"Sophia? Are you in there?" a female voice jolted me from sleep.
I swam through the haze that clogged my brain. The film that clouded my thoughts slowly dissipated as I rubbed my eyes and took a sip of water from the nearly empty bottle on my bedside table. Eventually, I came to enough to figure out it was my mother's voice that had stirred me.
"Yeah, mom," I responded. My words came out slurred, a side effect of how groggy I felt.
I heard a gasp from the other side of my door. "Are you alright? You sound sick."
"I'm fine, I just..." I trailed off after almost revealing too much about the nature of my ailment. My head screamed with a pain comparable to last night's. A simple half-truth would do nicely. "I just have a really bad headache."
"Let me come in," my mom said. The door rattled not a second later. "Sophia, I need to check on you. Your father wants to talk to you after you disappeared last tenth."
That statement made my blood run cold. Father never dove too deep into my adventures that took place on tenths-our society's equivalent of a "day"-that I spent at school or at the library. My gaze spun from the door to my window; it would be all too easy to slip out again. Realizing that it wouldn't be smart to upset my father two tenths of a single cycle in a row, I rose to my feet to lock in my decision. I obliged and unlocked the door after clearing away the pillows from last night. I put on my best sick face.
"Aw, you poor thing," my mother pouted as she did a once over of me with her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered with overly dramatic flair. Her braided strands fell around her thin face as she cocked her head to the side. "That's okay, I can take care of you. Your father will understand when he sees you like this."
"Mom, I'm fine," I whined. It was the truth, but I wanted to ride this lie out as long as I could. "Can I just go to school? I promise I'll talk to Dad later."
She gasped, "No! You need to stay home and recover. I bet it was those disgusting children there that gave you this illness. This is why we don't want you going to school. Plus, they fill your head with dangerous thoughts of the world and the Before."
Holding back a laugh, I thought to myself, I do that pretty well on my own.
My mother continued without leaving a pause for me, "We also need your help around here. You're weak, and farm work would help you become stronger. It wouldn't encourage wimpy behavior like sitting behind a desk would." I frowned at her jab at me. It annoyed me that I couldn't say anything in response; she spoke the truth and it irked me.
Despite the hunger and malnourishment, my mother was a strong woman. Her muscles showed through her thin, dark skin. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she would take on any man in the village in a fight; most surrendered before she threw the first punch. In another world, in another time, she could have been a trainer like we learned about in class. Instead, she was stuck here in this world with me and the rest of the poor souls that humanity had left. She made the most of her talents by marrying the heir to the only ranch in town.
"Rest while I make breakfast," she commanded. "If you're feeling better in a couple of hours, I'll let you come outside with me and feed the Miltank. I remember how much you loved them as a kid."
She chuckled as she turned to leave the room. "You would even pretend to talk to them when they mooed at you. It was really sweet." Her face fell to a frown as she recalled my childhood. "Whatever happened to that eager girl, full of life and always willing to help?"
After placing that rhetorical question over my head, she went downstairs.
With my newly bought freedom, my thoughts drifted to the strange dream I had. My mind was sharp enough now to realize that the dream had taken place over mere moments. I blacked out, eavesdropped on something that I could still hear clearly in my mind, and then woke up.
"This is a Time Gear." The phrase resonated over and over, like a creaky gate that oscillated between being open and closed.
"What the hell is a Time Gear? I didn't even get a chance to see what it was," I thought out loud.
"Sophia, here's your tea." My mother's voice sang its way up the stairs. Something smelled like peppermint as her shadow rounded the corner up the steps.
"Thanks, Mom," I said as I extended my hands for the mug. My senses were suddenly elated by the warm liquid flowing into me. The heat of the liquid contrasted nicely with the cool, minty flavor of the drink. After a few sips spaced apart by awkward moments of my mom staring at me in silence, the pressure in my head began to ease away.
My mother smiled as she watched my evolving expressions. "I'm guessing that hit the spot. Come downstairs when you're ready, we can tend to the Miltank and the Torchic together." She kissed my forehead before whisking out of my room again.
When she was out of sight, I laid back and stared up at the ceiling. My mind flashed with the blank images from my dream again as I looked up at the patchy surface above me. The mysterious man's voice still echoed in my ears. Fantasies of what the words meant danced in my mind as my eyes flitted around, following the cracks where different materials met to form the rough ceiling above me. I wasn't alive when the house was built, but it was easy to tell where the builders ran out of one resource and hastily switched to another.
Craving another sip of the warm and fulfilling liquid, I propped myself up on my elbows. I let the warmth crack my lips open and pour itself into my mouth. The flavor danced on my tongue as I drained the dregs from the white cup. I set the now empty mug down again as I leaned down for my bookbag. I dangled my body over the side of the bed to check a suspicion that was beginning to form in my mind.
Maybe a Time Gear was something that I read about one time in a book. I reached for the book I was getting ready to read before I had the dream. I had read the entirety of this book previously, and it was possible that this mysterious gear was something I've seen before. I thumbed through pages, letting my eyes scan the walls of text and diagrams for any mentions of a gear. My fingers slowed to a stop when the book's headlines began to discuss time.
