ELECTRIC STAR
CHAPTER 1 – SPIRITED AWAY
Whenever you think that life can’t get worse, remember, you’re probably wrong.
You would think that being born with a stutter, losing your dad before you hit your teens, and being considered clinically obese at sixteen was bad enough. If you did, you would probably be alone in that sentiment, because actually, nobody else really gives a fuck.
It’s not until you’re in it that you understand how bad it is.
It wasn’t always like this. Not by a long shot. When dad was around, I had a handful of friends and was as strapping as any kid could be. When he died, he made sure to flip the whole thing upside down on his way out…
“Bart, don’t fart!”
“Don’t fart, Bart!”
“If so much as a whisper comes out your asshole, we’ll shove your head in, I swear!”
Bart. That’s me, gripping the school’s toilet bowl rim. My biggest fans, Caleb, Duncan, and Morris are behind me, cheering me on.
Alright, they aren’t actually my fans, but my personal trainers. At least three times a week, they’d catch me in the washrooms after class like they had a perfect knowledge of my bowel movements. They’d force me to stick my finger in my throat and puke out lunch. They said they had taken up the impossible task of getting me in shape, and cutting down my meals was the first step.
Alright, they aren’t actually my personal trainers, they are just fucking bullies, and the sad part is, they are the closest thing I have to real-life friends.
It was odd how sometimes they would cheer my name when I turned up for Sports Class, and even went as far as to treat me like the top pick, arguing over who should have me in their team. I knew it was just for laughs, but sometimes, they actually made me feel like somebody.
“I-I s-skipped lunch,” I said after gagging on my index finger for the third time. The stink of piss was making my eyes water.
“You? Skip lunch?” said Caleb.
Duncan tapped me with his shoe. “Quit stalling and puke something out, Fart. You might have let yourself go, but that doesn’t mean we will.”
“Yeahhh,” Morris added on the verge of laughing. “We care about you.”
He was the thin, lanky tag-along bully. Was never really mean on his own, which kind of made it worse if you thought about it.
I was already sweating from the reek of piss and shit, and I wanted it to be over, so I shoved two fingers down the back of my throat and tickled the farthest end of my tongue, slick with drool. I heaved loudly and my stomach lurched and spasmed, squirting a mouthful of bile that burned as it rushed up my throat.
“There you go! Easy, weren’t it?”
“I swear, we should be getting paid for this.”
“He’s getting thinner!”
I couldn’t go home right away. I’d spend a good chunk of time in the school showers, pinching at my skin and staring at myself all round to check whether I was actually losing weight. Sometimes I could swear that I was.
On my way out of school, and to my great joy, Duncan and Caleb are outside the vacant reception building by the school gates. They’re in their PE clothes, wearing sleeveless tops, thinking they look cool as heck as they pick on some kid with a clique of girls looking on. They glance at me from the distance and my skin starts prickling all over.
It’s a shitty feeling when you make a wrong turn you can’t back out of. Like literally, all my instincts were telling me to duck out of there, do a 180 and find another way out of the school, but my legs kept moving and my guts kept tightening as I approached.
“Fart!” Caleb called, and the usual clique of nasty girls giggled like five-year-olds playing with bubbles for the first time. I was a veteran when it came to this, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t suck every time.
Duncan was different around girls, and so was Caleb, but Duncan more so. He wouldn’t insult me outright. He wouldn’t call me ‘Fart’, or mention anything to do with the supposed weight-watch fitness program they had devised. Nah, he would act cool, like it was Caleb having all the fun and he was just making sure the other didn’t get too out of line.
As I pass by, I get a look at the unlucky kid of the day. He’s got to be a fresh Grade 9. He’s a thin dude with a neat haircut combed to one side, and a sleepless look to his eyes. His mouth is open slightly and he’s going red with embarrassment, but he’s too dumbstruck to do anything about it.
Something stirs in my gut when I see his baby-faced look. I mean, I’m not exactly an adult myself, but I’m not a child either. My legs stop moving, and the girls go quiet. Two of them are from our grade. Natash and Janine. The other one is Wendell, from the grade below, but that doesn’t stop them from hanging out. All are slimy in my eyes.
