soul [1/1]
most of all, he remembers the girl. [falkner/erika]
pokemon; gen; g; 900 words
Falkner remembers little about his childhood. He remembers the old house in Celadon, with the sliding paper doors and the rickety old porch and the dusty vases with withered flowers inside. He remembers his grandfather telling him old legends as they basked in the sweltering heat of summer and drank cold tea by the gallon. He remembers his mother bundling him up in layers of blankets as the chill of winter set in.
But most of all, he remembers the girl.
She lived in the house (mansion) next to theirs, and he glimpsed her often when he was sitting on the back porch, idling the days away. She fascinated him with her delicate beauty - porcelain skin and black, black hair, almost like a doll. Never once did he see her wearing anything but the most elegant kimonos and yukatas, and she moved with a certain grace between the rows of flowers in her garden. Falkner often considered calling out to her. She seemed very kind - always smiling gently as she watered her plants and observed their progress. But he never did. Maybe it was the obvious difference in their social standing. Maybe it was a lack of self-confidence on his part. No matter what the reason, Falkner contented himself with simply observing the girl whenever she happened to be in her garden.
One day a group of men came with axes and saws. The neighbors had complained about an ancient oak that stood in the far corner of the girl’s garden. Its roots had begun to stretch beyond the fence that enclosed it, and its branches reached their leafy fingers far beyond the point of welcome.
The men had come to remove the tree, but no one had told the girl.
“Step aside, sweetie,” one of the workers growled, hefting his gleaming axe over his shoulder.
She pressed herself closer to the tree, and even from a distance Falkner could see the defiance in her eyes.
“This tree has a soul too,” she said. “Just like all of you. It hasn’t done any harm. I won’t let you kill it!”
In the end, the men left, grumbling to themselves about kids these days. The neighbors never mentioned the tree again, allowing it to claim their yards for its own, and Falkner’s grandfather said that the girl’s parents had paid quite a bit of money to appease them.
The girl continued with her daily visitation of her precious garden, but she had added something new to her routine. Every day she would lay her hand on the trunk of the twisted old tree and smile, as if it were whispering secrets only she could hear.
--
Falkner returns to Celadon one year, curious to see what has become of his childhood home. It looks very much the same, he thinks, still shabby and untidy and comforting in its worn-out glory. Next to it, the mansion stands proud and regal like a queen beside a peasant. He peers between the bars of its cast-iron gate, astonished by the loveliness of the landscaping, wondering if the girl’s family still lives there. He turns away with a quiet sigh. No use dwelling on first loves - in all those years he had never even learned her name, after all.
A young boy plays happily by himself in the nearby grass. He spots a beautiful flower and reaches down to pluck it, but on an impulse Falkner reaches out a hand and stops him.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, totally serious. “Plants have souls too, you know. Just like you and me.”
The boy stares at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”
Falkner nods, stony-faced. “You must learn to have respect for all creatures, whether they are human, Pokémon, or plant.”
“That’s very wise advice,” a voice says from somewhere behind him. He turns to see a beautiful young woman dressed in a stylish yellow yukata smiling at him. She has short black hair, in stark contrast to her pale skin, and Falkner recognizes her in a heartbeat. The girl from all those years ago.
Her smiles falters when she sees his face. “Do I know you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side quizzically. “You seem terribly familiar…”
“I… I used to live in that house right there,” Falkner says, hardly daring to believe that he’s speaking with her at long last.
Her dark eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, the boy next door!” she exclaims. “I remember you… I always wondered why you never spoke to me, but I just assumed you were shy. It’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”
She remembers him. Falkner feels a slight flush rising to his cheeks as he recalls the times he spent staring at her from his spot on the porch. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he murmurs.
“Since you’re here, would you like to come in for tea…?”
“Falkner.” He clears his throat nervously. “And I would love to, thanks.”
As she ushers him inside her grandiose home, she says:
“I’m Erika, by the way. It’s unfortunate how we were never formally introduced until now.” She looks over at him with lidded eyes and laughs quietly (uncomfortably). “To tell the truth, I had the oddest little crush on you when I was young. And to think I never even knew your name.”
He stops and stares at her in pure astonishment. Slowly but surely, a smile graces his lips.
