Well this is my first time fic, it came to me while I was listening to music and thinking about our world and how f*ucked up it is, then I turned my gameboy on and thought, "If our world is so ****ed up, I wonder how life would be if pokemon were real? I always wanted pokemon to be real but with life always f*cked up as it is right now?" So I thought I'll write a fic on this idea cause I was daydreaming on what would it be like, what would I do? So the idea kept on bugging me until I wrote some stuff down and had it post in the idea Authors Cafe. People really liked the idea so I thought I"d go for it.
I based the character on me and some of the stuff I went through while in my...well I'm not gonna say it since people won't believe me. How could a gang member like pokemon? you'd ask, I can explain but if you want to know PM me since I want to stay on topic of my fic. I also wrote it about me so I could write it easier and not have to explain if it was coming from someone else's eyes or view. So without further adue' Here is my fic called "A Gangsta's Ambition" Hope you Enjoy
This is rated somewhere between PG-13 and R for strong language, life like violence. There may be some nudity later on as well as some other stuff, but not until later on in the story.
//
The world to others is a great place to live in. That’s only in their eyes, though. In mine I see more things that a fourteen year old should ever see. I see violence, murder, break-ins, as well as people robbing and stealing from each other for their own pleasure and enjoyment. How about the people making more money than you, money which you need more in your life than they will ever need or ever know? Did I fail to mention that those people partake in illegality and are never caught? They use these wonderful creatures, Pokemon for these sinful acts and having seen that I despise all of it, and yet hate myself for some of these acts as well.
I sometimes wish that life was like a family sitcom—that way, people will always be laughing, and life is only as bad as the scriptwriters would have it. Or how about living in a neighborhood where you don’t have to worry about who runs the block you live on, who you can and can’t trust or talk to, who will or will not stick a knife into your back, and twist it just for good measure. This way, I wouldn’t have to be scared every single day.
My name is Jo and I’m 16 years old. I live with my grandmother who claims that she supposedly loves me, and yet I come home only to be cursed and told I’m only a burden bringing the house down, a deadweight dragging and obstructing the rest of the world, like a sprained ankle would hinder a runner. I was abandoned by my mother, so my grandmother claims. I know that she is lying, though. She keeps me distant from my mother when she tries to contact me, I want to see her but am never given the opportunity. I never knew my father and don’t know his name, and speaking truthfully I never really want to see him at all. Why should I? He has never ever tried to contact me, and as far as I am concerned he is already dead, as I must be to him.
I belong to a gang that fights without the use of Pokemon-- using them is a sign of being weak, hiding behind another living thing, making them suffer and bleed for you, and taking all of their credit and glory. I would like to use them but if you are ever caught even having one as a pet you end up… well let’s just say it isn’t good. When we ever do end up in a fight with another gang using them, the only way to fight them is to shoot them before they are sent out or make a move. I hold guilt and responsibility for some of these creatures whose lives I’ve ended so abruptly. I wish I could quit this life, and end it all but the only exit I see is death; I wish that I could surv… wait, no I will survive and find another way. There is always another way.
My name is Jo, and this is my life. //
******************************************************
“Piece of sh*t mother F*cker,” I shouted angrily while aiming a kick at his stomach.
“Never come up to me and talk sh*t to me ever again b*tch!” I kicked him one last time. He coughed out blood, and the blood kept running out like a waterfall, even as he rolled around in obvious pain. I pitied him for having to do that to him, not too much but a little nonetheless, even though he was to blame for this misfortune upon him. I walked away with blood-covered fists, making my way through the crowd which had watched me in action just a fraction earlier. Yes, the same damn crowd which cried out for blood and which always wanted more. I left with their congratulations and applause ringing in my ears.
“Damn, Jo can fight!”
“He’s crazy man, don’t f*ck with him!”
“You didn’t show no mercy man, Damn!”
These were the comments I heard while working my way through and getting patted on the back by the crowd, apparently thrilled at the performance I had put up for them. I don’t see how they find hurting someone entertaining, I didn’t find it all amusing. I suddenly felt like a seal in a zoo enclosure, using my nose to perform tricks with a ball, with a vociferous crowd cajoling me on. As if their response would have been any different for the victor if I had been the one lying face down in a pool of glistening blood.
I made my way finally out of the crowd and walked through the hallways, finding my way to the nearest bathroom. I walked in and heard nothing-- the silence told me that I was the only one inside. I looked in the mirror and searched my face for any injuries I may have gotten.
