Rating: Rated PG-13 for some rather bloody violence. Nothing terrible, but probably a little bit more than PG. (Or the equivalent of PG-13, since it looks like they decided to change the rating system while I was gone.)
Was, Is, Will Be
Tangled images, a war of clashing colors, sounds, and sensations. They pile atop one another, each screaming out to be seen, be recognized. It's a war of time against itself, past, present, and future fighting one another for supremacy. None can win, but still they fight…
And then it is a war, a roaring cascade of jumbled pokémon falling upon a determined line of humans, elemental energies of all kinds leaping before them to strike down the insolent enemy. The humans roar back and reply with a counterattack, the strange weapons in their hands springing to life to hurl bullets or bolts of energy into the onrushing horde. There! A nidoking stumbles, leg torn apart by some strange ray. It topples and crushes a hoppip beneath its bulk. There! Bullets tear into a flock of fearow, and bloodied corpses rain down upon the birds' comrades. There! There! There! Sudden images flash amidst the greater chaos, they come and go before they can be fully realized or comprehended.
This war...it is familiar. It happened long ago, will happen soon, is happening now. Was, is, will be war, the slaughter of millions at the hands of still more millions for reasons long forgotten and not to be determined until long after its completion.
But, no, something cannot happen in the future that happened in the past, happens here now.
There is no difference; present was future that will become past, past is future and present already gone by, and future is past and present yet to come. Past, present, and future were, are, will be one another a thousand times over.
Time does not exist. All is one.
Time must exist. Past, present, future chase each other across its pass. One becomes the other becomes the next becomes itself once again, but not itself because it was never anything to begin with, existing only in relation to the other two, which were, are, will be itself, which is not...
No. Celebi gave us the charge of watching all time as it passes, of delving into the secrets of both past and future. Therefore, there must be a past and future, and likewise a present to which we can confer our visions. Celebi is time; we are his keepers.
There is no time. There is no Celebi. In the time before time, there was Celebi. Celebi is time, and he was before time. There was no time, there was no Celebi. There was not, is not, will never be Celebi.
That's contradictory. You just said that Celebi was, which you then saidmeant that he wasn't.
No, you are contradictory. You said that Celebi is time, and therefore time must have been before time itself existed. That cannot be.
That makes no sense...
And suddenly, the world changes. Black darkness of the void, of slumber graced only by fever dreams of past and future, is replaced suddenly by…present. Past and future come together in an instant, forming an image before all four eyes. And in the present there is a tall, menacing green lizard. Sprigs of leaves sprout from its wrists, and both they and the lizard…are. Not were, not will be, are! Still, at the edge of my vision, the past and future lurk, eternally playing out their scenes of joy and triumph, unceasingly falling over one another in repetitious confusion.
A voice. Another voice. This is a…battle? Watcher...that is me, I think.I opened, open, will open my mind to the sceptile.
She clutches her head in agony. Pitifulshe cannot see the was, is, will be. She sees only a tangle of images, an incomprehensible mass of too many sights, too many sounds, too many smells. All time pounds in her brain, and she cannot comprehend the beauty of the chaos.
A voice. Another-another voice. The sceptile recovers. She lunges. Already, I felt, feel, will feel the pain of her jagged thorn teeth in my side, the dark energy seeping into my body, tearing into my perfect logic.By the timeher teeth actually close around my form, I have forgotten the pain already.
Pain is nothing. You must simply remember when it was not, or when it will not be, and go there in your mind.
"Drill peck, then!"
I do not move. I remember this attack. I have used the attack, I will use it again. Past becomes present. Future is present already past. I must be using drill peck now.
The sceptile feels the beak enter her skin, twisting and shredding. Sap-blood pours out of the wound.
I do not move. I cannot move. If I were to move, to make my presence known, I would become a part of the was, is, will be. I would no longer be an observer; I would be a participant.
She collapses, defeated. The battle is over.
It had never begun; it will never end.
I return tonothing. To dream. Unreality once more.
Only dream is reality. In dreams there is no was, is, will be. Everything happens out of order. The is never becomes was, and never was the will be. It exists.
No, I exist. It is my dream. It is here that I see the was, is, will be without distractions from the present.
No, you do not exist. You were nothing before you were born, you will be nothing again. Was becomes is, will be will become is. You are nothing.
Surely, there was something before I was born. Surely, there will be something after I die.
Fine, then. But you dreamyou see the was, is was, will be. You see the tiny fragments of time, disconnected images, brief flashes of insight. They exist. Only you connect them in your mind, give them relationships. What you see, exists. What you comprehend, does not.
But you said that time does not exist.
You see the was, is, will be, not time. You are not a part of what you see. It is not connected to itself, does not try to make sense or fall into any one order. You do not exist; your time does not exist. Therefore, the is, was, will be must exist. You dream it, and it becomes true to you. You see it, and it becomes your time. It ceases to exist when it becomes yours, because you and your time do not exist. Only the dream exists, it which is not, and will never be yours, what is beyond your comprehension. See?
…am I mad?
No. You are the conduit of madness. Your perception of the was, is, will be causes it to exist in your own world, to play by the warped rules of reality. To happen.
I am not mad.
You were not mad, you are not mad, you never will be mad. You are the only sane one. You are the only one that can see the truth, and the moment you see the truth, recognize its meaning, it ceases to exist. How unfortunate.
Yes, the truth. It that
Wow, you actually made it through all of that? Even I can't pretend to understand all of this one; it was just an idea that came to me late last night and wouldn't let me sleep until I had written it down. All I can say is, that's one messed up Xatu. Or perhaps not messed up…just enlightened.
Also...why, QuickEdit, why do you delete my dashes? If there are word squishes in here, menatlly imagine a dash there and let me know so I can find and fix it...I know I missed some.