Four years after he refused to become a Pokemon Trainer, he takes up Oak's offer. It was his only option left, to save himself from all those who wished him suffering.
Will Mark master his Pokemon, or will they destroy his life?
This fic follows the adventures of Mark and his Pokemon, in this dangerous world of Pokemon! But the question here is:
Will Mark master his Pokemon, or will they master him?
Read on, and enjoy.
I hurtled down the blasted corridors, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming. They were after me, and soon they would find me. Bile bubbled in my stomach, as my fluttering mind imagined the fate that awaited me, lest I was caught.
“Come back, Mark!” The bullies cackled, their gibbering laugh hammering my eardrums from every direction.
I clenched my teeth together on my tongue till my tongue bled. They seemed to be everywhere, swarming around the labyrinthine house like a team of tunnel-web spiders homing in on I, the beetle, to drink my fear and agony from my writhing body.
I had tried hiding everywhere, running from eave to eave, cellar to shadow-wreathed cellar, but still the name ‘Mark’, echoed all about me.
Mark. My name. The blood-howl of my many enemies. Mark.
My deep, green eyes looked all about me, peering sharply though every gap in the wall, and through every shadowed doorway. My dark, messy hair was moist with the salty sweat that bathed my tall, lean body, a few drops coming down from my hair tips.
Feet upstairs pounded noisily on the floor, sending specks of ash to settle down on my smooth, pale skin, which was pulled taut around my ghost-like face, now contorted with the fear that ran cold in my blood. A long, bony finger wiped the grimy ash from my cheek, blinking the dust from my hooded eyes.
Four years ago, they said I’d grow up to be a handsome young man, just like my father. But now, I was a wraith, gaunt and skeletal from the pain I’d suffered of late.
They had hunted me all day, this band of Pokemon Trainers who I’d never heard of in my life, all resolved to bring me pain. Each of them was only ten years old, and had only just received their Pokemon.
But I had no Pokemon. I rejected the path of a Pokemon Trainer, only for years ago. And this is what the town did to me because of it. I was a lonely fourteen year-old boy, sick of what Trainers did to their Pokemon: the torture, the abuse.
To them, I was a stray Poochyena. Unwanted, uncared for, and probably the carrier of some malicious disease.
So I run. As hard and fast as I could. I had no other option.
Every day, the others sought to chase me down and harass me. Sometimes they teased me, mocking my view of Pokemon. They’d done that ever since the day I rejected Professor Oak’s offer. Usually they left it at that.
Believe it or not, that was not always the case. Sometimes they came armed. Sometimes I wondered how I had managed to survive.
I heard the bangs that boomed in the ruin’s wrecked halls. I gasped in horror, my pale, sweaty skin turning to paper. These were the drum’s thunder that chilled my freezing heart.
What was it, you ask, that terrified me so? These Trainers had unleashed their greatest weapon: their Pokemon.
My heart was racing now in my throat. Leaden feet pounded down the corridor, every footfall crunching in the broken rock and burnt carpet as I fled.
Each breath of dusty air scoured my burning chest, as sweat ran down in rivulets, some dripping into my throat and choking me with my own wracking coughs.
I ran a hand across my tear-glazed eyes as I looked around desperately for somewhere, anywhere, to hide from the Pokemon, which were howling and slavering for my blood. But there was nowhere – I was cornered in the decaying skeleton of the ruined Cinnibar mansion, and there was no other place to go, no respite for me.
Except if I escaped. I put my head down, and kept on running, feeling each muscle squeeze the energy from my wracked body like a flannel as it shrivelled up. My aching bones began to feel weighed down by the torture my flight had put it through.
I felt my weakness with growing dread. I closed my eyes tight, smelling the terror that my dry mouth and cold skin, tasting the hot sweat which oozed through my lips and onto my bloody tongue.
Soon my unseen world tumbled about, and I felt the dull crack as my head hit the crumbling stone floor. This time I could not help myself.
A piercing cry sounded through the whole building, its ear-splitting noise burning in my burning throat, until I was left gasping for breath, trying to suck air into my exhausted lungs.
I clasped my sweating hands to my scalp, covered with messy, dark hair now slick with my own blood. I forced my eyes open, wiping the blood from my brow as I cradled my head.