Natash had a thing for making dirty jokes about teachers, and one time she even got a teacher suspended by baiting the poor guy into a sexual joke and later on reporting it to her parents, who threatened to get police involved if such a “predator” was left roaming the school. The truth eventually got out, but the teacher never returned.
Janine had a new boyfriend every term. She liked making boys fight over her and had made friends turn on each other more than once.
Wendell… I didn’t know much about her, being honest, but birds of a feather, right? The way she looked at me was enough to assume the worst.
…
“C’mon… Let him go home, guys,” I say, sounding way more confident than I feel (and no stutter!).
Caleb instantly finds it hilarious, guffawing obnoxiously while Duncan smiles quietly and aloof.
“We’re not keeping him here, you know,” Janine says quickly.
“Yeah, it’s like – he can go whenever he wants, like…” Natash adds, frowning hard like she’s just heard the silliest thing.
Wendell looks away, holding back a smile. The same way you smile with the corners of your mouth turning down instead of up.
I meet the other kid’s eyes and wish to God he’d just start moving, but the poor idiot smiles dumbly, going a deeper shade of red, and I realize that my efforts are probably wasted. He is too overwhelmed.
“Well, he looks uncomfortable. He’s probably too scared to tell you…” Hey. I didn’t stutter there either, and that was a good-sized sentence.
They’re all quiet now. Caleb steals a quick look at Duncan, and Duncan steals a look at me from the upper edges of his eyes. The air has changed now.
The girls begin to gibber nonsense like “Oh my God! He’s old enough to talk for himself, like…”, and “Seriously? Like what do you think is happening here?”, and Wendell mutters “Is this guy a cop?”
Caleb approaches me, smirking but with a slightly awkward step.
“What’s the problem, Fart? Is he your boyfriend or something?”
The girls giggle in a fit, but Duncan is watching me without a smile. He’s a big guy, and I can tell he’d like to do more than just watch quietly. Having to look good in front of girls is holding him back for now, but he’ll just take it out on me the next chance he gets.
Whatever. I can handle it.
“H-he ee-ee-isn’t.” Dang.
They all burst out laughing. Even Duncan can’t keep a lid on it.
I breathe in through my nose, bottling up that familiar feeling of shame, and sigh. Having a stutter doesn’t seem like too big a deal on paper, but trust me, it’s my biggest fucking curse. It makes everything I say a joke. No one can take something stuttered seriously.
The kid is smiling too, but it’s a social smile. The one you make to fit in.
That’s done the trick. The air is right again. Caleb and Duncan relax, and the girls drop the hostility.
“We’ll continue your workout tomorrow,” Caleb grins. “Get the fuck out of here, fugly!”
I’m stone-faced and manage one last glance at the younger kid. Leave now, idiot.
When he just stands there, I begin moving again.
“Awww,” Janine coos. “He’s not ugly! That’s a bit much!”
“Yeah!” Natash agrees. “He’s a cute fatty.”
They shake with more laughter and start debating my appearance as I walk away.
The only time in my life where someone other than my mom had called me cute was when I was around eight or nine. I had started putting on weight, and some visiting family friends, coming over for the summer break, had said how I reminded them, with my blonde and curly locks of hair, of ‘those lovely little cherubs’. As the years and weight piled on, I went from lovely little cherub to ‘round little goblin’. It probably hadn’t helped that I had started buzzing my head every Summer.
Eventually, I started keeping my hair perpetually short. I didn’t want to be cute. I didn’t really want to be anything to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone to my business of videogames and web-surfing.
At least online, being fat didn’t matter. Having a stutter didn’t matter. Being yourself was easy.
“Baby, how was practice today?” my mother says when I get home.
Whenever I come home with the fresh-faced, after-shower look, she brightens up. She thinks I joined the after-school tennis club as a healthy way to deal with my weight. I made her think that.
By this point, if she ever found out the truth, it would break her heart. She never remarried or had other children after me, so if I can help it, I try whenever possible to lessen her worries even if it means lying to her. I figure her situation isn’t all that better than mine.
She must’ve done some nasty shit in a past life to end up with a corpse for a husband and a worthless social failure for a son. I pitied her more than I did myself because she was the only person in my life who was truly on my side.
“It went great. A-almost puked from the effort…”
She is on her phone, lounging and sipping cinnamon tea whilst the TV plays the latest episode of Real Housewives.
