Nothing, nothing tangible in the home we call Earth, is comparable to the figment and images of the imagination.
Dreams were a peculiar thing- some see them as gorgeous pink and blue puffs of cotton candy, spun around the silky white stick of joy and comfort; however as easily it is comparable to pastel colors and painted skies, it is also comparable to white fangs, bloodied at the tips. Despair drips from every corner, fear seems to take an all-so-real and recognizable form for some, paranoia becomes so vivid and haunting, sometimes fiction and reality blur together in a tangle of colors and faces. They manifest within the mind, though their effects can go far beyond a lack of sleep. Little splashes of daydreams follow a dreamer through their waking hours, less pesky than nighttime adventures, but none the less annoying when not wanted. Perhaps some anticipate their moments of sleep with great joy, but a certain trainer wouldn't agree.
There is no time within the five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes of the year to bother with such a dull activity such as sleeping. Imagine, up to eight more hours of productivity- of play, of adventure; if only the human body could function on just spare, sweet minutes of sleep rather than arduous hours. Though not one to dread her bedtime like a young child, Harper found it extremely difficult to enjoy her rest. Yet the night of the largest festival she had ever attended, her body collapsed in on itself, succumbing easily to the warm embrace of her bed. Harper found her sleep undisturbed, yet, a cold sensation crept its way up her spine, slowly, and eerily.
Her brown eyes flicked open, meeting the hazy darkness of her room with alert attentiveness. A dull light emanated from a small lamp in the corner of the room- one she had forgotten to turn off before her journey into her dreams. Oddly enough, her memory recalled no such action as turning off the overhead lights, but that thought echoed dully compared to the worry that all the sudden overwhelmed her senses. There was an absence of a warm fire pony next to her. Her arms slowly propped herself up, eyes widening with a sudden sense of dread. Pupils enlarging, she began to make out the setting of her room. A figure stood, hazily lit by the lamp. Wait... not a figure... three figures....
A blossom of flames erupted from Spirit's nostrils and mouth as she stood, back faced towards the wall, against two figures dressed in black. In the inky darkness, Harper spotted a small object protruding out of her Ponyta's shoulder, along with a startling sight; Spirit's mane and tail of brilliantly colored flames had extinguished, leaving no more than a reflection of their light in her eyes. The flames hung in the air like a spectral wildfire, spreading across the room and illuminating it with an angry red glow. "Spirit!" Was the only word that slipped up her throat as Harper launched herself from her embrace under the covers towards her foster child, but the startlingly cold sensation that froze her from her hip stopped her tracks. Everything became black, everything numb, everything dull, nothing in her brain but the fuzzy memory of a small dart in her side.
Spirit grunted with effort, stomping her hooves against the cushioned, carpeted floor angrily. As her trainer fell, the tiny horse reared up, lashing her hooves outwards, making contact with the face of one of the humans dressed solely in black. Her heart raced a thousand beats per minute as she felt another dart enter into her system, causing a spree of inky black splotches to cross her vision. A hole broke in the wall between their room and the room of the man named Niko, and as one last ditch effort, Spirit cried out a loud whinny of help before her head hit the ground- out like the flames of her mane.
There was an eerie silence that blanketed the room following the event. Greedy hands in black coats reached for Harper's waist, removing the three poke balls from her belt without a shred of remorse. The limp, almost lifeless beige lump on the floor began glowing a vibrant red before disappearing into the spherical capsule held by another pair of wicked hands. Spirit's pokeball was replaced on the belt, moving in syncopation with the slight, steady breaths of the trainer splayed out in a desperate attempt to shield her Pokémon. Fade to black, fade to black indeed.
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A friendly chirp. An odd growl. A groggy moan.
Too many sounds bombarded her senses at once, worst of all, the devastating blindness that plagued her eyes as the lively orbs of chocolate brown blinked open after the most terrible nights sleep she had gotten since the first night away from home. Harper shook her head from side to side, covering and rubbing her eyes in the fresh daylight that bathed the mysterious new atmosphere she found herself in. A feeling of dread and devastation hung over the entire clearing, making it difficult for the trainer to feel anything more or less than what it desired. Finally, her eyes adjusted, and the frenzied figures began to make logical shapes.
People, hundreds, were either laying down or slowly arousing from the ground. Harper herself had already dragged herself into a kneeling position, her legs folded under her hips and hands folded on her lap. Her eyes observed that many seemed to be wearing sleep garments, despite the current location clearly being far from the comfort of any bed. Yet, despite the popular trend, the trainer found herself in the crimson shirt she had on in the day previous, along with her boots, earrings, and jeans. Along her belt laid a single pokeball as opposed to her usual four; a heal ball signifying that the sole Pokémon she had in her possession was her little Fire horse.
The surroundings were odd- a large enclosure with walls of barbed wire preventing any interaction with the lush, almost inviting green trees on the opposite side. The scent smelled of calming tropical flowers and a small hint of a salty breeze flittered gently within the leaves; sending feelings of comfort despite the obvious situation of confusion and stress. Hearing a cry to her right, Harper turned her head and spotted Vera, as she remembered the lady's name, desperately clinging to a man of similar age; a child to a parent. That's what it reminded her of, at least. Gazing around, more faces began to pop out at her- Aileen wearing quite the odd garb for being outside: a bikini was what it looked like, and Niko, who was similarly oddly dressed, in a towel and a pair of black shorts.
Standing, trying to keep an air of calm, Harper meandered silently through the mess of people, finding a comfortable spot in the midst of Vera, Aileen, Niko, and two other gentlemen who looked to be similar in age to herself. A parched tongue made itself known as a word began to fall out of her mouth, causing the trainer's face to scrunch up ever so slightly in distaste.
"Perhaps, none of you know were we may be?" She asked gently, forcing her face to be apathetic and calm despite the storm of confusion that reigned over her heart.
She needed her fire horse, but this was not the time.