60 seconds make 1 minute.
60 minutes make 1 hour.
24 hours make 1 day.
7 days make 1 week.
~52 weeks make 1 year. However, 365 days also make 1 year for a more precise estimation (366 days every 4 years).
I am writing this before my memories of time fade even more. This information was already hard enough to recall even though it was once considered common knowledge; even children used to know these fundamental facts.
In the past-what the ages of old are called in reference to time gone by-time flowed freely. We refer to this period as "The Before." This gives you the measurements we once used to count time. Some believe that there is a way to allow time to flow freely again. However, those tales are just follies to allow the weak-minded ways to cope with our current predicament. Once we landed here, there was no returning to what we once had.
No matter how many times I read it, it still baffled me. My mind tried to do all sorts of gymnastics to bend around what these foreign measurements meant. Seconds eluded me no matter how hard I tried to count them out. Other forbidden books had detailed out how to conduct their measurements, describing them like a heartbeat, but my fingers fumbled when I tried to tick and tock the seconds. When I tried to construct an hourglass using dust and old liquor bottles, the dust froze midair as it started falling from one glass to the other. Strange magic didn't want us as a people to understand time. I continued reading the remaining fragment on the page, concerned about what came next.
Now, on the topic of Time Gears. These blue gears...
What concerned me the most about this passage was the next page. Or rather, the lack of a next page; small pieces of paper that were aligned with the spine denoted where information once sat. The book skipped ahead to a new chapter that was completely unrelated to the previous topic. To make the situation even more maddening, there were no page numbers to judge how much had been lost. In my first confused readings of this book, I thought little to nothing of it. I had theorized that old age had simply deteriorated these pages to dust. But, after my vision and talking with Treecko, I knew that this was no mere coincidence.
I recalled Treecko's words as I let my fingers trace over the torn-up section. "Whoever that study belongs to has powerful friends. It scares me that we just stole a book from him."
That scared me too. What scared me even more, however, was the final image before the discarded section.
The blue gear was beautiful and unfortunately familiar. An intricate arrow pattern was carved into the six-spoked disc. The caption below the figure denoted that this was a hand drawn representation of a Time Gear. My stomach twisted into knots when my mind placed where I had seen it before: it was identical to the decorations on the banner in the underground library.
Previously, this symbol meant nothing. Now, it had meanings I couldn't comprehend. It would be naïve of me to continue to convince myself that this was all a coincidence. No, someone had taken these pages intentionally due to the nature of their contents. However, that also led me to believe that the pages might still be intact and hidden away. If that was the case, where were the missing pages?
Footsteps made me leap into action to resume normality. I shoved the book back into its hidden location in my bag and then twisted myself around to lay on my back. Soon, my mom entered my room again. She brought a steaming bowl that smelled of salty liquid. She handed me the bowl carefully. There was already a spoon in the yellow broth that I recognized to be Torchic and noodle soup. My favorite.
"After you finish that, do you want to come outside? Your color looks much better." She sat down next to me and placed her hand on my forehead. "That fever is gone too."
I shrugged as I spooned a full teaspoon of soup into my mouth. The salt tingled my tongue.
"What were you reading just now?"
I grabbed the fighting book that Emmanuel had let me take in place of the actual book I had been perusing. She flipped through a few pages, taking in the words briefly.
"Interesting. Would you like to work through this with me later? It might help you with bullies in town."
I shrugged again.
My mother sighed at my lack of a response. "You know, your father wants you to take over the farm when you're old enough," my mother began. "He could always get Abdul or Malik to do it, but he wants you.
"Why?" I asked. It didn't bother me at all that either of the brothers could take over for me.
"Why? Because you are his daughter, and he loves you very much."
I snorted at that statement. I was preparing an acidic comment, but my mother steamrolled over it with her lecture. "He does, and that's why he is so hard on you. He just wants you to be the best that you can be."
"And I can't be my best here! I don't give a damn about-"
"Darn, young lady," my mother corrected. "Do not curse in my household or I'll smack you."
"I don't give a damn about this place!" Sure enough, my mom smacked my arm. I continued with little more than a stutter. "It's not who I am. I need to be learning and reading, not wearing my bones down in some Grumpig sty. You are forcing this on me, and I'm tired of it. Why can't you just let me live my dreams?"
"Because dreams don't matter in this world," my mother shouted.
Shivers rushed down my spine as I helplessly waited for her harsh words to bite my head off like a fierce Mightyena would do to a harmless Mareep. But the bite never came, and the fire in my mother's eyes slowly dimmed. I couldn't help but notice the growing bags under her heavy brown eyes which were the same dull amber color as mine.
Eventually, she continued in a softer tone. "Dreams don't matter, because we are just here to survive. Once civilization is rebuilt, then our children's children can have dreams again."
My ears rang and my mind reeled as my mother's scathing truths sank in. "With how the population is dwindling, my children won't have children."