“Well, what should we have for dinner?”
Dinner… Images of the school toilet bowl flood my mind. The stench of piss, and my slimy saliva as I retched up bile…
“Ugh…” I shudder. “Anything.”
She whirls to me. “What’cha mean ugh? I hope you’re not getting into those food phobia fads. I’ve noticed you eating less lately.”
I drag my feet across the lounge. “It’s not like th-that’s a bad thing…” I reply, hanging my bag on the wall pegs before heading upstairs to my room.
“It better not be because of some silly friends of yours!”
I don’t have friends, mom. How haven’t you worked that out yet?
“P-pasta!”
“Alright! I’ll call you when it’s done!”
My bedroom. Finally.
My realm. The safest, most fun place on Earth. There’s a huge bookshelf on the far-left corner of the room full of my favorite books growing up. It’s mostly just fantasy like Eragon, Darren Shan, Animorphs, and a bit of Tolkien and GRR Martin. There’s a good chunk of light novels and a section dedicated to the first ten volumes of my first ever manga, Pokémon Adventures.
I was a little late to the party, but I still became a Pokémon nut as a kid. I joined lots of online forums and played almost every game up to Diamond and Pearl, even starting my own online group called ‘Mew’s Chosen’ (from Bartholomew, not the pokémon!). I organized battles and together with a couple other users, we worked out an elaborate ranking system that was quite popular for a while. I was the group’s leader for months, making lots of online friends and growing the member base to over a hundred active poké-trainer guys and gals.
It all burned down eventually though… My father died in 2008, some months after Pokémon Platinum was announced, and Mom was seriously reeling from the loss. I was just numb at first. It took me days to process but one night, I just cried and cried, and cried myself dry, alone in my room (we were living in Toronto at the time). The next morning, it was just… over. I felt hollowed out. Something changed in me. Made my skin thick and my feelings withdrawn. That’s when I thought “You can die any time, so fuck it all,” and really lent into myself. I suppose that’s when I “let myself go”.
I began trolling the online group I had built from scratch. It was out of spite and a fucked-up sense of superiority. I felt like the only grown-up all of a sudden, and everyone else was just a bratty child. I would boot and ban members if their comments didn’t make me laugh, like some spoilt prince watching his court jesters, and started making ridiculous battle schedules that I knew the majority would struggle to meet. You’re absent? Banned.
I had kicked over a third of the group in less than a week and the rest began to confront me about it. I told them Mew’s Chosen was no longer a place for casuals and that I was just getting rid of the rust. They started leaving en masse, but before they all did, I wrote one a last post (which is embarrassing to remember) and hit self-destruct on the group myself. At the time, I felt the same as black-suit Tobey Maguire felt when they cancelled Spiderman 4… Good riddance.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I lost interest Pokémon since, but that particular pokémon itch never left me completely. The games seemed so big as a child, and the pokémon like actual monsters. When he had been alive, dad and I used to carve some terrible Pikachu pumpkins every Halloween, so come what may, the series would always hold a special place in my heart.
My Gameboy, Gameboy Advanced SP, and my DS lite are all relics of the brightest period of my life. Speaking of the Pokémon itch…
I toss my coat on my king-sized bed, flick off my sweaty shoes, and crash my ass down on my desktop chair. I boot her up.
Welcome Bartholomew
Loading …
Besides my mother, my PC’s welcome is the only one I’ll believe.
I pull open the desk drawer and grab my blue-light filter glasses. They actually work, and they make me feel cool as heck. My mind works way better with them on. I call them my ADHD inhibitors because whenever I put them on, my focus seems to go way up.
PokeHarbour, PokeBay, PokeCodes, the list of websites is endless. I make sure to check plenty of them for any interesting ROM hacks. Some ROM hacks are really quite good. They’re for people who feel Nintendo could be doing way more with the IP.
Scrolling through, there’s definitely some interesting titles, but it’s one that’s marked both ‘fresh’ and ‘flagged for deletion’ that catches my eye. If ROM hack websites are anything like torrenting sites, the title won’t last the day because they’re usually run-and-gun viruses or hentai links that make money off the traffic they receive.