I chuckled sadly. They would find me. They would beat me. And if I was unlucky, I might not have the pleasure of using my legs, nor my hands, again.. After all, they’d promised me they’d splinter my ankles, and I’d never had any reason to believe they wouldn’t stay true to that – or go further.
I’d been on this terrible earth for fourteen years. And with each year that passed, I came to hate it more and more.
Ever since Cinnibar Island turned against me on that tenth year, I’d learned to run, hide, and push myself to places where few could reach me, if they even knew where I was. That was why I’d come here: the charred wreck of the mansion afforded many places where I could pull myself.
I could leap from passage to passage, pull myself through cracks that no one else dared crawl through, and scale to heights that others would never dream of going. It was the sheer desperation that drove me onwards, when fear dragged me down.
I could not be caught. I could never let that happen.
I staggered to my feet, groaning as I felt a sudden pang in my leg. I clutched it, at the same time hobbling along eyes open for an avenue of escape, licking dust off my lips and spitting it away as red soaked my knees, under my torn jeans.
It was getting desperate, now. I could already hear the first Pokemon coming through from the passage. It was strong, fast, and I could hear its brutal grunts as it shambled about in search of me.
A Machop. They’d sent a Machop. I grit my chattering teeth, knowing the situation had just escalated. If this Machop’s Trainer was letting it roam about on its own, uncontrolled… what could it do to me?
Images whirled through my mind in a haze of blood, gore, and bone-shattering agony. If I didn’t escape, and quickly, I would die. That was almost certain.
The Machop shoved through the doorway, its thick feet crunching into the floor. It had no regard for its surroundings. The Machamp line were ogres, destroying on a whim, and not caring who suffered, if even that registered in their tiny brains.
Death was now certain.
I had no one to defend me now.
My chance of survival?
The Machop waved its thick skull left and right, its dull eyes trying to separate flesh from stone in its search for me. Our eyes locked, and it bellowed in fury, beating its chest like a Primeape. I stooped over, fumbling about for something that could help me.
A stick to parry its blows might give me sometime. A well-placed rock, however unlikely that was, could give the furious Pokemon something to ponder in its tiny mind.
My eyes left the creature, turning to the floor. Something. ANYTHING that could help.
Something darted over me, ruffling my hair as it speeded towards the Machop. I looked up, my dark eyes narrowing on the Machop, as it halted completely from its charge.
It just peered about, looking for something that only it could know about. It had completely forgotten about me, instead worrying about whatever it was that just hit it. My teeth gleamed in a rare smile, as I quickly stole away towards the window. I heard a s****** through a hole in the ceiling as I crept over, and two seconds later, I heard something drop down from the ceiling, followed by a roar of anger from the Machop.
Turning my head back, I saw the Machop leaping about wildly, banging at its head in a crazy dance. Then I saw the Pikachu, balancing perfectly on its cranium, giggling happily as it sent spark after spark into its forehead.
“Pikys!” I called to the Pikachu, carefully reading the Machop’s movements with my keen eyes, “He’s about to ram his head into the wall!”
(I know.) He laughed playfully, while prodding the Machop’s smoking bone ridge with a sparkling finger.
The Machop fixed a red eye on the wall opposite me, and lowered its head. It charged towards it with the speed of an arrow, its whole body a blur, testament to the Machop’s deadly power.
Pikys’ smile broadened, his lips opening to reveal a cheeky grin of pointed teeth. His golden fur ruffled as he was boosted towards the creaking wood. This was his moment. He knew he was in control.
With a crash, the whole wall shattered, and splinters rained down on the Machop’s body, before the loose bricks started to rain down upon it. It fell over the hole it had broken through, moaning stupidly and clutching its aching skull before lying still.
Pikys was standing before the hole, cackling ecstatically as it surveyed its work. To someone who didn’t know Pikys, it would appear that he’d vanished, just as he was about to hit the woodwork, before reappearing beside its foe’s prone form.
But I knew this strange Pikachu. He’d been my friend, ever since that winter, on the very year that I’d rejected Professor Oak’s proposal. He’d always been there for me.
He’d always helped me, even when it hurt him the most. He was the best friend I could ever ask for. He’d given me much more than I could ever return: hope.
