It all began with a little baby Eevee.

I was ten. An enthusiastic little twit, untried in the ways of the world: my eyes hadn't touched base with the harsh realities of time. I was fresh, and careless.

I'd been playing in the fields around Viridian. I know what you're going to say next: only a damned fool goes out into the wilds without a Pokemon. Well, ladies and gents, I WAS a damned fool, through and through. I'd been sheltered by overbearing parents and didn't even know it.

Well, this day, I'd managed to slip away from them for a few hours. I later learned that they had dispatched the police minutes after I'd disappeared, but nobody found me until I came staggering back into the city with a broken arm and a brown Pokemon prancing happily around my feet.

I was in the fields, dashing around, looking and smelling and tasting and touching: after five minutes I was no doubt suffused with any number of germs. My mom would have been (and later was) abhorred at my conduct, as I was groomed to be a proper gentleman. I'd been bred as such, after all, and supposedly knew my place.

But every boy has dreams, and ambitions, and yearnings. . . yearnings for the world beyond the ball rooms and wine glasses of gentile life. . . yearnings for verdant fields, for bumble bees and the scent of fresh pine, for heroism unbound and foolhardy adventures. . .

Yes, foolhardy described me best.

--

But now I'm fifteen. I know how things work now, or at least moreso than I did: my outlook is, erm, GRIMMER than it once was. Yet my prospects for the future have never looked brighter.

I am, after all, about to become a trainer of Pokemon, and challenge the Pokemon League. And my Eevee will help me conquer the world.

By now you're doubtless expecting the obligatory description of me with which you can spur your imagination on. It comes in virtually every piece of writing, after all: the gallant hero, covered from head to toe in a shimmering frock, a pair of dashing boots on his huge, masculine feet, auburn hair down to his rotund belly, belly button fluff dangling from his brow, and so forth.

(I know the figure I just described sounds pretty silly, but bear with me.)

Well. Obligatory as such things may be, I'll show you no satisfaction. Imagine me howsoever you will, for I am the ultimate in generic: and though I may describe my friends, and enemies, and everybody in-between, I'll say nothing of myself.

My Eevee, though. Oh, how I'll talk about my adorable little Eevee. Every muscle on its frame is coated with downy tufts of hair so silky smooth that it would make for a luxurious jacket. My mother expressed once or twice an interest in its fur, but I pushed aside her disgusting sentiments: after all, had it not been for Eevee, I would be dead.

Its eyes are of the deepest brown, and so innocently penetrating that you'd swear you were staring into a blissful dream that Freud would envy with all his might. You can see yourself reflected in those eyes, and you see your true self; you see everything that you've ever been, and maybe, what you'll become. Most importantly, though, you see an undying devotion, and goodness as profound as can be found in a creature.

I love my Eevee, and I hope I don't press it too hard on my journeys.

We start out on the fifteenth of March. Nobody's there to see us off, of course: my parents disowned me when I told them I had no intention of continuing the family business. Eevee and I have been living in a shack for the last little while, out on the outskirts of town. I guess it was there that I matured into what I am today.

I timed our departure perfectly, weather-wise. The frosts of February gave way to sunny skies two weeks ago, and nature is just beginning to pull itself out of the bosom of blissful sleep. And with it nature is dragging hundreds – nay, thousands – of sleepy, vulnerable Pokemon back into the fields. They're all still tired from their hibernation, and I intend to take advantage of their drowsiness.

I've got seven Poke balls stashed in a bag on my belt. I don't intend to catch a huge number of the critters, mind you – completing one of Professor Oak's Pokedex's is not on my agenda – but if I run across one that suits my tastes I'll be sure to snag it without hesitation.

Eevee trots gaily at my side. It's never without a smile, or what passes for a smile amongst animals: the gentle curve of its jaws create the perpetual illusion of happiness, regardless of whether or not it actually feels the emotion. It notices my observation and peers up at me, panting a bit. I reach down and pat its head.

Our first official battle as trainer and Pokemon (we've practiced before, but never with a live target in mind) comes against a tiny Caterpie. The battle is hardly worth mention, unless one looks at it sentimentally - and I've always been noted as the sentimental type.

