Fanfiction Shadow Ball

It’s coming along the edge of my vision, black and yellow stripes and an angry murmur of wings. Sleek silver stings stretch forward, followed by a pulsating abdomen, not dusted with pollen like the wild ones but smooth and clean and taut with muscle.

Beneath the roar of the crowd I hear Sonia, calling from the edge of the arena.

Meowth, you know what to do.

A weak twineedle falls around me, barbed points sinking into the sand. I dodge easily, weaving in and out, feeling the rush of air through my fur.

Beedrill, use poison jab!

My opponent swings around, looming large over me, membranous wings glittering in the artificial stadium light. In an instant it’s zooming forward, abdominal sting thrust out, an image of pointed menace.

I leap to the side and slip – the terrain is sandy, and it’s hard to keep my balance.

Meowth, you need to surprise him.

I know what Sonia means, but I don’t feel it. The whirlpool of energy in the pit of my being, an almost unnatural imposition on my nature, drifts somewhere too deep for me to access. I need to become incorporeal, transparent. I need to let the boundaries of my body drop and blend with the landscape, with the atmosphere. I need to become a ghost.

Beedrill, use fell stinger!

The opposing trainer’s repetitious shouts grate on my nerves. There’s no subtly to his tactics, no depth to his bond with his beedrill. He just shouts orders like a drill sergeant. I glimpse his ginger hair, his young face, as I whirl around the sandy terrain. Were Sonia and I ever like that?

From nowhere the beedrill appears, solid venomous colours. I flinch, dart away, close my eyes. The arena rises in my mind, dark and wavering, a mirage imprinted on my retinas. The fur along my spine rises. I feel ethereal.

A rustle of excitement runs through the crowd as I grow the shadow ball. The beedrill cocks its head, suspended six feet off the ground. I see shadows lengthen along its wings, a purple mist tinging the yellow.

There’s a memory to the movement, forming my limbs around the shadow ball, feeling it swell until the pure energy breaks my hold and I send it spinning towards my foe. The beedrill recoils, caught square in the chest, wings crumpling.

A cheer rises from the crowd as it hits the ground.

I stand triumphant, panting heavily. The stadium wobbles, unreal, insubstantial in my tired ghost-tinged eyes. I hear Sonia shouting from the sidelines.

You’ve done it, well done Meowth!

I beam with pride and feel the sun glinting off my charm.

I want to stay, to continue, to fight the next battle, but I feel the pull of the Pokéball calling me to rest, and I let it gather me in, proud and worn and content.