Even now, he’d been able to put his extraordinary agility to good use by vaulting over the Machop before he hit the wall. He could become a blur in an instant, his agility hiding his small frame.
Indeed, he was my only true friend; the only one who really helped me on this gloomy island…
I trudged through the slush, its foul texture squishing between my bare toes as I stumbled up the slope towards the Cinnibar mansion. I wretched at the mud’s horrible stench, my nose snuffling in the frozen winter air.
This was not the winter enjoyed further north, in places I’d never seen before, like Canada and England, but the cold, wet winter of the southern hemisphere was no less bitter.
Bullies had kicked me, punched me, and had trodden me into the dirt. My rain jacket now stunk of urine, and my otherwise naked body shivered in this chilling day, the dark rain-clouds pouring down on my thin, drenched body.
My only warmth came from my tear-streaked eyes, their emerald pools rippling with every shiver, every shake, as I cursed those other kids, who I thought were my friends, with every profane I knew.
They’d betrayed me, stabbed me in the back with their cruel words, and left me out in the cold to suffer. I thought they’d admired me for who I was. But now I knew. It was just because they all thought I’d be a great Pokemon Trainer, that by sucking up to me they could win some glory of their own.
And when I tossed that future away, I tossed their good wishes away too.
I kept trudging up the slope, going as far as I could from the town. I didn’t want to see their smirks, hear their mocking laughter, and see their barbed eyes as they pierced through into my fragmented soul. I couldn’t go back to that.
My frozen foot slipped on a stone, and my numb body toppled over, rolling back down the mud and rock. I lay there, broken, defeated, exhausted in body and spirit. Brushing a strand of muddy, dark hair from my pale forehead, which still rang from the impact, I peered out into the world.
The clouds moved overhead, the rumble of thunder sounding in the distance. And in the centre of it all was a Pikachu, walking through the mud, slush, and rain towards me, not a care as the chill rain dripped from its soaking fur.
It reached me, and I saw its eyes gaze down upon me, its hazel flickering in pity as it regarded me, a poor human, a member of the race that had murdered and enslaved all Pokemon, now reduced to this: a quivering wreck, wallowing in his own misery as he crawled through the soggy dirt.
It put its hand on my forehead, and I felt a warm tingle ripple down my spine. Its paw fizzled and cracked in the rain as the Pikachu poured warm electricity into my cold flesh.
I settled there, sitting quietly on the hill, a warm Pikachu in my arms, as the rain fell down all about me.
He’d came for me, just when I needed him. I didn’t know who this strange Pikachu was, but he’d helped me. And that meant something. When I thought I had no friends left, this Pikachu had come to me.
I was not alone.
Ever since, I’d visited Pikys every day. Not in Pokemon Trainer Academy, because the students of Cinnibar had somehow come to the conclusion that this Pikachu was a demon, and ought to be put to death.
They’d never succeeded, but that didn’t matter to them. The other kids of Cinnibar Island feasted on the pain of others, and they frequently tortured and abused their Pokemon, especially in cruel ‘Pokemon Battles’, which were often fought to the death...
I stepped hurriedly down along the school courtyard, my feet crunching through the fallen autumn leaves as I made my way to the bell tower; the only place I could go without being harassed by the other students, who already had their own Pokemon, whereas I did not.
At the sound of raised voices, I stopped, turning my pale, smooth face towards the rough battle beside the restrooms, as two Pokemon fought within a ring of chanting Pokemon Trainers.
Watched as Pokemon teeth sank into Pokemon flesh. Saw the blood splash on the pavement as the victim wailed in agony. Turned away in silent grief as the screams were replaced by a sickening crunch. A Pokemon’s blood and brains piddled out of its broken skull onto the concrete, and all of them, that ring of heartless monsters, laughed. Cruel, mocking laughter.
I continued on my way to the bell tower, my body shivered from the horror, closing my eyes and my mind away, as the boys began throwing bloodied hunks of the dead Pokemon’s flesh at me, shouting:
“Come on, Mark! Why didn’t you save it, you ****ing Pokemon-lover!”
I shook my head, whispering reassurances to myself. That was how they tormented me. I don’t know if it was always this way, but humans did not show true kindness to their Pokemon.
