Categories > Games > Pokemon > The Last Piplup
~3~
‘Fern’
A feeling of dread spread throughout my feathers as I stared out from underneath the tree. Rain poured down hard on the canopy of trees above us. It was morning, but the sky was dark, draining happiness from every inch of my body.
“Are you all right?” My friend, Basil, a Sprigatito, asked. “Your face looks pale. Are you cold?”
“I-I’m fine,” I lied. I shuffled closer to Basil and fluffed out my feathers. “But I’m kind of cold. Can we go back home now?”
Basil looked at me. “Okay,” She said, and she padded away until the pouring rain devoured her figure.
I flung up my wings and flew up to my family’s trunk where we lived. I landed on the base and entered the room lit with Morelull lights and spotted my mother looking concerned in one corner.
“Oh, hello, Fern,” she said, looking distracted. “Harsh weather out there, right? Even the canopy couldn’t hold it.”
I nodded and went to my room. I lay on the leaf-strewn floor, staring at the wooden walls, thinking.
I wonder why the rain is so strong, I thought. It hasn’t been like this for several years…
I heard a scream from the other room. I sat bolt upright and didn’t make a sound as I walked to the room.
The scream sounded like my mother. My heart hammered violently against my body. What if she was in danger? I stood still for a moment, scared. What if someone had come and hurt her? I didn’t dare think of what would happen if I lived my life without her. Step by step, I advanced slowly forward to the room. Cold chilled me deep under my feathers, but it wasn’t from the cold. Some sort of other force was inside their tree.
I looked around the edge of the wood and stared in horror as a dark figure flew out of the door and into the cold downpour. My mother lay on the ground, breathing heavily, rasping. Blood was splattered across the ground, surrounding her limp form. She was still alive, but barely. I stepped into the room cautiously and approached my mother.
As she heard my footsteps, she turned to look at me and smiled weakly. Her eyes were dull with pain, and I could barely look at her any longer.
“Hello, my little bird,” She said, lifting her large wing and wrapping it around me. “You know what is to happen to me. But do not be sad,” she said, pulling me closer. “My spirit will always be with you, watching over you.”
“No,” I said, pulling away. “You aren’t going to die. We are going to find help. You will be okay.” I tried to convince myself, but I knew there was no hope of saving her.
“Do not waste your time on me,” she said. “Stop trying to deny the fact. Now come here. I must show you something.” She paused, reaching out her wing for me to come closer once more. I stepped towards her, leaning in closer.
“Do you see this?” She said, holding up a small rose flower she had taken off her head. “This was my mothers’. She gave it to me before she died.” I nodded.
“I want you to have it now. Treasure it forever, and if you choose, you may pass it down to another.” She handed the small flower to me. I took it and placed it on my head. I blinked back the tears welling up in my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Mother wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t.
But in a few passing moments, her wing fell. Her body stopped moving. Her feathers no longer held the warmth of comfort and safety. She radiated the cold hard truth: She was dead.
‘Fern’
A feeling of dread spread throughout my feathers as I stared out from underneath the tree. Rain poured down hard on the canopy of trees above us. It was morning, but the sky was dark, draining happiness from every inch of my body.
“Are you all right?” My friend, Basil, a Sprigatito, asked. “Your face looks pale. Are you cold?”
“I-I’m fine,” I lied. I shuffled closer to Basil and fluffed out my feathers. “But I’m kind of cold. Can we go back home now?”
Basil looked at me. “Okay,” She said, and she padded away until the pouring rain devoured her figure.
I flung up my wings and flew up to my family’s trunk where we lived. I landed on the base and entered the room lit with Morelull lights and spotted my mother looking concerned in one corner.
“Oh, hello, Fern,” she said, looking distracted. “Harsh weather out there, right? Even the canopy couldn’t hold it.”
I nodded and went to my room. I lay on the leaf-strewn floor, staring at the wooden walls, thinking.
I wonder why the rain is so strong, I thought. It hasn’t been like this for several years…
I heard a scream from the other room. I sat bolt upright and didn’t make a sound as I walked to the room.
The scream sounded like my mother. My heart hammered violently against my body. What if she was in danger? I stood still for a moment, scared. What if someone had come and hurt her? I didn’t dare think of what would happen if I lived my life without her. Step by step, I advanced slowly forward to the room. Cold chilled me deep under my feathers, but it wasn’t from the cold. Some sort of other force was inside their tree.
I looked around the edge of the wood and stared in horror as a dark figure flew out of the door and into the cold downpour. My mother lay on the ground, breathing heavily, rasping. Blood was splattered across the ground, surrounding her limp form. She was still alive, but barely. I stepped into the room cautiously and approached my mother.
As she heard my footsteps, she turned to look at me and smiled weakly. Her eyes were dull with pain, and I could barely look at her any longer.
“Hello, my little bird,” She said, lifting her large wing and wrapping it around me. “You know what is to happen to me. But do not be sad,” she said, pulling me closer. “My spirit will always be with you, watching over you.”
“No,” I said, pulling away. “You aren’t going to die. We are going to find help. You will be okay.” I tried to convince myself, but I knew there was no hope of saving her.
“Do not waste your time on me,” she said. “Stop trying to deny the fact. Now come here. I must show you something.” She paused, reaching out her wing for me to come closer once more. I stepped towards her, leaning in closer.
“Do you see this?” She said, holding up a small rose flower she had taken off her head. “This was my mothers’. She gave it to me before she died.” I nodded.
“I want you to have it now. Treasure it forever, and if you choose, you may pass it down to another.” She handed the small flower to me. I took it and placed it on my head. I blinked back the tears welling up in my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Mother wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t.
But in a few passing moments, her wing fell. Her body stopped moving. Her feathers no longer held the warmth of comfort and safety. She radiated the cold hard truth: She was dead.
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