From: Queen Bess-0-Rama <aznpikapi@aol.comformnow> Subject: [PW!] Trainspotting in the Rye Date: Wednesday, July 21, 1999 6:10 PM whoops forgot tags... "Don't touch me, I don't want to do this anymore ok? I'm sick and tired of you trying to dissect me, trying to understand me. You talk to me as if I was still the sheltered eleven year old Wind Fireblade, the little girl your daughter would invite over to brag about being the top of the junior high." "Wind calm down, you being irrational... I just want to help you, please calm down." Wind stood up, hastily pulling on a pair of tough survival khakis she'd picked up a few days earlier over her flannel shorts. Quickly she rummaged through her bag she found her jacket and pulled it over herself. She felt the bandage on the back of her head. Grabbing a beanie she pulled it over her head and put on sunglasses even though it was before dawn. "Stop right there young lady! Your in no condition to leave, you finally got medical treatment on your leg, you still have stitches on your arm and the back of your head. Plus you are emotionally unstable, your a manic depression, you obviously have a lot of anger, your eyes seem to burn with blue flame as I would say in my psychological point of view." "I'll just be gone for half of the day, then I'll be back, I just need to breath, you've been swamping me with all your babble since I got out of the OR, trapped in this basement. Sorry for not being the most polite guest, I wanted to have a PHYSICAL medical condition treated and a place to recover, not to have some lady trying to 'help,' you watch me night and day, when I wake up your there, I'm so sick of you! Excuse me, now I will take my leave." Mrs. Porter tried to check in front of the door in a last effort, Wind pushed her effortlessly out of the way, the physical strength in her arms were still there despite the surgery. Shed opened to creaking door and stepped out for the first time in two weeks. "Sandshrew, get everyone, it's time to go." Wind yelled over Limp Bizkit screaming ya gotta have faith. She looked over, Dev was sleeping in a picnic bench outside despite the noise, Clara was curled up in a ball a hotel room upstairs. They must have had a fun day, now it's my turn." Grabbing her pokeball belt she hit the streets. Her was 3 AM, her biological clock was so distorted because of all the painkillers in her veins. Only the hardcorers were still out, only amateur bands were playing, all the 'tourists' had gone to there peaceful (and quiet) hotel rooms. Pokestock pamphlets littered the floor mixed in with trash. Fred Durst was on stage in the distance screaming "YA GOTTA HAVE FAITH! YEAH GOTTA HAVE FAITH!!" "Wish I had that," she mumbled. Sandshrew walked along side, more solemn then usual, and that's pretty damn solemn. The little pokemon tried to comteplate what it's friend was feeling, but it was so much. He just made a little grunt and ran toward the last open hot dog booth. (wait? hot dogs? oh well) She bought two for sandshrew, two for her, a bottle a water and a XL coke for her. She wolfed it down quickly, she hadn't had anything that tasted good in the last weeks. She barely remembered eating something. Looking at her reflection on the metal of the refrigerator she caught a glimpse how had badly she looked. Her clothes were loose on her, her cheeks sunken, rings around her eyes, her veins stuck on her skin, she'd lost a lot of weigh in the past month. Oh well.. at least her hair looked fine. Finishing her coke she ordered a coffee and another and another just looking out at the sky, finally the sun started setting two hours later and she ate a 3 course healthy breakfast, some of the color was returning to her face, soon she'd get that healthy tan back. The day wore on, she was starting to have fun, not missing Dev and Clara that much, even though loneliness bit her. Her pidgey and sandshrew were there to keep her company. She swayed along to Semisonic, broke to Aaliyah, danced with faceless guys Boyz 2 Men, and basically had a lot of fun until the sunset. She'd hadn't gone back to the basement, oh well screw Mrs. Porter, she needs some time to herself. Wind said good-bye to the last guy she danced with. A no name band walked up to the stage, the lead singer obviously nervous dressed in old long olive shorts a clean thin white cotton T-shirt and a wrinkled new shirt. He stepped up and started to sign. "...Baby I'm sure I'm sure, I know you be kissing my best friend, I know you aren't sleeping in my bed.... kiss and die..." Wind locked eyes with the lead singer for a moment, he seemed to be the only not whacked up but still singing and playing his instrument right. The keyboardist seemed to be high and was lucky he was still getting half the notes right. Yet it sounded nice. She stared into it's deep blue depths before her eyes caught something else. Dev and Clara were kissing a distance away at a coffee table farther away. As if things could get any worse for her. About to go to the table instead she walked the other way. The singer looked at her running away, who's that girl? Sandshrew and Pidgey stood there dazed until the song was over before they noticed Wind was gone. Sandshrew knew why, he told the pidgey to follow her but not take any action, then he went to give Dev and Clara a piece of his mind. Wind walked for a long time until she found that old place, she hadn't been in this distrint Celdon for more then two years. Looking cautiously for anyone coming out of the game corner she quickly knocked at a door. "Who's dere?" A pair of seedy eyes appeared in a slit. Wind took off her sunglasses, her eyes weren't glowing, but her brown eyes seemed like hallowed pieces of wood. "Why it's Windy Busta, haven't been in this neck of the woods for awhile." "Ye haven't been here for de last two years lass, I cannae trust ye, how's am I supposed to know ye ain't clean, and got all them bairns from offi^cer Jennya?" "Come on Si, you know me. I'm in town for the concert, let's have some fun for old times sake." Wind walked into the crackhouse, eyes shimmering a red color, not blue, red color for a second. The whitewashed walls were now a crusty yellow with various stains. Stains she'd rather not know where from. A grimer crawled along the kitchen floor, a discolored squirtle spit out water washing the junk on the floor to a drain. "Well look who strolls in here afta two fuckin years, where ya been you cunt? you've grow quiet a bite since you were just a little wee one..." A druggie walked beside her and licked her sad face from behind, her hand lauched out and snatched his shirt and slammed him againest the floor. "I'm in no mood for games Spud, Begbie just cook up some for me and give me some weed to go. Just smokes, not the hard stuff." "You gettinn cleane Wind?" "I'm getting nothing." She said as she stabbed the needle in her arm and swallowed some meth. "Haha tryin to feel da smack as long as possebl eh? Dun blame ya, No slep fo u tanigh thoa." "It's not like I've slept in the last 3 years." Wind said feeling the ripples of pleasure coursing through her veins, washing away her dignity, her self-respect... She breathed in seeing flashes of images, burning houses, dumps ike this one, Dev and Clara kissing... She got up from the threadbare and scummy couch she was sitting on, although she felt good physically something in her soul was tearing apart. But her head was filled with fresh adrenaline. "Well see you in three years cunts." She slammed a few crinkled dollars, much less then the stuff she had was worth and walked out before anyone said anything. rushing back to Celadon with the devil in her eye she challenged trainer among trainer being each one wihtout mercy and taking their pokebucks, using her Gyarados, using pokemon after pokemon until she was out. Pidgey saw this and flew frantically to find Sandshrew. TBC! Please comment, buh-bye, visit the link http://fly.to/crashedbetz ~ ...that is one of the great secrets of life-- to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know, ~Oscar Wilde