To show any sort of bond between you and your Pokemon was frowned upon, and the words ‘Pokemon-lover’ were as filthy words as you can get, as bad as a racist or sexist slur. Only some people cared if you were discriminated by gender or nationality.
This was why I refused to become a Pokemon Trainer: Professor Oak’s offer to me. I didn’t want to be like those boys. I didn't want to become a monster.
Cruelty was second nature to them. If they failed to even scratch Pikys, then they always had something to take it out on. It was heart-breaking to see some of those other Pokemon after their masters had tortured them. But not a word had escaped my lips.
Because nobody seemed to care. Pokemon were the unseen victims of this horrible world, the criminals of a crime that didn’t exist save in the eyes of their wicked Trainers.
All those boys would get was a detention to clean up the mess. That was it. Nobody ever cared about the Pokemon.
Nobody cared…
“Don’t suppose we should leave him there?” I wondered aloud, my emerald eyes gazing thoughtfully down at the unconscious Machop.
He knew as well as I did that the boys would beat and torture the Machop for its failure. Maybe even kill it. After all, it had happened before.
Shrugging, Pikys walked over towards me, (I don’t think his owners will want him dead. He’s probably the only one his master has, and Machop are damn nasty. I was lucky there was a loose brick handy.)
I glanced over at the pile of broken clay resting on the Machop, smirking slightly, “A ton of ‘em, more like.”
(Even better.)
We shared a brief chuckle, our eyes glittering with mirth. Those trainers would be wondering how I’d managed to escape the Machop for some time.
Turning back towards the window, I stepped through, and began my scramble down the crumbling wall, with Pikys bouncing merrily down the wall, as he’d done so many a time before.
If anyone knew more about the ruined mansion, it was he. It was here that I usually saw him, scrabbling through the wreckage with a wide grin on his face, a team of Pokemon hot in pursuit. And always came off best.
I heard my pursuers converge in the room I was just in, their heavy boots booming through the creaking wooden boards and the rocks. They each snarled a few curses at me as they searched the room, and one of them let out a furious bellow: probably the owner of the Machop.
I dropped to the ground, and began my long, arduous walk to my father’s estate, on the other side of the island. I often wondered what he did, while I was busy trying to escape the town’s eye.
Was he proud of my decision, those four years ago? Probably not. He’d always been disappointed ever since I’d turned down the Professor. But he’d been quiet on the matter of Pokemon Training lately. What was he up to?
Untitled Email to: Prof. Samuel Oak
From: Alan Lerwill
Subject: RE: Mark
Long time, no see, Sam!
Things are going well across the river for me and Janet. She’s saving her voice at the moment for a concert in Vermilion City. You should come too, you know. I’m sure you and Gary would enjoy the trip heaps, especially as a break from the ‘Pokemon-Professor’ business.
BTW, how is Gary going? Is he looking forward to becoming ten? I remember being so excited about becoming a Pokemon Trainer (back in the good old days when your hair wasn’t grey), and when I got my first Pokemon, Deimos, I couldn’t sleep all night!
But Mark isn’t doing so well. He won’t talk about it, but the kids at school seem to have taken a disliking to him. During and after school, I see him being hunted by the other students like a Growlithe, while the teachers sit back and laugh. I’d do something, but I’m not the one who has authority in this town: Blaine does, and he’s slowly twisting the town against Mark.
And Janet won’t budge, so I’m afraid there is little I can do (no tutor will have him), apart from ask you to talk to him about Training. It’s the only option left for him.
You know the alternative for Mark. Don’t let him face that.
Al
So that’s it! The first chapter of ‘Master’ is written, read, and reviewed, if you are that polite. This is based in the same universe as ‘Pokemon Trainer’, so don’t be surprised if there are a few references to that infamous Raichu, Rain!
Please review, and if you’re a fan of ‘Pokemon Trainer’, the next chapter is on its way.
Cheers!
Gajo out. ;106;
;025;
Will Mark master his Pokemon, or will they destroy his life?
This fic follows the adventures of Mark and his Pokemon, in this dangerous world of Pokemon! But the question here is:
Will Mark master his Pokemon, or will they master him?
Read on, and enjoy.
Accessing server…
Welcome user: Alan Lerwill : to the Pokemon League Registration, for registering new Pokemon Trainers. You are looking for Pokemon Trainer: 1383-0773-4625.