“Nope, not a damn thing could hurt this good-looking guy.” I said to myself. I smiled and started washing the blood off my hands.
Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open with great force, slammed against the wall and a deep, angry voice then shouted: “Hey mother f*cker!” I turned and lifted my right fist up, getting ready for another pointless fight. My heart began to pump and I felt the adrenaline rush coming through my body. I waited for the person to just make it around the corner so I could knock his lights out. No one called me that without getting an introduction to my fists. Then the person jumped out around the corner with a smile and said laughing: “Damn man, you beat the sh*t out of that guy!” I lowered my fist and let out a sigh of relief and tried to relax. “F*ck, Spooks! Don’t do that, you scared the sh*t out of me man!”, I yelled back.
Spooks is another member of the gang I’m in called BTK; which stands for “Big-Tyme-Killa’s.” Spooks’ real name was Josh and he is fifteen, making him the youngest—the fact that he is also the biggest clown in our crew points at his slender age once again. He is almost my height, so I would say that he was about five feet three inches tall, but to other people that is still kind of short. His hair was black, slicked back with a healthy does of grease, but his eyes… … Those eyes were pitch black with no pupil, and when you stare into them you feel as if you were falling into them helplessly. Remember the times when you would remove a manhole cover and peer inside, trying to locate the bottom, and then you would slowly lower your head into the hole, going further and further in… … Or the times where you would look at a Bunsen burner flame during those dumb laboratory lessons, and you would find the whole world dissolving around you, with the flame the sole constant? That is exactly what I have always felt when I look into his eyes. Windows to the soul? Someone must have forgotten to turn the lights on for that particular soul.
Since he is always playing around, not to mention his height and age, Spooks is always taken less seriously by others at certain situations. Yet he laughs at them for not taking him serious-- he takes it as a joke. He just laughs and smiles at you. Man, that smile-- its not any ordinary smile. With those eyes and that perfect white smile of his, he’ll just smiles at you and it intimidates you, it sends a chill down your spine because whenever you look at him… … It is as if his smile was that of the Devil’s. That’s mainly the reason he was given the name Spooks from us.
Spooks laughed for the joke he pulled, while I went back washing my hands. “My bad, but what should you be scared for? You’ve never lost a fight and you sure show that you can really beat the living hell out of someone.” He said, “Here, you forgot your bag.” He tossed my bag by my feet. I dried my hands off and slipped on my bag, “Thanks man, if you didn’t pick it up somebody would have probably jacked it.” “No prob. Anyways, I also came to see if you wanted to leave school early. Most of the crew is heading off to go smoke and drink at the boss’s house. You in?” he asked. “Nah, I feel like staying here a little besides the superintendent is already on my a** for skipping so many times. I’m just gonna milk it here and go home afterwards.” I answered. “Alright, I’ll catch you later or tomorrow then.” He said putting his hand. “Yeah, tomorrow *****.” I said shaking his hand following it with a finger snap. We left out the door and he ran into the parking lot looking for the boss’s car. I watched as he disappeared behind the cars that packed the parking lot and I walked off through the hallways to my class.
I thought I would’ve slept through class but we had a group work session. We were researching on the biology of fire pokemon. Although I try not to show interest, inside I always enjoy doing projects like this. Each group was given a certain fire pokemon to research on. Our group was given the pokemon called Cyndaquil. It looked a lot like an ant-eater but much smaller with a belly covered in short yellow fur and its backside covered in dark blue, it had 4 spots that supposedly shot fire when it was ever angered or scared that protects it. I thought it looked pretty cute and cool. I ended up getting really into the project and doing all the work. We got the best grade out of the other class groups. I felt embarrassed a little when teachers told me that I am smart, I’m just too lazy to do the work.
“Wait a minute!” a girl shouted out causing her to catch the whole class’s attention, “How did he get a good score on this project when his gang hates…”
RING!!! The school bell rang in the middle of her sentence, making all the other students ignore her. Saved by the bell. I sighed from relief as I thought word would have gotten out that I showed a little interest in pokemon. Students ran out the door for school was over for the day. I quickly grabbed my bag and dashed out with the rest of the class through the door.
