Scarlet Sunset

By Madison Skull

            Dust was the only activite thing moving through the streets of Scarlet, a small town in Kanto that is runned by Pokemon (Keep in mind it lacked of a gym or trainers).  Recked buildings were standing still with short buildings; stores were out of business, inns were empty, and houses were alienated.

            This is just what they want you to think.

            All the Pokemon citizens didn't move on to another place and left their lumber behind.  They were inside of those buildings, hiding.  They didn't like to be indoors.  They didn't WANT to be indoors.  It was the new law of Scarlet stating, "Until the sheriff says the streets are safe, everyone is forbid to leave their premises under any circumstances.  Anyone breaking this law shall be put to death, no matter the age.  A try in escaping city limits is an automatic death sentence."

            What the villagers felt was an unusual concoction of confusion, anger, fear, and cautiousness swealing inside unpleasently like they all just swallowed whole a box of spikes.  This was just mad!  Cries from random Pokemon were shouted to the mad man responsible for this:

How can we live inside if we can't go outside?

            "The doors will be locked," answered the sheriff in a calm matter as if he didn't consume any spikes when it was being passed arounded, "So that no ones ain't ever getting out."

            How can we fed our youngin's?  How will we feed ourselves?

            "I will send a messenger to secretly send you both food and supplies once a week."

            How can we talk?

            "The messenger can send some messages to your friends, but you ain't goin' get no response 'til the next week."

            But what of emergency?

            "Yer betta make sure that emergency happens when that messenger comes along."

            How can we get to church?

            "You'll have mass at home every Sunday."

            How will we know if it is Sunday or not?

            "That's easy.  The messenger comes at Sunday."

            The marketmen and the inn-keeper said:  But what if a visitor comes along?  Will he or she need to sleep somewheres?  He'd wanna buy some things.

            "Ain't no one goin' be in this gosh forsaken place.  But just in case, I reckon you tell that guy to pack his bags and send him home.  Tell him that all rooms have been booked up.  Tell him that yer out off business."

            Sherrif Streams was his name and he was a Blastoise.  He was always caught with his brown-as-wood ten gallon hat placed on his head and it was rumored that he never took it off in his whole life.  Many believe he was literally born with that hat.  But between you and me, the only reason Streams wears the hat is to give an unspoken reminder to all that he is the high authority and he doesn't want anyone to forget it.   If you asked some of the people who see him pass by, they might say that he just looks plain silly trying to look unsilly; they crack jokes that he carries 10 gallons of air in that head of his and he wears the hat to cover it.  Not only silly looking, the sheriff was very INSANE!  He was too overprotective for his town ever since-- Well, I'll tell you later.

            Since then, for 2 dreadful months, the citizens were locked up in a metaphorical prison thanks to Mr. Streams.  This was unsanitary; you couldn't expect these innocent people to followed something so uncouth, but they knew better not to get on Sheriff Streams bad side because if you do, then-- Well, I better not say.  You might have some idea.

            2 months living under this.  It felt like an enternity instead of 2 months.  It was crazy.  Someone had to put this into a perminant halt.

            Which begins our story...

            He stood there looking straight forward, starring at the raindrops beating hard against the dirtroad.   He was not so much soaking wet because of the coverage of his hat which was made out of cow hyde as brown as the sherriffs, but not a ten gallon hat, and it matches with his brown vest and pants.  He was also covering the flame on his tail by moving it in front and used his fair sized suitcase.

            He was a Charmeleon.  A regular old wandering Charmeleon without an exact destination.  He was no rude gentleman.  He had a big heart for anyone no matter how rude or devilish they are and he was not one to fight.  Through his travels, he doesn't usually go to inns but instead sleep in forests with no camping items at all.  He would find food from the bushes.  But because of this terrible storm, he had to find shelter.  The sky was painted black and gray swirrling small water torpedos falling down he was thankful that a town was found.

            But that town was Scarlet.

            The Pokemon saw Scarlet as it was.  The left row of buildings was in this order from near to far:  A shop, an inn, 3 houses, a pub, and the sheriff's office;  The right row was in this order from near to far:  5 houses, a weapon shop, and the hospital.  Each building on each row were connected buy a wooden porch.  In the center of the town was a waterwell 10 feet deep with 3 feet jutting out made out of stone.  And at the end of the two rows was a chapel, which hadn't been open for 2 months just like the others.  Each building looked almost exactly alike, plain and wooden, except some of them had signs like "The Pub" or "Jacob's Grocery".

            The Charmeleon decided to put some of his manners to work and ran up to the door with the sign, "INN" nailed on.  He stood up straight trying to look very presentable yet wet and knocked on the door.  The knock echoed through the inn, which summoned the door to be open a little by someone.  The opener peeked out to the Pokemon catching his breath.

            "Hello, -- I'm -- Bobby Flame, and --I would like--"

            SLAM!

            Right in his face the opener became the closer, or most likely the rude door-slammer, but Mr. Flame didn't lose his temper.  He was shocked at this, and angry at the man for having the nerve to do such a thing to a poor man in the rain, but he forgave and forgot and knocked again like it never happened.  Soon, the door creaked open again and the rude door-slammer, still inside, poked his head carefully out.  Mr. Flame had to look down to see it was a Farfetch'D dressed just in a vest of white without his grass blade.

            "What do you want?" spoke the inn-keeper, softly, but in a tone that made the wanderer feel unwanted, "We don't have ner more room here.  We're full!"  He was about to close the door, but Bobby Flame stopped the door with his foot.

            "You must have atleast one room available," the Charmeleon tried to reasoned.

            The Farfecth'D, know getting ticked off, grunted, "Well, we don't!  All rooms are fulled.  And don't be expectin' ta be sleeping on the floor 'cause I just washed it.  Now, everyone is trying to sleep, including me!"

            "Sir, I wish not to argue, but please find it inside of you to have the heart to let a descent young man that only has himself, his clothes, and religion stay.  If you let me as a dog outside, my little flame will extinguish and I will die.  If you must, let me sleep on the floor.  I'll even pay the price of sleeping in a regular room as long as I live through the night."  Bobby's voice was firm and strong and clear when these words were unleashed from his vocal prison.

            The inn-keeper looked both his left and right and then responed, "Do you smoke?"

            Mr. Flame, a little startled from this remark, said, "You can be sure that my lungs are as clean as the day I was born."

            "Well, good thing 'cause this is ain't a smokin' place," the Farfetch'D explained.  "What's in the box?"

            The Charmeleon looked puzzled for a second, but he then realized that the inn-keeper meant his soaking, wet suitcase that was playing the role of umbrella for his tail.  "Oh, only a Bible, sir."

            Again, the inn-keepter looked left and right and opened the door fully and stood aside.  "Get in here, before anyone finds out."

            Gleeful, Bobby walked in with the door shut behind him.  The inn-keeper lead him to a room that he said, "slipped out of his mind."  It was more like a closet with the small bed almost covering half the room and a window.  That was just it, but to Bobby Flame it was paradise and with no complaint, he removed his vest and hat, opened his "box", placed them there, laid down to bed, and rested.

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