Welcome user: Alan Lerwill : to the Pokemon League Registration, for registering new Pokemon Trainers. You are looking for Pokemon Trainer: 1383-0773-4625.
Searching…
Search complete.
Search complete.
Pokemon Trainer: 1383-0773-4625 is found.
I hurtled down the blasted corridors, biting my tongue to stop myself from screaming. They were after me, and soon they would find me. Bile bubbled in my stomach, as my fluttering mind imagined the fate that awaited me, lest I was caught.
Name: Mark Lerwill
“Come back, Mark!” The bullies cackled, their gibbering laugh hammering my eardrums from every direction.
I clenched my teeth together on my tongue till my tongue bled. They seemed to be everywhere, swarming around the labyrinthine house like a team of tunnel-web spiders homing in on I, the beetle, to drink my fear and agony from my writhing body.
I had tried hiding everywhere, running from eave to eave, cellar to shadow-wreathed cellar, but still the name ‘Mark’, echoed all about me.
Mark. My name. The blood-howl of my many enemies. Mark.
My deep, green eyes looked all about me, peering sharply though every gap in the wall, and through every shadowed doorway. My dark, messy hair was moist with the salty sweat that bathed my tall, lean body, a few drops coming down from my hair tips.
Feet upstairs pounded noisily on the floor, sending specks of ash to settle down on my smooth, pale skin, which was pulled taut around my ghost-like face, now contorted with the fear that ran cold in my blood. A long, bony finger wiped the grimy ash from my cheek, blinking the dust from my hooded eyes.
Four years ago, they said I’d grow up to be a handsome young man, just like my father. But now, I was a wraith, gaunt and skeletal from the pain I’d suffered of late.
Date Of Birth: 13/01/1991 (Current Date is: 02/05/2005)
They had hunted me all day, this band of Pokemon Trainers who I’d never heard of in my life, all resolved to bring me pain. Each of them was only ten years old, and had only just received their Pokemon.
But I had no Pokemon. I rejected the path of a Pokemon Trainer, only for years ago. And this is what the town did to me because of it. I was a lonely fourteen year-old boy, sick of what Trainers did to their Pokemon: the torture, the abuse.
To them, I was a stray Poochyena. Unwanted, uncared for, and probably the carrier of some malicious disease.
So I run. As hard and fast as I could. I had no other option.
Occupation & Status: Secondary Student, enrolled at a Pokemon Academy, but has not been active in League since registration at 13/01/2001.
Every day, the others sought to chase me down and harass me. Sometimes they teased me, mocking my view of Pokemon. They’d done that ever since the day I rejected Professor Oak’s offer. Usually they left it at that.
Believe it or not, that was not always the case. Sometimes they came armed. Sometimes I wondered how I had managed to survive.
I heard the bangs that boomed in the ruin’s wrecked halls. I gasped in horror, my pale, sweaty skin turning to paper. These were the drum’s thunder that chilled my freezing heart.
What was it, you ask, that terrified me so? These Trainers had unleashed their greatest weapon: their Pokemon.
History: Born on 13th January, 1991 to Alan (designated ‘Pokemon Master’) and Katherine Lerwill. Registered as Pokemon Trainer in 2001, and has since been inactive.
My heart was racing now in my throat. Leaden feet pounded down the corridor, every footfall crunching in the broken rock and burnt carpet as I fled.
Each breath of dusty air scoured my burning chest, as sweat ran down in rivulets, some dripping into my throat and choking me with my own wracking coughs.
I ran a hand across my tear-glazed eyes as I looked around desperately for somewhere, anywhere, to hide from the Pokemon, which were howling and slavering for my blood. But there was nowhere – I was cornered in the decaying skeleton of the ruined Cinnibar mansion, and there was no other place to go, no respite for me.
Except if I escaped. I put my head down, and kept on running, feeling each muscle squeeze the energy from my wracked body like a flannel as it shrivelled up. My aching bones began to feel weighed down by the torture my flight had put it through.
I felt my weakness with growing dread. I closed my eyes tight, smelling the terror that my dry mouth and cold skin, tasting the hot sweat which oozed through my lips and onto my bloody tongue.
Soon my unseen world tumbled about, and I felt the dull crack as my head hit the crumbling stone floor. This time I could not help myself.
