D E C A Y
March 20, 9:00AM
Whoever have broken into my journal and are reading this, yes you, welcome to hell... Sinister chuckle... Enclosed in my gruesome book you'll find dreadfully dull diary secrets of a normal new adult woman in a Pokémon’s world.
I am Amanda Palm.1140Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDBe5FSEX5k
You have been seriously warned. 1140Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLYl770cHG7
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Where to start? What was left of my mother's abandoned Lab was wreathed in vines. I shall start with that. Hehe, mother would have teased about Bellsprouts and Bellossoms moving in.
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All her experiment documents and noted conclusions. Her cursive writings on the bones of Pokémon that we knew existed and no evidence of Pokémon that we wondered existed. Myths until encountered, she repeated to people.
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Her faulty equipment, her dog-eared books, her frustratingly slow computers, and of course her fine wabi-sabi china. Looking around her Janguran workspace made my eyes water up. This was where she spent most of her time.
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Season after season, for years of drifting moons and blossomed trees, time in the Lab consisted of painstaking research and seeing prospective Trainers off with odysseys ahead; all her memories - brief and fleeting as they were - were spent in this cramped cluttered room. She always smiled. Back when I was younger, it used to annoy me, but now, the fading flashback of her grins helped me with living with the heavy pain.
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Her death was a swift one. I did not foresee it despite the fact it was an obvious fate. My mother had plans. I had plans.
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This wasn't a perfectly happy place, no matter how mighty Pokémon or humans were. These days I smiled too, often reminding people of her. Grimy brown windows filtered streams of sun where dust sparkled and swirled over rattling eggs and ancient fossils. If you spent time here, like mother, like me, you were drawn into her humble life’s work. She was to the Jangura region known as Prof. Palm.
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If you didn't know already, Palm’s expertise was in extinction. She especially studied the malignant human impact on wild ecosystems and how similar to armageddon, we erased them. The many breeds that perished, we wiped them out.
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Mother was not popular or well-liked in her field. She was highly esteemed however and had no need for friends. Less than five colleagues went to her funeral, I didn't need to count them with my hands. In contradiction to her cheery smiles, she had a no-nonsense, pessimistic approach to everything while we're being honest. Some said that when she was alive, Palm harbored a strong disliking of “man-made destruction”.
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I don't know if that were true about her, but it would be true about me. I often get furious.
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To truly know me, one should understand I was Palm’s only daughter. No father in the picture. And no, I’m not yet a Pokémon Professor. Many visitors were mistaken and, tragically, were rude about it. It is true I want to resume the legacy in her calculated footsteps. (She took long strides too.) Currently I am a mere Aide. I just take care of the eggs. It would be such a long journey ahead if I am if ever bold to get certified as a Professor.
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Because of this, I cannot simply leave them. They're unborn orphans.
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Since mother's passing this month, I resolved to remodel the Lab into a Daycare. I barely recognize it. So far, I made a mess of things. It is a remnant now, a shadow of what once was.
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In my care are precisely thirty-two squelching breathing eggs; some were known and bred personally; unknown others were donated anonymously. Eggs were more my thing than my mother's. She was more interested in the dead.
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Next to them are six hundred fossils and ambers from Umber Jungle that mother and I dug up and polished over the years. This was tradition. Prof. Palm was the world-famous Fossil Maniac, this you probably know. She said to me fossils were emblems of life, nearly as old as the earth itself. I said to her the same about eggs.
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I began this morning with a hot cup of grey tea, like my mother and I normally did. Now it's just me. It's quiet, I can hear myself think a tad too much. Not fun. The thing is, when you're alone, you notice the little things found in the gaps. You could feel the world sigh outside as if with grace. You appreciate the new aroma on the occasional breath traveling from the open door. Oh, a visitor at the door.
A rogue, a very cute man. 1140Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD44hX5k01Q
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I shall end writing here.
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Xoxo. Amanda Palm.
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ns216.73.216.38da2 
and then Add to home screen.