Without a word, my mother rose to her feet and started for the door. She leaned on the frame with an extended arm; the wood creaked with its exasperated effort.
"I know," she whispered as she looked at me again. Her voice choked slightly with the simple phrase. I noticed her bottom lip begin to quiver as she turned away.
I waited until she was downstairs again before pondering my next move. Out of a lack of things left to do, I cried.
-----
The gentle gnawing of the Miltank calmed my frayed nerves. The creatures milled around happily on their stubby back legs as they shoved food into their mouths with the hooves on their front legs. When they finished one mouthful, they extended their fat black necks or pink front legs to their manger or my outstretched palm again. Their slimy mouths usually made me leap away in terror, but I couldn't bring myself to tear away from the moment. I feared that I wouldn't return to reality for quite some time if I did.
I didn't dare think of the recent revelations and conversations. Not the books, not the library, not Treecko, not the Time Gears; especially not my mom. Instead, I focused on the pink Milk Cow Pokémon grazing in front of me. Their sweeping rat tails with a black knob on the end kept me focused on present events. I couldn't help but notice that some of the younger females had swollen tan stomachs.
Is it birthing season already? I wondered. What if Mom and Dad are right? What if it is time for me to get my head out of the clouds and back here to reality. I don't even know when it's mating season or birthing season.
To my right, I listened to the provoked groans of a Tauros-the horned, male variant of Miltank with wiry brown fur. The bull leaped and jolted in an attempt to shake off the boy that was hanging on for dear life. Malik's many bruises and scars attested to the fact that he was bad at Tauros riding, but he still tried regardless of his lack of skill. Every man in town seemed to enjoy the sport when they had a spare moment, so Malik took every chance to practice so he could show off when he came of age. Same went for drinking, which he was equally bad at.
Malik's younger brother, Abdul, guffawed every time the young man fell off. His young voice squealed with glee; I didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling his goofy grin. When I didn't feel like watching their stupid games, I looked across the way to our neighbor's farm. The elderly man was out tending to his less lively crops as we tended to our Pokémon; plants couldn't buck you off if you grabbed them the wrong way.
The owner of the farm, Mr. Chapman, carried around his watering can to nourish more delicate plants that resided in his garden. Behind him, Squirtle rushed past while spurting water on his commercial greens as farm hands ran alongside them with hoes and other tools. Mr. Chapman was just far enough away that his white hair almost meshed with his pale skin, forming a seamless bond between old man skin and hair. Or, maybe he was actually bald now. I tried to remember the last time I had seen him up close.
He waved in a non-specific direction to us before continuing to water his plants. I brushed my hands of the Miltank food before returning the gesture. The Pokémon swarmed where the chow now lay discarded.
"Chill out, gals." I had to leap away from the circling hoard of cows to avoid being trampled.
"It's not our fault that we don't get enough food," said a Miltank through a mouthful of cud. "Maybe if you all fed us more, we wouldn't rush at you for food."
"That's not going to happen. I don't even get enough food," I replied.
"Then that's your fault. Eat more, gain some weight." The Miltank began to walk away. "Get more sleep while you're at it. You look awful."
"It's not my fault that a stupid Treecko kept me up."
"Oh, that annoying little thing? He woke us up too. Ran right through our pen. Little pest was murmuring something about footprints and how his boss was going to kill him."
"What boss?" I prodded.
"Dunno." Miltank shrugged. "Hope he doesn't come back."
"If he said something like that, I'll make sure he won't..." Until he tells me the truth.
It took me gripping the post next to me until my knuckles turned white to stop the shaking. Even with all of the force I could muster, I still felt like I was trembling. I was dealing with dangerous forces. Forces I didn't fully understand yet. My only source of knowledge of these things was Treecko.
And Treecko... How could I trust such a slimeball after only a tenth of a cycle? He constantly told me half-truths and blatantly lied to me when he couldn't think of a good enough half-truth! Now, he knew too much to leave me alone. Or maybe I knew too much to get out of our "friendship" unscathed. Who was his boss? Maybe he knew about Primal Dialga because...
I couldn't bring myself to consider that he was an agent of Dialga. It would mean that I had been played like a fiddle, and I refused to come to that conclusion. I took a deep breath, trying to get the world to stop spinning. Was I really that stupid?
"Mom, can I lie down again?" I yelled toward my mother. She was tending to Torchic across the lawn from me. Her braided hair fell around her broad shoulders as she looked up at me. The pink headband she wore did little to restrain her cornrow braids.
"Yes," she said. Her voice sounded hoarse. "Are you alright?"
"I'm..." I paused. "I'm not sure. I just need some time to think. Tell Dad I'll be ready to talk after he finishes chores."
Having sealed my fate, I moved up the stone steps to the back of our house. I shut the door behind me without waiting for a response from my mom. I was sick of this, physically and mentally. I thought that I wanted these answers, but a small taste of them made me want to throw up. If I didn't start backpedaling now, it would be too late to escape this potentially dangerous path.
Dad was right, these silly stories of the Before were dangerous and unnecessary. Farming was the life for me.
Right?