A piercing cry sounded through the whole building, its ear-splitting noise burning in my burning throat, until I was left gasping for breath, trying to suck air into my exhausted lungs.
I clasped my sweating hands to my scalp, covered with messy, dark hair now slick with my own blood. I forced my eyes open, wiping the blood from my brow as I cradled my head.
I chuckled sadly. They would find me. They would beat me. And if I was unlucky, I might not have the pleasure of using my legs, nor my hands, again.. After all, they’d promised me they’d splinter my ankles, and I’d never had any reason to believe they wouldn’t stay true to that – or go further.
I’d been on this terrible earth for fourteen years. And with each year that passed, I came to hate it more and more.
Ever since Cinnibar Island turned against me on that tenth year, I’d learned to run, hide, and push myself to places where few could reach me, if they even knew where I was. That was why I’d come here: the charred wreck of the mansion afforded many places where I could pull myself.
I could leap from passage to passage, pull myself through cracks that no one else dared crawl through, and scale to heights that others would never dream of going. It was the sheer desperation that drove me onwards, when fear dragged me down.
I could not be caught. I could never let that happen.
I staggered to my feet, groaning as I felt a sudden pang in my leg. I clutched it, at the same time hobbling along eyes open for an avenue of escape, licking dust off my lips and spitting it away as red soaked my knees, under my torn jeans.
It was getting desperate, now. I could already hear the first Pokemon coming through from the passage. It was strong, fast, and I could hear its brutal grunts as it shambled about in search of me.
A Machop. They’d sent a Machop. I grit my chattering teeth, knowing the situation had just escalated. If this Machop’s Trainer was letting it roam about on its own, uncontrolled… what could it do to me?
Images whirled through my mind in a haze of blood, gore, and bone-shattering agony. If I didn’t escape, and quickly, I would die. That was almost certain.
The Machop shoved through the doorway, its thick feet crunching into the floor. It had no regard for its surroundings. The Machamp line were ogres, destroying on a whim, and not caring who suffered, if even that registered in their tiny brains.
Death was now certain.
Pokemon: None.
I had no one to defend me now.
None.
My chance of survival?
None.
The Machop waved its thick skull left and right, its dull eyes trying to separate flesh from stone in its search for me. Our eyes locked, and it bellowed in fury, beating its chest like a Primeape. I stooped over, fumbling about for something that could help me.
A stick to parry its blows might give me sometime. A well-placed rock, however unlikely that was, could give the furious Pokemon something to ponder in its tiny mind.
My eyes left the creature, turning to the floor. Something. ANYTHING that could help.
Something darted over me, ruffling my hair as it speeded towards the Machop. I looked up, my dark eyes narrowing on the Machop, as it halted completely from its charge.
It just peered about, looking for something that only it could know about. It had completely forgotten about me, instead worrying about whatever it was that just hit it. My teeth gleamed in a rare smile, as I quickly stole away towards the window. I heard a s****** through a hole in the ceiling as I crept over, and two seconds later, I heard something drop down from the ceiling, followed by a roar of anger from the Machop.
Turning my head back, I saw the Machop leaping about wildly, banging at its head in a crazy dance. Then I saw the Pikachu, balancing perfectly on its cranium, giggling happily as it sent spark after spark into its forehead.
“Pikys!” I called to the Pikachu, carefully reading the Machop’s movements with my keen eyes, “He’s about to ram his head into the wall!”
(I know.) He laughed playfully, while prodding the Machop’s smoking bone ridge with a sparkling finger.
The Machop fixed a red eye on the wall opposite me, and lowered its head. It charged towards it with the speed of an arrow, its whole body a blur, testament to the Machop’s deadly power.
Pikys’ smile broadened, his lips opening to reveal a cheeky grin of pointed teeth. His golden fur ruffled as he was boosted towards the creaking wood. This was his moment. He knew he was in control.
With a crash, the whole wall shattered, and splinters rained down on the Machop’s body, before the loose bricks started to rain down upon it. It fell over the hole it had broken through, moaning stupidly and clutching its aching skull before lying still.
Pikys was standing before the hole, cackling ecstatically as it surveyed its work. To someone who didn’t know Pikys, it would appear that he’d vanished, just as he was about to hit the woodwork, before reappearing beside its foe’s prone form.