I started on my way home from school. I walked through the all the graffiti-marked fences and gas-station walls that went on for ever down the street like a quick spreading disease. I looked at the walls and saw our letters showing we lived and ran this neighborhood, looking around I saw more and some that I did as well. I made it around the corner on the street I had to turn on when I noticed on the south side of the street that I saw three guys standing around something and kicking it. They were all wearing black pants except two of them wore white polo’s-- one was just about my size and the other was shorter and the other with a baby blue striped polo was a little smaller than the rest except chubby with thick arms. I looked a little harder to see if it was a person but I could not see from the distance they were at. I began walking towards them on the opposite side of the street to make it look like I was just walking by. I moved closer trying to see if one of the guys would move a little for me to see.
The tallest one saw me and yelled “Let’s go!” to the other guys he was with. He ran off through the alley behind the houses thinking that his friends heard and were behind him. The short ones however, saw me and stepped away from whatever they were kicking revealing a pokemon. I looked at it and tried to identify it by what it looked like. “Huh?!” I whispered to myself, I looked at it again seeing that it was a badly beaten Cyndaquil! The two guys felt cocky after what they did and the one wearing a blue polo yelled “What the hell you looking at! You want the same sh*t to happen to you?”
The other one in the white polo just smiled at me. I looked really quick to see if it truly was a Cyndaquil, and that glance eradicated all doubt that it was a Cyndaquil. I could have just kept on walking, but I felt really bad for it seeing it helplessly laying there on the concrete street. If I leave they’ll just keep on doing what their doing, I thought to myself, but if I rescue it then word will. I clinched my fists and stared at them with a blank expression on my face while I was thinking if I should save it. The blue polo guy saw me tighten my fist and shouted “You wanna fight, b*tch? Come on pussy!”
The other one wearing white then started to walk briskly towards me. Okay rescuing Cyndaquil it is! I thought to myself as I pulled my arms back to let my backpack fall to ground as well giving me into position to pull my arm back for a punch. The guy came close enough and that’s when I swung my fist straight into his face. I felt his nose pop with the collision of my fist, he flew back to the ground with his head hitting the ground before his body or feet did. Blood spurted from his nose, it seemed he was the first person I ever knocked out unconscious because he didn’t make a move afterwards.
“Whoa!” I told myself in shock, I paid no attention to the other guy when all of a sudden I was knocked to the ground with my glasses flying off. Then a heavy body came laying over me trapping my arms underneath them, I knew it was the other guy wearing blue. I tried moving but couldn’t turn over on my back because I was being pummeled with punches. Splat! I felt my nose running with a hot liquid. The barrage of fists then stopped for a second then I made my way onto my back and quickly pushed my opponent off of me. I got to feet as fast as I could to check my nose. A thick, red substance covered my fingers. I’m bleeding? That’s it. “You little f*ck!” I said angrily, I then started running towards him. He then pulled out a knife from his back pocket with a blade no longer than 4 inches long. I stopped right where I stood. He played with the knife in his hand swaying it side to side taunting me “Come on.” he said, “Not so big now are you?”
He started walking towards me while I kept moving back with every step he took. He continued to play with the knife by tossing it to the other hand then all of a sudden, thunk, he accidentally dropped it. I moved in when I saw him drop it; he tried to snatch it off the ground, but was his plan quickly failed with a swift kick to the head. He fell back while I snatched up the knife off the ground and jumped on him. I began to give him the same treatment he gave me; I then stabbed his arm as punishment for the blow he delivered, which caused my nosebleed. I got off him while he started to cry and wiped my nose with the sleeve from my shirt. I dashed to grab my bag and locate my glasses. I then rushed toward the pokemon. It was in bad shape-- its head had giant bumps and it looked as if its hind leg would be unable for it to walk. I heard Cyndaquil give a soft whimper from fear.
I gently touched its head, “Hey, its ok little fella. I’m here to help. I’m gonna take good care of ya.” I whispered to it for comfort. Think fast Jo, how are you gonna get this thing home without your grandma noticing? I thought to myself. I then quickly unbuttoned my shirt, which was covered with splashes of blood from my nose bleed and carefully wrapped Cyndaquil in it. I took of my bag and took out stuff to make room for it. I placed Cyndaquil in my bag and zipped it enough to where it could get air to breath. I then made on my way home quickly but made sure not to have the bag jump to cause pain to the pokemon in my bag. “Jo,” I said to myself, “you just got yourself into some deep sh*t, my friend.”