“You know it now,” he says. “And in the end, that’s all that matters.”
pokemon; gen; g; 900 words
Falkner remembers little about his childhood. He remembers the old house in Celadon, with the sliding paper doors and the rickety old porch and the dusty vases with withered flowers inside. He remembers his grandfather telling him old legends as they basked in the sweltering heat of summer and drank cold tea by the gallon. He remembers his mother bundling him up in layers of blankets as the chill of winter set in.
But most of all, he remembers the girl.
She lived in the house (mansion) next to theirs, and he glimpsed her often when he was sitting on the back porch, idling the days away. She fascinated him with her delicate beauty - porcelain skin and black, black hair, almost like a doll. Never once did he see her wearing anything but the most elegant kimonos and yukatas, and she moved with a certain grace between the rows of flowers in her garden. Falkner often considered calling out to her. She seemed very kind - always smiling gently as she watered her plants and observed their progress. But he never did. Maybe it was the obvious difference in their social standing. Maybe it was a lack of self-confidence on his part. No matter what the reason, Falkner contented himself with simply observing the girl whenever she happened to be in her garden.
One day a group of men came with axes and saws. The neighbors had complained about an ancient oak that stood in the far corner of the girl’s garden. Its roots had begun to stretch beyond the fence that enclosed it, and its branches reached their leafy fingers far beyond the point of welcome.
The men had come to remove the tree, but no one had told the girl.
“Step aside, sweetie,” one of the workers growled, hefting his gleaming axe over his shoulder.
She pressed herself closer to the tree, and even from a distance Falkner could see the defiance in her eyes.
“This tree has a soul too,” she said. “Just like all of you. It hasn’t done any harm. I won’t let you kill it!”
In the end, the men left, grumbling to themselves about kids these days. The neighbors never mentioned the tree again, allowing it to claim their yards for its own, and Falkner’s grandfather said that the girl’s parents had paid quite a bit of money to appease them.
The girl continued with her daily visitation of her precious garden, but she had added something new to her routine. Every day she would lay her hand on the trunk of the twisted old tree and smile, as if it were whispering secrets only she could hear.
--
Falkner returns to Celadon one year, curious to see what has become of his childhood home. It looks very much the same, he thinks, still shabby and untidy and comforting in its worn-out glory. Next to it, the mansion stands proud and regal like a queen beside a peasant. He peers between the bars of its cast-iron gate, astonished by the loveliness of the landscaping, wondering if the girl’s family still lives there. He turns away with a quiet sigh. No use dwelling on first loves - in all those years he had never even learned her name, after all.
A young boy plays happily by himself in the nearby grass. He spots a beautiful flower and reaches down to pluck it, but on an impulse Falkner reaches out a hand and stops him.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, totally serious. “Plants have souls too, you know. Just like you and me.”
The boy stares at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”
Falkner nods, stony-faced. “You must learn to have respect for all creatures, whether they are human, Pokémon, or plant.”
“That’s very wise advice,” a voice says from somewhere behind him. He turns to see a beautiful young woman dressed in a stylish yellow yukata smiling at him. She has short black hair, in stark contrast to her pale skin, and Falkner recognizes her in a heartbeat. The girl from all those years ago.
Her smiles falters when she sees his face. “Do I know you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side quizzically. “You seem terribly familiar…”
“I… I used to live in that house right there,” Falkner says, hardly daring to believe that he’s speaking with her at long last.
Her dark eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, the boy next door!” she exclaims. “I remember you… I always wondered why you never spoke to me, but I just assumed you were shy. It’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”
She remembers him. Falkner feels a slight flush rising to his cheeks as he recalls the times he spent staring at her from his spot on the porch. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he murmurs.
“Since you’re here, would you like to come in for tea…?”
“Falkner.” He clears his throat nervously. “And I would love to, thanks.”
As she ushers him inside her grandiose home, she says:
“I’m Erika, by the way. It’s unfortunate how we were never formally introduced until now.” She looks over at him with lidded eyes and laughs quietly (uncomfortably). “To tell the truth, I had the oddest little crush on you when I was young. And to think I never even knew your name.”
He stops and stares at her in pure astonishment. Slowly but surely, a smile graces his lips.
“You know it now,” he says. “And in the end, that’s all that matters.”