“Pokemon Brightstar…” it reads. I carefully hover over the flagged link, waiting for the description to pop up.
POKEMON BRIGHTSTAR
A bitterly tough experience. You might feel like a hostage sometimes. BRIGHTSTAR will assign your Star-type.
Your Star-type is unchangeable and will determine which Pokémon are available to you at the start of the game. Knowledge of Pokémon types is recommended but not required.
Enter the world of Pokémon! Reach for the Sky! Become a bright star!
When I look over at the game file size, I immediately chuckle. “1kb… 0 hits.”
A few fresh comments are also crying murder:
- Fake as fuck -
- Trojan whore. Be my guest guys xd. -
- Brightstar? More like Dumpstar! lol kys –
- Don’t click this. They will get access to all the passwords saved on your computer and you can kiss your PayPal and Steam balance goodbye.
…
I can’t blame them. With a file size that tiny, I doubt whether anyone would be that fucking stupid to realize tha – My index finger clicks on the link.
FUCK!
FUCK CSGO! FUCK LEAGUE OF LEGENDS!
Ever since I started playing those games, I’d notice how either my index or middle fingers would press on the mouse buttons by some weird reflex, at times without even realizing it!
I panic like a motherfucker as a new window pops up. My eyes are wide, and I feel a fever coming on. Yes, I’m getting ill, I can feel the soreness in my throat.
My darling PC…
After a few seconds, I begin to calm down. The pop-up is not nearly as bad as I expected…
“SOS…” I mumble.
Tajiree Zuqimori? The name sounds familiar, but the spelling’s throwing me off.
I move my mouse straight to the cross and close the pop-up.
The harsh, metallic tone your PC plays when you can’t perform an action sounds out, and the same pop-up blinks back to life.
Oh, shit…
I close it again.
And again!
And AGAIN!!
FUCK YOU ZUQIMORI!!!
Wait… Idea!
I rush over to the Task Manager, quickly locate the process ‘Brightstar SOS’ and hit ‘End Task’ like I’m pressing the button for a nuclear warhead.
The screen blinks twice and I panic again. That isn’t normal.
“Why is it so SHIT!” I scream. Mom shouts something from the kitchen but I ignore her. Why is life so shit? Can’t a guy come back home and get a break from all the bullshit? Is that too much to ask?
The command prompt flicks onto the screen. Someone is typing something.
\Zuqi> Hi! Hello! Don’t ignore me please!_
…
\Zuqi> Hello? Please my friend write back!_
…
\Bartholomew> You fucking lowlife. I’m going to get the police involved. Youre getting caught_
…
\Zuqi> Caught! I wish they could my friend! I really truly wish they could._
…
\Bartholomew> What the fuck have you done to my computer. What the fuck do you want_
…
\Zuqi> You are American? What year is it?_
…
\Bartholomew> Answer the question_
…
\Zuqi> I need you to follow instruction on Brightstar SOS_
…
\Bartholomew> Why would I_
I am seething with rage at this point and on the verge of smashing my keyboard like that one German kid. I take a long breath and try my darn hardest to settle down.
…
\Zuqi> I promise my friend. This is not virus. When you finish Brightstar instructions, this program terminate._
…
\Bartholomew> You still havent answered the question. What the fuck do you want_
…
\Zuqi> Oh? I thought I did, sorry. The details are quite difficult to explain here, but when you finish the instructions, I can find my way back home. I am using your machine as anchor point. You are my only user!_
…
\Bartholomew> That makes no sense at all. Are you a fugitive or something?_
He was giving me some WikiLeak vibes.
…
\Zuqi> Ah! Ha Ha! I have been stuck for a long time, very, very far away. Tell me, when was Pokemon game release?_
…
At the mention of Pokémon, something in me is disarmed. I go from complete fury to frustrated curiosity.
\Bartholomew> You dont know that? You have internet_
…
\Zuqi> Ah, no, my friend. This internet is only able to relay with the first machine - yours! It is almost impossible to find legible data of your internet from here, and Brightstar taken me almost 20 years to complete!_
…
\Bartholomew> I really have no idea what youre talking about. Youve hacked my PC_
…
\Zuqi> As I explained, program terminates when you follow instructions! This is not virus! You will see!_
…
\Zuqi> Please help! I must return! The real criminals are there with you!_
…
\Zuqi> There are no creators of Po_
At this point, whatever Zuqi is typing suddenly disappears. I wait a few seconds, but nothing comes through.
