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Free Falling
“Falkner, you can’t refuse my challenge!”
“Watch me,” I said. He wasn’t really worth my time. Why was I even bothering to battle this dumb kid? Every day, some stupid adolescent with a half-pie Pokémon and a big ego comes along, thinking he’s the king of the world, and swaggers up to my Gym to challenge me. It’s pathetic, really.
“You’re not allowed to refuse a challenge!” he was whining. I barely gave him a glance.
“Lose the attitude, kid. You wouldn’t stand a chance, and you and I both know it. Go away, train some decent Pokémon, and come back when your voice has broken. Get out of my Gym!” Tears welling up in his pathetic little eyes, the kid turned and fled towards the Pokémon Centre. I sighed. No doubt Nurse Joy would have some strict words for me later. Right then, I didn’t care. Did I ever? Nurse Joy couldn’t activate my conscience any more than anyone else could, which was never. It was fun to not care. Just to be free, to do whatever the heck I wanted and to hell with rules!
Right then, though, I was feeling a bit stressed. Stressed wasn’t good. Kicking kids out of my Gym wasn’t stressful. That was fun. Listening to them complaining was what was stressful.
“Fly, Pidgeot!” I cried, releasing my Pokémon. Screeching happily, Pidgeot wheeled overhead, revelling in the freedom of flight. Not for the first time, I wondered how it felt to be inside a PokéBall. It must be awfully cramped in there. No room to fly, or even to stretch your wings . . . I shuddered just thinking about it. I wondered if I had done the right thing in capturing Pidgeot. In essence, I had been sentencing her to a life of bondage, confinement and slavery. But as Pidgeot squawked again, coming to rest expectantly beside me, I knew it couldn’t be that bad. The glint in her eye showed contentment, and her screech was not one of an unhappy Pokémon. Regardless of what people said about me, I did care for my Pokémon.
Laughing, I mounted Pidgeot, settling comfortably into the familiar niche on her back, where I always sat. As we lifted off, I marvelled at the fact that such a seemingly frail Pokémon had the strength to carry a full-grown man as easily as if he were just another feather. But then again, that was the power of Flying Pokémon. To go where no other Pokémon could go, to fly, to have more freedom than any other Pokémon anywhere in the world.
By now, we had left Violet City behind and were soaring west over Route 36. Hanging dangerously yet comfortably off Pidgeot’s side, I watched the road shoot by beneath us. Many Trainers were slowly plodding along the road; I pitied them for not having my freedom.
Pidgeot wheeled and shot off in a new direction – I didn’t care where. Soon, we were flying over forest, dodging and diving between treetops, startling other bird Pokémon from their nests, until we had an escort of close to a hundred Flying-types. Our majestic ensemble soared and dipped, executing complex aerial acrobatics, always in perfect synchronisation. We flew so high that the wind nearly froze us; we flew so low that we skimmed the treetops. We flew up, up, up, and around, coming out of a perfect loop-the-loop in exactly the same formation we had been in when we entered it.
“And . . . break!” I called. The dozens of Flying Pokémon that had been accompanying us dispersed in all directions. Within seconds, the skies were empty, bar Pidgeot and I. And to tell the truth, that was just the way I liked it. I had never been a sociable person. True, flying in the midst of a hundred bird Pokémon was truly magical, but it was nothing, nothing to the power the two of us shared right then. Pidgeot had been my first Pokémon, and we had grown together for the last twelve years, until we were inseparable. To try and come between me and my favourite Pokémon was the stupidest thing a person could possibly do.
Whitney, who was one of the few human friends I had, told me once that Gym Leaders shouldn’t have favourites. She said we should love all our Pokémon equally. Sweet, but mistaken. To me, Pidgeot was the perfect symbol of Flying-type power and majesty, and nothing anybody said would ever change that.
Then there was Bugsy. Bugsy . . . was weird these days. He claimed to have some form of telekinetic bond with his Pokémon that heightened their battling ability. He was a stronger battler these days, true. But it was all rubbish. I had no telekinetic bond with Pidgeot, yet nobody could possibly be closer than we two.
I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and focused on enjoying the rest of my flight. When I landed in front of the Gym, the whiny kid from earlier was back. He opened his mouth to speak, but I put up a hand to stop him.
“Shut up and get inside. Climb the stairs on your left to the battlefield, and I’ll meet you up there.” Ignoring the excitement in the kid’s eyes, I mounted Pidgeot once more and we took off, spiralling up to the roof. Another day, another battle. It’s what I do, and what I live for.