But I knew this strange Pikachu. He’d been my friend, ever since that winter, on the very year that I’d rejected Professor Oak’s proposal. He’d always been there for me.
He’d always helped me, even when it hurt him the most. He was the best friend I could ever ask for. He’d given me much more than I could ever return: hope.
Even now, he’d been able to put his extraordinary agility to good use by vaulting over the Machop before he hit the wall. He could become a blur in an instant, his agility hiding his small frame.
Indeed, he was my only true friend; the only one who really helped me on this gloomy island…
I trudged through the slush, its foul texture squishing between my bare toes as I stumbled up the slope towards the Cinnibar mansion. I wretched at the mud’s horrible stench, my nose snuffling in the frozen winter air.
This was not the winter enjoyed further north, in places I’d never seen before, like Canada and England, but the cold, wet winter of the southern hemisphere was no less bitter.
Bullies had kicked me, punched me, and had trodden me into the dirt. My rain jacket now stunk of urine, and my otherwise naked body shivered in this chilling day, the dark rain-clouds pouring down on my thin, drenched body.
My only warmth came from my tear-streaked eyes, their emerald pools rippling with every shiver, every shake, as I cursed those other kids, who I thought were my friends, with every profane I knew.
They’d betrayed me, stabbed me in the back with their cruel words, and left me out in the cold to suffer. I thought they’d admired me for who I was. But now I knew. It was just because they all thought I’d be a great Pokemon Trainer, that by sucking up to me they could win some glory of their own.
And when I tossed that future away, I tossed their good wishes away too.
I kept trudging up the slope, going as far as I could from the town. I didn’t want to see their smirks, hear their mocking laughter, and see their barbed eyes as they pierced through into my fragmented soul. I couldn’t go back to that.
My frozen foot slipped on a stone, and my numb body toppled over, rolling back down the mud and rock. I lay there, broken, defeated, exhausted in body and spirit. Brushing a strand of muddy, dark hair from my pale forehead, which still rang from the impact, I peered out into the world.
The clouds moved overhead, the rumble of thunder sounding in the distance. And in the centre of it all was a Pikachu, walking through the mud, slush, and rain towards me, not a care as the chill rain dripped from its soaking fur.
It reached me, and I saw its eyes gaze down upon me, its hazel flickering in pity as it regarded me, a poor human, a member of the race that had murdered and enslaved all Pokemon, now reduced to this: a quivering wreck, wallowing in his own misery as he crawled through the soggy dirt.
It put its hand on my forehead, and I felt a warm tingle ripple down my spine. Its paw fizzled and cracked in the rain as the Pikachu poured warm electricity into my cold flesh.
I settled there, sitting quietly on the hill, a warm Pikachu in my arms, as the rain fell down all about me.
He’d came for me, just when I needed him. I didn’t know who this strange Pikachu was, but he’d helped me. And that meant something. When I thought I had no friends left, this Pikachu had come to me.
I was not alone.
Ever since, I’d visited Pikys every day. Not in Pokemon Trainer Academy, because the students of Cinnibar had somehow come to the conclusion that this Pikachu was a demon, and ought to be put to death.
They’d never succeeded, but that didn’t matter to them. The other kids of Cinnibar Island feasted on the pain of others, and they frequently tortured and abused their Pokemon, especially in cruel ‘Pokemon Battles’, which were often fought to the death...
I stepped hurriedly down along the school courtyard, my feet crunching through the fallen autumn leaves as I made my way to the bell tower; the only place I could go without being harassed by the other students, who already had their own Pokemon, whereas I did not.
At the sound of raised voices, I stopped, turning my pale, smooth face towards the rough battle beside the restrooms, as two Pokemon fought within a ring of chanting Pokemon Trainers.
Watched as Pokemon teeth sank into Pokemon flesh. Saw the blood splash on the pavement as the victim wailed in agony. Turned away in silent grief as the screams were replaced by a sickening crunch. A Pokemon’s blood and brains piddled out of its broken skull onto the concrete, and all of them, that ring of heartless monsters, laughed. Cruel, mocking laughter.