\Bartholomew> This sounds like a D&D campaign with the main difference here = YOURE BREAKING THE LAW_
…
Still nothing.
\Bartholomew> I wont follow your stupid instructions_
No reply.
I close the command prompt and to my chagrin, the fucking Wizard Setup for Brightstar SOS pops up again. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I breathe in and breathe out like that Wim Hoff guy. Breathe motherfucker.
*****
Somewhere far, far away…
“Stupid American! Stupid idioshinnn!!! Koroshiteyaru, bakayaro!!!”
Tajiree Zuqimori trashed his desk, bashing it like some German kid once upon a time, then he fell on his knees and began sobbing in Japanese. The communication channel had used up the entirety of Zuqimori’s 300 PetaByte data bundle in a mere minute and a half.
It was over.
Still in Japanese, he muttered, “20 years… 20 years. One chance…” He grimaced bitterly, tears welling up in his eyes. “And it falls to some ignorant American!”
…
Blip. Blip. Blip.
Zuqimori froze. The reader! The reader still showed life signs!
The ignorant American likely did not know that now, all he needed to do now to shut down the link to Brightstar was simply switch off his computer!
Brightstar. Tajiree Zuqimori’s very own and last-hope escape rope. The main material required to make it work was only just an ultra-rare, impossible to make, impossible to buy mythical star-piece. Acquired how, exactly? Zuqimori might take 20 years to explain.
The crazed Japanese scientist narrowed his eyes and managed to smile with abandon. He stood up and gestured at the Brightstar system computer with both hands like a voodoo witch doctor.
He spoke in English this time. “Yesss, stupid Amerikan… youuu willu folloh… Folloh…” He smacked his hands together and shut his eyes. “IN! SU! TU! RAK! TIOOONNN…” He shoved at the air with all his might “HAAAAA!!!!!”
…
Nothing happened…
Wait…
*****
I clicked ‘Next’.
The computer was already hacked. It was time to go for broke. If by some chance the hacker was telling the truth, then completing the setup might save me having to ask mom to buy me another PC. Either way, I stood nothing else to lose.
I adjust the blue-light shades on my eyes and pull my chair in close. “You need me to follow instructions…” I shake my head in annoyance. “F-fucking moron…”
BRIGHTSTAR
This is the first step in the Brightstar manual set of functions.
Please read carefully!
- DO NOT SWITCH OFF COMPUTER AT ANY TIME DURING THIS PROCESS. HARDWARE MIGHT BECOME IRREPARABLY DAMAGED.
I grind my teeth. “‘Not virus!’, he said…” Fucking Zuqimori. I click Next.
- PLEASE ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS WITH CAREFUL CONSIDERATION:
- What is your favourite Pokemon?
[_____________]
I blink. “Wha…”
- What is the most powerful Pokemon type?
[_____________]
- Are you familiar with the Trainer Ranking System?
[_____________]
- Up to what year does your Pokemon knowledge extend, and what is the current year on your calendar?
[_____________], [_____________]
- Would you consider yourself a hobby player, or is being the best important to you? (please describe in a detailed sentence).
[_____________]
- Finally, what is your nationality (Do you speak or understand Japanese?)
[_____________], [____________]
What the actual fuck. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Again, I find myself slightly disarmed. Maybe this is really a Pokémon game…
A flicker of hope buzzes through me. I had heard of some game developers doing some unconventional things to get their games noticed, but I’d never had any first-hand experience with it. The questions revolving around Pokémon piked my interest, but I was still pretty annoyed, so I answered quickly, without really debating it too much.
Favourite pokémon? [Heracross]
No glow-up evolution. Strong as hell. Unpopular because it’s a bug. I kind of relate.
Strongest type? [Normal]
The god of Pokémon is Normal-type. That’s the hint. Also, my favourite move is Normal-type. Metronome. I just loved the idea of putting Quickclaw on a level 1 Togepi and landing a Sheer Cold on a level 100 monster of a mon. I still thought it was fucking stupid how 1-hit-KO moves always missed against higher levelled pokémon. Where was the fun in that?
