Monthly Archives: February 2012
Greetings gentle reader(s),
I know that this is kind of unorthodox, but I’ve been writing and deleting the same two sentences since early January, and I finally came up with something for my next Nuzlocke post. It feels like the dam has broken. I hope this doesn’t come off as too self-indulgent, but I’m really excited to be working again and I’d like to share it with you, if you don’t mind (I also put the boring personal reasons for the delay at the end of this post, so you can just read this preview and skip that hoo-hah if you wish).
Here’s what I’ve got so far:
Pallet Town is so small, so remote, and of so little consequence, that by all rights it should not exist. Like most children who grew up in such places, my swimming did not take place in a “pool”, but a “hole,” and as a reflective child who had very little else to do, I gave a great deal of thought to this distinction during my hours of Summer idleness. I decided that a “swimming pool” must be much cleaner, safer, and generally more civilized than a “swimming hole,” which sounded suspiciously like some sort of trap for reckless swimmers, and besides that, experience had taught me that holes are
1. Dangerous as a rule,
2. almost always dirty, and
3. sometimes have things living in them.
In retrospect, I was wrong on one point: our swimming hole was not a hole at all but in fact a shallow estuary that flowed into the sea along Route 21. I was not wrong, however, about the danger and the dirt and the things and so this was only a small consolation to me.
All the same, every morning in Summer I raced to the swimming hole with the others. It’s a very normal thing for children to run to a swimming hole in hot weather, but we ran with a special desperation, because everyone knew that every single second in the water was precious, and not to be wasted. It was only a matter of time until some poor idiot got himself stung by a Tentacool, curled up in shivering agony on the beach while someone made the barefoot run to get the antivenom from Oak’s lab. As painful as the sting was to its victim, it was never half as dangerous or fast-acting as the ensuing outbreak of mom-panic which would spell the end of our days at the swimming hole, at least until next year. So while the other children splashed and roughhoused with one another, eagerly gulping down mouthfuls of bacteria, I chose wisely to stay within the safety and comfort of the knee-deep shelf near the shore, and I was grateful for even that relief from the heat and the boredom. But I always nurtured a small hope that, one day, I would visit a proper swimming pool where I didn’t have to worry about waterborne microorganisms or being envenomed by the nematocysts of a Poison type lurking just beneath the surface.
That said, the moment I walked into the Cerulean Gym, I decided that I was willing to go home and take my chances with the Tentacool.