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I'd also like to give credit to Mindripper for helping me edit and review over my fic fixing any mistakes I made. Hes great with fancy words. He was a great help in making my fic, I was never good at grammer, but spelling and other stuff, yeah. I got that down.
I based the character on me and some of the stuff I went through while in my...well I'm not gonna say it since people won't believe me. How could a gang member like pokemon? you'd ask, I can explain but if you want to know PM me since I want to stay on topic of my fic. I also wrote it about me so I could write it easier and not have to explain if it was coming from someone else's eyes or view. So without further adue' Here is my fic called "A Gangsta's Ambition" Hope you Enjoy
This is rated somewhere between PG-13 and R for strong language, life like violence. There may be some nudity later on as well as some other stuff, but not until later on in the story.
~Prologue~
//
The world to others is a great place to live in. That’s only in their eyes, though. In mine I see more things that a fourteen year old should ever see. I see violence, murder, break-ins, as well as people robbing and stealing from each other for their own pleasure and enjoyment. How about the people making more money than you, money which you need more in your life than they will ever need or ever know? Did I fail to mention that those people partake in illegality and are never caught? They use these wonderful creatures, Pokemon for these sinful acts and having seen that I despise all of it, and yet hate myself for some of these acts as well.
I sometimes wish that life was like a family sitcom—that way, people will always be laughing, and life is only as bad as the scriptwriters would have it. Or how about living in a neighborhood where you don’t have to worry about who runs the block you live on, who you can and can’t trust or talk to, who will or will not stick a knife into your back, and twist it just for good measure. This way, I wouldn’t have to be scared every single day.
My name is Jo and I’m 16 years old. I live with my grandmother who claims that she supposedly loves me, and yet I come home only to be cursed and told I’m only a burden bringing the house down, a deadweight dragging and obstructing the rest of the world, like a sprained ankle would hinder a runner. I was abandoned by my mother, so my grandmother claims. I know that she is lying, though. She keeps me distant from my mother when she tries to contact me, I want to see her but am never given the opportunity. I never knew my father and don’t know his name, and speaking truthfully I never really want to see him at all. Why should I? He has never ever tried to contact me, and as far as I am concerned he is already dead, as I must be to him.
I belong to a gang that fights without the use of Pokemon-- using them is a sign of being weak, hiding behind another living thing, making them suffer and bleed for you, and taking all of their credit and glory. I would like to use them but if you are ever caught even having one as a pet you end up… well let’s just say it isn’t good. When we ever do end up in a fight with another gang using them, the only way to fight them is to shoot them before they are sent out or make a move. I hold guilt and responsibility for some of these creatures whose lives I’ve ended so abruptly. I wish I could quit this life, and end it all but the only exit I see is death; I wish that I could surv… wait, no I will survive and find another way. There is always another way.
My name is Jo, and this is my life. //
******************************************************
Chapter One
“Piece of sh*t mother F*cker,” I shouted angrily while aiming a kick at his stomach.
“Never come up to me and talk sh*t to me ever again b*tch!” I kicked him one last time. He coughed out blood, and the blood kept running out like a waterfall, even as he rolled around in obvious pain. I pitied him for having to do that to him, not too much but a little nonetheless, even though he was to blame for this misfortune upon him. I walked away with blood-covered fists, making my way through the crowd which had watched me in action just a fraction earlier. Yes, the same damn crowd which cried out for blood and which always wanted more. I left with their congratulations and applause ringing in my ears.
“Damn, Jo can fight!”
“He’s crazy man, don’t f*ck with him!”
“You didn’t show no mercy man, Damn!”
These were the comments I heard while working my way through and getting patted on the back by the crowd, apparently thrilled at the performance I had put up for them. I don’t see how they find hurting someone entertaining, I didn’t find it all amusing. I suddenly felt like a seal in a zoo enclosure, using my nose to perform tricks with a ball, with a vociferous crowd cajoling me on. As if their response would have been any different for the victor if I had been the one lying face down in a pool of glistening blood.
I made my way finally out of the crowd and walked through the hallways, finding my way to the nearest bathroom. I walked in and heard nothing-- the silence told me that I was the only one inside. I looked in the mirror and searched my face for any injuries I may have gotten.
“Nope, not a damn thing could hurt this good-looking guy.” I said to myself. I smiled and started washing the blood off my hands.
Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open with great force, slammed against the wall and a deep, angry voice then shouted: “Hey mother f*cker!” I turned and lifted my right fist up, getting ready for another pointless fight. My heart began to pump and I felt the adrenaline rush coming through my body. I waited for the person to just make it around the corner so I could knock his lights out. No one called me that without getting an introduction to my fists. Then the person jumped out around the corner with a smile and said laughing: “Damn man, you beat the sh*t out of that guy!” I lowered my fist and let out a sigh of relief and tried to relax. “F*ck, Spooks! Don’t do that, you scared the sh*t out of me man!”, I yelled back.
Spooks is another member of the gang I’m in called BTK; which stands for “Big-Tyme-Killa’s.” Spooks’ real name was Josh and he is fifteen, making him the youngest—the fact that he is also the biggest clown in our crew points at his slender age once again. He is almost my height, so I would say that he was about five feet three inches tall, but to other people that is still kind of short. His hair was black, slicked back with a healthy does of grease, but his eyes… … Those eyes were pitch black with no pupil, and when you stare into them you feel as if you were falling into them helplessly. Remember the times when you would remove a manhole cover and peer inside, trying to locate the bottom, and then you would slowly lower your head into the hole, going further and further in… … Or the times where you would look at a Bunsen burner flame during those dumb laboratory lessons, and you would find the whole world dissolving around you, with the flame the sole constant? That is exactly what I have always felt when I look into his eyes. Windows to the soul? Someone must have forgotten to turn the lights on for that particular soul.
Since he is always playing around, not to mention his height and age, Spooks is always taken less seriously by others at certain situations. Yet he laughs at them for not taking him serious-- he takes it as a joke. He just laughs and smiles at you. Man, that smile-- its not any ordinary smile. With those eyes and that perfect white smile of his, he’ll just smiles at you and it intimidates you, it sends a chill down your spine because whenever you look at him… … It is as if his smile was that of the Devil’s. That’s mainly the reason he was given the name Spooks from us.
Spooks laughed for the joke he pulled, while I went back washing my hands. “My bad, but what should you be scared for? You’ve never lost a fight and you sure show that you can really beat the living hell out of someone.” He said, “Here, you forgot your bag.” He tossed my bag by my feet. I dried my hands off and slipped on my bag, “Thanks man, if you didn’t pick it up somebody would have probably jacked it.” “No prob. Anyways, I also came to see if you wanted to leave school early. Most of the crew is heading off to go smoke and drink at the boss’s house. You in?” he asked. “Nah, I feel like staying here a little besides the superintendent is already on my a** for skipping so many times. I’m just gonna milk it here and go home afterwards.” I answered. “Alright, I’ll catch you later or tomorrow then.” He said putting his hand. “Yeah, tomorrow *****.” I said shaking his hand following it with a finger snap. We left out the door and he ran into the parking lot looking for the boss’s car. I watched as he disappeared behind the cars that packed the parking lot and I walked off through the hallways to my class.
I thought I would’ve slept through class but we had a group work session. We were researching on the biology of fire pokemon. Although I try not to show interest, inside I always enjoy doing projects like this. Each group was given a certain fire pokemon to research on. Our group was given the pokemon called Cyndaquil. It looked a lot like an ant-eater but much smaller with a belly covered in short yellow fur and its backside covered in dark blue, it had 4 spots that supposedly shot fire when it was ever angered or scared that protects it. I thought it looked pretty cute and cool. I ended up getting really into the project and doing all the work. We got the best grade out of the other class groups. I felt embarrassed a little when teachers told me that I am smart, I’m just too lazy to do the work.
“Wait a minute!” a girl shouted out causing her to catch the whole class’s attention, “How did he get a good score on this project when his gang hates…”
RING!!! The school bell rang in the middle of her sentence, making all the other students ignore her. Saved by the bell. I sighed from relief as I thought word would have gotten out that I showed a little interest in pokemon. Students ran out the door for school was over for the day. I quickly grabbed my bag and dashed out with the rest of the class through the door.