Trainer Ranking System? [No]
I’m pretty sure its not referring to the one I made up years ago. We called them Trainer Standings anyway.
How far does my Pokémon knowledge extend? [2007]
I’m pretty sure that’s when Diamond and Pearl came out.
Current date on my calendar? [May 10th 2014]
Hobby player or serious? I wiggle my fingers, thinking of a good sentence to please Zuqimori.
[I am a hobby player through and through. The only competition I enjoy is purely for fun, by my own choice, UNFORCED. I doubt you’d understand]
Last questions.
My Nationality. [Jamaican]. Why not.
Do I speak or understand Japanese? [No]
I click Next.
- PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOU ARE ALONE. IF THERE ARE ANY PEOPLE OR PETS NEAR YOU, KINDLY PUT THEM ELSEWHERE. THIS POKEMON GAME MUST BE EXPERIENCED WITH ZERO DISTRACTIONS!
. . .
Once you are ready, press the button below.
(By playing this game, you are helping fight against the most villainous corruption. Your contribution will be forever remembered).
PLAY POKEMON BRIGHTSTAR
It’s hard not to smile. The Japanese can be so dramatic. I realize here that the game started the moment I clicked the link by accident. The whole ‘I am Tajiree Zuqimori, and I’m stranded…’ was part of the story.
This guy gets an A for creativity. He gets an F for fucking the law and hacking my PC.
I hit play and lean back on my chair, somewhat nervous for what comes next.
*****
In Zuqimori’s laboratory…
The Brightstar System Computer’s cooling fan whirred at full speed. The motherboards whined and beeped and blinked with green lights. The star-piece chamber in the center of the room flared to life.
Zuqimori stared on with an incredulously baffled expression. He looked at his own shaky hands and back up at the Brightstar Computer.
He smiled wickedly, straining his cheeks to their limits.
“AMERIKAAAAN!!!” he screamed raspingly with utmost joy.
Lab coat – off. Shoes – off. Off as fast as humanly possible.
The system monitor started flashing with warnings:
Transfer Linking Imminent!
Enter Transfer Pod!
WARNING!
Enter Transfer Pod!
Zuquimori scurried like a mouse, almost tripping over as he entered the aforementioned pod, a tiny cylindrical carboglass chamber barely big enough to fit the 5’4 Japanese genius.
“Americans… Truly amazing,” he said in Japanese. “Thank God for Americans.”
He couldn’t believe that 20 years of work was finally paying off. And then, with a bipolar suddenness, Zuqimori’s face darkened.
“Satoshi!!!” he yelled. “Ken!!!” Spittle flew from his mouth.
“I’m coming for you!!!”
*****
My screen flickered for a moment before a nameless loading bar popped on the screen. The bar moved quickly, and within a few seconds it was over halfway. That’s when the weirdest sensation crawled all over me. Like when you rub a ruler all over your hair and hold it over your bare skin. When the tiny hairs stand up? Yeah, like that but from head to toe.
The loading bar was hitting 90% now, and the screen flickered and stuttered like something was seriously wrong with it. The CPU whined with a sharp beep I had never heard it make before.
The walls of my room began trembling. The floor too.
“What the fu- aahh!”
I pushed myself off the chair. “Earthquake!!!” I yelled for mom to hear. The trembling was now full-on shaking. The monitor blinked on and off. The loading was at 99%. The staticky sensation from before grew so strong that I felt like I was made of dry, brittle paper. There was an immense pressure building on the top of my head but when I looked up, there was nothing there.
I thought of my dad for some reason. It was the clearest image I had ever been able to remember. Photographic surely! There he was, holding one of the Pikachu Halloween carvings next to his face, attempting his best Willem Dafoe smile.
Was my life flashing before my eyes?!
*****
Bartholomew Raileigh, only a sweet-sixteen years of age, was struck from the heavens by the brightest, biggest, most painful-looking bolt of lightning never seen.
The thing came from nowhere – there were no clouds over Thunder Bay at the time. The thing pierced through the roof of his house like it wasn’t even there. The thing struck him right on the spot where the fontanelle, that soft part of a baby’s skull, used to be.
With a searing flash, the lights inside poor Bartholomew’s brain went out, and his body collapsed in a heap.
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