I continued on my way to the bell tower, my body shivered from the horror, closing my eyes and my mind away, as the boys began throwing bloodied hunks of the dead Pokemon’s flesh at me, shouting:
“Come on, Mark! Why didn’t you save it, you ****ing Pokemon-lover!”
I shook my head, whispering reassurances to myself. That was how they tormented me. I don’t know if it was always this way, but humans did not show true kindness to their Pokemon.
To show any sort of bond between you and your Pokemon was frowned upon, and the words ‘Pokemon-lover’ were as filthy words as you can get, as bad as a racist or sexist slur. Only some people cared if you were discriminated by gender or nationality.
This was why I refused to become a Pokemon Trainer: Professor Oak’s offer to me. I didn’t want to be like those boys. I didn't want to become a monster.
Cruelty was second nature to them. If they failed to even scratch Pikys, then they always had something to take it out on. It was heart-breaking to see some of those other Pokemon after their masters had tortured them. But not a word had escaped my lips.
Because nobody seemed to care. Pokemon were the unseen victims of this horrible world, the criminals of a crime that didn’t exist save in the eyes of their wicked Trainers.
All those boys would get was a detention to clean up the mess. That was it. Nobody ever cared about the Pokemon.
Nobody cared…
“Don’t suppose we should leave him there?” I wondered aloud, my emerald eyes gazing thoughtfully down at the unconscious Machop.
He knew as well as I did that the boys would beat and torture the Machop for its failure. Maybe even kill it. After all, it had happened before.
Shrugging, Pikys walked over towards me, (I don’t think his owners will want him dead. He’s probably the only one his master has, and Machop are damn nasty. I was lucky there was a loose brick handy.)
I glanced over at the pile of broken clay resting on the Machop, smirking slightly, “A ton of ‘em, more like.”
(Even better.)
We shared a brief chuckle, our eyes glittering with mirth. Those trainers would be wondering how I’d managed to escape the Machop for some time.
Turning back towards the window, I stepped through, and began my scramble down the crumbling wall, with Pikys bouncing merrily down the wall, as he’d done so many a time before.
If anyone knew more about the ruined mansion, it was he. It was here that I usually saw him, scrabbling through the wreckage with a wide grin on his face, a team of Pokemon hot in pursuit. And always came off best.
I heard my pursuers converge in the room I was just in, their heavy boots booming through the creaking wooden boards and the rocks. They each snarled a few curses at me as they searched the room, and one of them let out a furious bellow: probably the owner of the Machop.
I dropped to the ground, and began my long, arduous walk to my father’s estate, on the other side of the island. I often wondered what he did, while I was busy trying to escape the town’s eye.
Was he proud of my decision, those four years ago? Probably not. He’d always been disappointed ever since I’d turned down the Professor. But he’d been quiet on the matter of Pokemon Training lately. What was he up to?
Untitled Email to: Prof. Samuel Oak
From: Alan Lerwill
Subject: RE: Mark
Long time, no see, Sam!
Things are going well across the river for me and Janet. She’s saving her voice at the moment for a concert in Vermilion City. You should come too, you know. I’m sure you and Gary would enjoy the trip heaps, especially as a break from the ‘Pokemon-Professor’ business.
BTW, how is Gary going? Is he looking forward to becoming ten? I remember being so excited about becoming a Pokemon Trainer (back in the good old days when your hair wasn’t grey), and when I got my first Pokemon, Deimos, I couldn’t sleep all night!
But Mark isn’t doing so well. He won’t talk about it, but the kids at school seem to have taken a disliking to him. During and after school, I see him being hunted by the other students like a Growlithe, while the teachers sit back and laugh. I’d do something, but I’m not the one who has authority in this town: Blaine does, and he’s slowly twisting the town against Mark.
And Janet won’t budge, so I’m afraid there is little I can do (no tutor will have him), apart from ask you to talk to him about Training. It’s the only option left for him.
You know the alternative for Mark. Don’t let him face that.
Al
So that’s it! The first chapter of ‘Master’ is written, read, and reviewed, if you are that polite. This is based in the same universe as ‘Pokemon Trainer’, so don’t be surprised if there are a few references to that infamous Raichu, Rain!
Please review, and if you’re a fan of ‘Pokemon Trainer’, the next chapter is on its way.
Cheers!
Gajo out. ;106;
;025;