I started on my way home from school. I walked through the all the graffiti-marked fences and gas-station walls that went on for ever down the street like a quick spreading disease. I looked at the walls and saw our letters showing we lived and ran this neighborhood, looking around I saw more and some that I did as well. I made it around the corner on the street I had to turn on when I noticed on the south side of the street that I saw three guys standing around something and kicking it. They were all wearing black pants except two of them wore white polo’s-- one was just about my size and the other was shorter and the other with a baby blue striped polo was a little smaller than the rest except chubby with thick arms. I looked a little harder to see if it was a person but I could not see from the distance they were at. I began walking towards them on the opposite side of the street to make it look like I was just walking by. I moved closer trying to see if one of the guys would move a little for me to see.
The tallest one saw me and yelled “Let’s go!” to the other guys he was with. He ran off through the alley behind the houses thinking that his friends heard and were behind him. The short ones however, saw me and stepped away from whatever they were kicking revealing a pokemon. I looked at it and tried to identify it by what it looked like. “Huh?!” I whispered to myself, I looked at it again seeing that it was a badly beaten Cyndaquil! The two guys felt cocky after what they did and the one wearing a blue polo yelled “What the hell you looking at! You want the same sh*t to happen to you?”
The other one in the white polo just smiled at me. I looked really quick to see if it truly was a Cyndaquil, and that glance eradicated all doubt that it was a Cyndaquil. I could have just kept on walking, but I felt really bad for it seeing it helplessly laying there on the concrete street. If I leave they’ll just keep on doing what their doing, I thought to myself, but if I rescue it then word will. I clinched my fists and stared at them with a blank expression on my face while I was thinking if I should save it. The blue polo guy saw me tighten my fist and shouted “You wanna fight, b*tch? Come on pussy!”
The other one wearing white then started to walk briskly towards me. Okay rescuing Cyndaquil it is! I thought to myself as I pulled my arms back to let my backpack fall to ground as well giving me into position to pull my arm back for a punch. The guy came close enough and that’s when I swung my fist straight into his face. I felt his nose pop with the collision of my fist, he flew back to the ground with his head hitting the ground before his body or feet did. Blood spurted from his nose, it seemed he was the first person I ever knocked out unconscious because he didn’t make a move afterwards.
“Whoa!” I told myself in shock, I paid no attention to the other guy when all of a sudden I was knocked to the ground with my glasses flying off. Then a heavy body came laying over me trapping my arms underneath them, I knew it was the other guy wearing blue. I tried moving but couldn’t turn over on my back because I was being pummeled with punches. Splat! I felt my nose running with a hot liquid. The barrage of fists then stopped for a second then I made my way onto my back and quickly pushed my opponent off of me. I got to feet as fast as I could to check my nose. A thick, red substance covered my fingers. I’m bleeding? That’s it. “You little f*ck!” I said angrily, I then started running towards him. He then pulled out a knife from his back pocket with a blade no longer than 4 inches long. I stopped right where I stood. He played with the knife in his hand swaying it side to side taunting me “Come on.” he said, “Not so big now are you?”
He started walking towards me while I kept moving back with every step he took. He continued to play with the knife by tossing it to the other hand then all of a sudden, thunk, he accidentally dropped it. I moved in when I saw him drop it; he tried to snatch it off the ground, but was his plan quickly failed with a swift kick to the head. He fell back while I snatched up the knife off the ground and jumped on him. I began to give him the same treatment he gave me; I then stabbed his arm as punishment for the blow he delivered, which caused my nosebleed. I got off him while he started to cry and wiped my nose with the sleeve from my shirt. I dashed to grab my bag and locate my glasses. I then rushed toward the pokemon. It was in bad shape-- its head had giant bumps and it looked as if its hind leg would be unable for it to walk. I heard Cyndaquil give a soft whimper from fear.
I gently touched its head, “Hey, its ok little fella. I’m here to help. I’m gonna take good care of ya.” I whispered to it for comfort. Think fast Jo, how are you gonna get this thing home without your grandma noticing? I thought to myself. I then quickly unbuttoned my shirt, which was covered with splashes of blood from my nose bleed and carefully wrapped Cyndaquil in it. I took of my bag and took out stuff to make room for it. I placed Cyndaquil in my bag and zipped it enough to where it could get air to breath. I then made on my way home quickly but made sure not to have the bag jump to cause pain to the pokemon in my bag. “Jo,” I said to myself, “you just got yourself into some deep sh*t, my friend.”
********************************************************************
I'd also like to give credit to Mindripper for helping me edit and review over my fic fixing any mistakes I made. Hes great with fancy words. He was a great help in making my fic, I was never good at grammer, but spelling and other stuff, yeah. I got that down.
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