Gone Fishin'

The sun shone through the trees south of Cerulean city. I always loved this outfit, how the yellow of my shirt and blue of the jeans almost felt like looking at a warm summer sky. Compared to the seashell bras and bathing suits that so frequently made up my attire in the gym, a tank top and shorts were positively modest. I love the feeling of the wind blowing itself over my legs, arms, and midriff as a furiously pedaled out of the city on a road heading south. I had a day off from my duties as gym leader, and wasn't going to waste it in that cramped public pool that essentially doubles as work and home. A public pool filled with egoists, sisters, and perverted onlookers of every sex and orientation. I hate it. I hate how superficial it all feels. This felt more like me. My legs pounding on the bicycle I currently straddled, legs growing tought, or loosening in rhythm, the sound of the chain circuited in its sprockets and gears while the occasional pop of a rock or stick accented the gentle rub of the tires over the ground.

I could feel the wad of hair ponied up on top of my head bounce in rhythm to my steps, and my ever trusty back pack swinging with the sway of my hips as they countered the motion of my legs mechanically maintaining my balance high above the pedals. Buildings soon gave way to forest as pavement gave way to gravel, and then dirt. After nearly 20 minutes of heavy pedaling I was a few miles out of Cerulean, and the air was lighter. Sweet notes of flowers and sweet gum flavored the air as controlled my breathing, and continued riding. Sweat beaded on my forearms, and my face, fortunately quickly evaporating, and leaving minimal color darkening to my bright yellow shirt. My destination suddenly loomed ahead. A mass of blue, gently broken up by the waves of wind, rocks, logs, and eddies. The muddy banks of the river looked so inviting, they looked like home. It reminded me of less superficial beginnings. The day I had met a trainer named red, and how we had traveled lands, met Pokemon, and slept under the stars for years. This was home. Not some nepotist aquarium for tourists and peeping toms, but here at the river. The kick stand came down with a flick of my sneaker, snapping into place like soldier coming to attention. A quick shift of position and a swing of my leg had me off the bicycle in no time.

This was no time for foreplay. Me and this spot were intimate, and knew each other like an old married couple. I knew where the line snags were, were every embankment was eroded under the facing edge, where every rock lay. I had been fishing here since I was a little girl, and those memories flooded me as I pulled out and unfolded my collapsible rod from my back pack, as well as a few poke balls, and some home made bait. It was disgustingly smelly stuff, made from you dont want to know what, but the fish loved it, and the Pokemon too. It might not compare to Brock's camp cooking, but it got the job done. I double checked my own Pokemon on my suspended belt to make sure they were all still there, and they were. My hands went to work looping string on a lure, mechanically tying the knot by muscle memory while I stared at the beautiful shimmering surface of my old friend. “Beautiful day isn't it?” I asked. He didn't answer, he never did. He just saw quietly shuttling water between his banks and quietly babbling and splashing as it went. It didn't diminish my smile to be so ignored, as I launched my lure into the stream, breaking the surface calm with rings of waves that made their way to the sure where I sat quietly on a log, and watched my line like an ambush predator hiding in tall grass.

There hadn't been much action all day. I caught and released a few magicarp, giving them a nice free meal off my rod. It wasn't so much about catching anything. As I sipped on a soda and ate from a bag of mixed nuts in the beautiful weather, the actual success of this fishing expedition were about as far from my mind as anything could be, and that is almost always when it happens. The big bite. The reel started spinning like it was possessed by a rapidash spirit; spinning and whining as the line drew shapes through the surface of the water. “Oh shit!” I muttered to myself while dropping my food and beverage on the ground. My left arm cradled the rod, while the right went for the reel, first slowing, and then reversing its spin to fight the unseen monster on the other end of the line. The struggle was real. Whatever it was, it was a big boy or girl, and it did not like my fishing pole.

After struggling for what had to have been 10 minutes of more, I could see the beginnings of the beasts shape below the surface. Just a red haze under the surface. “C'mon Misty, you got this,” I encouraged myself, forcing my focus away from my burning arms. “1 rotation, 2 rotation, just keep going girl, you got this”, Is all I could think as the shape slowly gained resolution. It was right when a red point finally broke the surface, that it was immediately followed by another, much larger break. A claw the size of my bicycle wheel came out of the river, sending waves across the glassy surface. “Noooo!” I screamed when the creatures vice-like claw locked on the pole, and without pomp cleaved it in twain. I screamed while the on the reel grew limp, and with a sploosh I watched half of my favorite fishing pole slip beneath the Wave. A bright red light flashed, and in front of me stood a funny looking yellow thing. It held Its hands to its head, cocked it, and asked, "Psy?" "God damnit!" I continued screaming. This seemed to stress poor psyduck out. "I mean, not you psyduck, a kingler just broke my damn fishing rod!" I shouted holding the ruined mass of string and splinters in front of his confused face, "See!?" About 5 years ago I had gotten the poor guy a prescription of imitrex. and he has been much more reliable, and fairly intelligent, for a pokemon at least. He's become fairly protective ever since, and will just let himself out of his ball if he thinks I'm in trouble. It's kind of charming to see such bravery from such a naturally cowardly character, and I confess a fondness for the silly duck. "Psy!" he nodded furiously, obviously happy about not being the focus of my ire. The Kingler was long since gone, and I didn't need my hero in yellow armor. "Psyduck, return," I said. He dissolved into red light and launched into the pokeball, which then bounced out of my hand still trembling with rage, and with a sploosh sunk below the surface of the river. "Ducky!" I meeped, my anger over the destroyed rod immediately over taken by fear for my companion. I'd know this duck for most of my life, and I just watched his pokeball sink to the bottom of the stream. My throat was stuck high in my neck as my question went unanswered. "Ducky?"