutely sure to visit that supply shop and pick up extra food, sleeping bags, matches, and all of your other basic camping stuff.
"Are you done yet? We're waiting on you!" Actually, I didn't say that. Shanon did and she was saying it to me.
"Are you done already? Hang on, I want to finish this last little bit."
"What are you even doing?"
"Exactly what it looks like. I'm writing a little journal for myself. I started it around when I first met Swampert. I'm not missing a single second of this little adventure, and hopefully writing everything down will help me keep what little sanity I think I have."
"You have sanity?" Michael jokes. I knew it was a joke, but still found it rather insulting that the remark had to be at my expense.
"Michael, what exactly what was the point in that?" I ask in return to his comment. His face changes from one of amusement to confusion in the blink of an eye. "What did I do to deserve that comment? Last I checked, I never used you as the butt of one of my jokes for my own amusement. Can I ask you to watch what you say?"
He nodded. When I turned around, though, he muttered, "Look who's talking." He wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. Shanon, Swampert, and I all turned to face him, and Shanon and Swampert could practically hear an alarm go off upon the uncalled for statement being spoken.
Anger was something else I was medicated for. "Michael, it's a good thing that I just imagined you saying that, because if that was real then I'd be a little pissed off. May I suggest, though, that you pay extra attention to what you say, both in the near and distant future, if you expect your parents to be able to identify your remains." In all truth, I wanted to slug him right there, but I knew what was really going on inside of his head: the same thing that was in mine. I learned in drama class that as opening night gets closer, the actors, techies, and everybody else involved in a play gets a little stressed and takes it out on each other. Lots of things are said that aren't meant, and are later regretted and subsequently apologized for; I've even been guilty of committing said act. Still, the stress factor may have been a decent explanation, but it was definitely NOT an excuse.
"Let's go. Dillon, just finish what you're writing when we make camp. Swampert, can you carry my sleeping bag since I've got the tent and the food?" interrupted Shanon, and a more timely and welcome interruption I have never seen.
"Sure."
"And Michael, you might wanna take Dillon's advice. Now can we please get going?"
"You're not wrong, there. Hey where's my amp? Oh nevermind, it's right there. Is that everything?" I said
"Yeah," replied Shanon
"Then I guess it's time to be somewhere else."
Unfortunately, Michael agreed to battle so we couldn't force him to sleep outside. Swampert volunteered to do it saying that he was, in his exact words, "used to it. Honestly, I can't understand why all of you are so unwilling." I was ready to take the position of the dirt-napper myself, but he beat me to it.
"No, don't bother," I reply, "I'm OK with it."
"No, you sleep in your tent."
"You're a part of this team, which means it's your tent, too, as much as it is Shanon's, Michael's, and mine." I could see that I wasn't getting anywhere by arguing, but still felt bad about requiring him to be in the least comfortable position, as if he was a rank below the rest of us. I gave though, "But if you really insist, then I also insist that you at least use that sleeping bag we got for you." Did you think we only got three? Of course not!
Swampert's sleeping bag was red-orange in color with no pattern. My gray and black camo-patterned sleeping bag lay at the far right side of the tent, that is if you're looking at it from the perspective of somebody who is inside the tent and facing towards the door. Shanon's pure white sleeping bag with a picture of a black, flaming skull sat in between my own and Michael's, which was navy blue without a picture or pattern on the outer shell, but revealed a teal on the inside.
Camp is all set up, and I'm writing this last section in my Guitar Hero pajamas while listening to my IPod. I'm about to go to bed without turning off the IPod; I like to listen to it while I sleep. As soon as I finish writing this sentence, I'm going to lay down and the first song that I'm going to play is "Welcome to Wherever You Are" by Bon Jovi.
[Welcome
to wherever you are!
This is your life!
You made it this far,
Welcome!
You gotta believe,
that right here right now,
you're exactly where you're supposed to be,
Welcome
to wherever you are...]