Categories > Anime/Manga > Pokemon > Lucian, M.D.
Chapter 40
“Where... am I...,” I said while waking up.
“Hello,” Charon greeted me again. What was up with him? Was he attracted to me?
“I am terribly sorry Cyrus got ahold of you again,” he added. “I have an idea,” he looked at me straight in the eyes. “Are you listening?” He cocked his head.
“Hmm? Oh, not really.” I felt a little bit wet... I must have wet myself when I was asleep. “How long was I asleep now?”
“Nearly a week.” I cringed. How could I sleep that long?
“You all right?”
“Touché,” I mumbled.
“I take that as I no.”
“Correct. I almost got raped by a Pokémon.”
“I loved it when you punched her, I thought that was pretty impressive.”
“Thanks...,” I hesitated.
“No problem, you rest again, I will be busy, as usual...”
I watched him walk away, I thought about the play Hamlet.
“To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’oppressor's wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Cyrus is watching him again.
“What is he babbling about?” He groaned.
“That is Hamlet, you idiot!” Charon growled.
“Hamlet?”
“Read it, duh!!” Charon huffed.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I paced the floor. There was nothing to do at all. I looked up at the wall. A Nazi flag. They were everywhere in this building. I shuddered and cringed at the look of the swastika. “Evil...” I mumbled. I turned around and saw a huge Houndoom in my face.
“Umm... hi?” I hesitated.
“I will not hurt you,” he said calmly.
“Huh?”
“I see no point on hurting you.” I babbled nonsense. “Ey! Stop. You think us Houndooms are evil? Well think again.”
“Who are you anyways?”
“I AM BEOWULF!!” He did a flip in the air.
“Nice opening,” I clapped.
“Thank you,” he twitched his single-pronged tail. It was shaped like an arrowhead. The horns on his head were extremely sharp. It reminded me somewhat of Liston knives. I shuddered.
“You alright?” He asked.
“Yeah, just thinking of a flashback.”
“Oh dear, could you tell me what happened? Will it make you feel better?”
“I suppose..., come over here, want to sit down?” I sat down on a chair. He sat down on the floor next to me. I then told him what happened. It did make me feel better.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: It's short, I know. I was in a hurry to get it done. Beowulf. I love that name. It means "bear wolf". I'll make sure the next chapter is longer than this one!
“Where... am I...,” I said while waking up.
“Hello,” Charon greeted me again. What was up with him? Was he attracted to me?
“I am terribly sorry Cyrus got ahold of you again,” he added. “I have an idea,” he looked at me straight in the eyes. “Are you listening?” He cocked his head.
“Hmm? Oh, not really.” I felt a little bit wet... I must have wet myself when I was asleep. “How long was I asleep now?”
“Nearly a week.” I cringed. How could I sleep that long?
“You all right?”
“Touché,” I mumbled.
“I take that as I no.”
“Correct. I almost got raped by a Pokémon.”
“I loved it when you punched her, I thought that was pretty impressive.”
“Thanks...,” I hesitated.
“No problem, you rest again, I will be busy, as usual...”
I watched him walk away, I thought about the play Hamlet.
“To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’oppressor's wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Cyrus is watching him again.
“What is he babbling about?” He groaned.
“That is Hamlet, you idiot!” Charon growled.
“Hamlet?”
“Read it, duh!!” Charon huffed.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I paced the floor. There was nothing to do at all. I looked up at the wall. A Nazi flag. They were everywhere in this building. I shuddered and cringed at the look of the swastika. “Evil...” I mumbled. I turned around and saw a huge Houndoom in my face.
“Umm... hi?” I hesitated.
“I will not hurt you,” he said calmly.
“Huh?”
“I see no point on hurting you.” I babbled nonsense. “Ey! Stop. You think us Houndooms are evil? Well think again.”
“Who are you anyways?”
“I AM BEOWULF!!” He did a flip in the air.
“Nice opening,” I clapped.
“Thank you,” he twitched his single-pronged tail. It was shaped like an arrowhead. The horns on his head were extremely sharp. It reminded me somewhat of Liston knives. I shuddered.
“You alright?” He asked.
“Yeah, just thinking of a flashback.”
“Oh dear, could you tell me what happened? Will it make you feel better?”
“I suppose..., come over here, want to sit down?” I sat down on a chair. He sat down on the floor next to me. I then told him what happened. It did make me feel better.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: It's short, I know. I was in a hurry to get it done. Beowulf. I love that name. It means "bear wolf". I'll make sure the next chapter is longer than this one!
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