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In those days, Leaf’s legs stretched over Red in a blatant invasion of space. The latter, always submerged under leagues of sunscreen, shuffled his holographic trading cards with the same intention of a tarot reading. Their main interest was melting, to melt. A glass of lemonade beheld Leaf’s sinewy thigh, sweating away skittering ants. Leaf had slipped ice cubes into to the glass and watched them buoy. Under the sun’s tyranny they became homogeneous with the lemonade.
Red was a magician, able to deal mortal peril to his nemesis if the cards whispered the correct sigil. Otherwise, sliding a card across uneven grass and terrorizing ants until a raspy hand snatched it, he would exchange auxiliaries for more enchantments. Green curiously noted the reflection of the holofoil drawing a nebula on his rival’s face.
They went by no rules, only to conquer. Leaf, impartial sibyl from the boughs, had personally traded off her repeated Eevees and co. to Green, while Red watched his foe’s kingdom expand in front of him. Devastated, he had taken a sip of lemonade. Ruinous times cornered him and Pikachu, his right hand ‘mon.
The grass whistled the verdict of their Pokemon mastery: they had traded them all, beneath a piercing banana-colored light, dappled like a lace mantle.
In those days, they roared as they stamped kitty stickers on Green’s bare arms, his forehead. They rolled and pushed against each other, every touch hotter than the climate, charged between the colors. Leaf’s arms had rows of grassy marks, and Green’s head bumped against the tree roots. Red liked to blow across their skin as they gossiped about others.
He claimed victory over the land (Leaf didn’t care, she was apolitical), which relegated Green to his minion, a sidekick. They bickered. The lemonade was tipped somewhere, creating a creek of sugar for an army of ants. Leaf closed her eyes and cryptically said, “No, Red. You’re under his spell, and in any case he’s a fool too. You’re both at an impasse.”