I yell out the attacks decisively. Sweep behind it, Eevee, and use Sand-Attack; be sure to blind it before it can spray you with any of its sticky crap. Keep on your toes, Eevee, and use Tackle whenever you get the chance. The battle is short; after two Tackles the Caterpie is down and we're on our way again. As we do I peer down at that Caterpie, who only moments before had been munching away on a leaf without a care in the world. How ruthless the life of a trainer is, that we must defeat animals who have done nothing to us!

I take a little consolation in the fact that the Caterpie is not dead. I take even more consolation in the fact that I don't really care either way.

After an hour of travelling we come to the expanses of Viridian Forest, and I pause at the entrance (which is discernible only by a well-tramped pathway through the trees), contemplating my strategy of passage. Should I start in tomorrow and camp at the entrance tonight? There are tough Pokemon within, I'm sure, and my Eevee may not be up to snuff. It could stand a day of training on the fringes.

But, then, it will probably be more fun to take things as they come. Conservatives don't prosper in the world of Pokemon, or so I believe. So in we trudge, throwing prudence to the wind in favour of blind optimism. Eevee has no complaints.

The woods are not sparse, but neither are they forbidding. We see all manner of life living amongst the branches and down in the sedges. Pidgeys are everywhere, hunting for hapless bugs and giving us a wide berth. I'm annoyed at their skittish nature, as it provides my Eevee with naught in the way of training: but I press on, undaunted, and am eventually awarded with a different prize.

Rounding a hillock my Eevee and I come upon a large Pikachu, grazing on a tuft of grass. It turns and looks at us, a twitch of electricity playing across its cheeks: it wants to fight, I can tell. It's lowering itself already, ready to spring at my Eevee, and so we spring first.

"Sand Attack!" I yell, thrusting a finger forward. Eevee leaps to obey, dragging its tail in the dirt and sending a great puff of brown earth towards the Pikachu. The rat opts to avoid the attack, sprinting to one side and preparing to launch an assault of its own: but my Eevee strikes again, closing its eyes and diving straight through the dust it just kicked up, slamming into the Pikachu in a crushing Tackle attack.

Of its own volition, too. I did not command it to do so.

"No!" I shout, sensing catastrophe. The attack hurt the Pikachu, surely, but it also hurt my Eevee; and the Pikachu, stronger and older, I think, is already recovering, brushing my Eevee off and preparing to let off a light show of electricity. "Eevee, back off! Keep close to the trees!"

Eevee does so, dashing behind an elm for cover. A blast of lightning follows close behind, charring the tree and sending splinters in all directions. I'm forced to take cover.

The Pikachu turns to me, eyeing me maliciously, surely sensing that Eevee's defeat lies in my own. It breaks into a sprint and hurls itself towards me, electricity again crackling around its mousy yellow body.

"Eevee, Tackle! Quick, damn it all!" I jump out of the way of the marauding Pikachu. The electrical current in the air makes my hair stand on end. It lands, spins around, and comes at me again.

Is this the world of Pokemon battling? Is it really so troublesome as all this? So dangerous?

Eevee is out from behind the tree, hitting the Pikachu from the side, knocking the mouse off track and into a bush. It squeals and rolls, pushing my Eevee away again, thrashing its tail in a vain effort to strike furry flesh. Its stored electricity singes the grass.

My Eevee looks injured. It has never been the largest of Pokemon – though not a runt, it is a bit small for its species – and the fight with this Pikachu, a particularly hardy member of its breed, is taking its toll. Normally safe Tackle attacks are harming Eevee, and, unfortunately, that's all it can rely on at the moment.

The Pikachu rights itself, breathing hard but otherwise full of energy. A tough creature indeed. I bid Eevee to hit it with another Sand Attack, and this one sticks: it strikes the Pikachu full in the eyes, blinding the mouse. It squeals, enraged, and begins to thrash anew, coils of lightning licking the air around it.

"Eevee, Tackle at its legs!" Eevee does so, brushing up against a flicker of lightning but ignoring the sting. It rams head on into the Pikachu's right leg, causing a knee to buckle and break; I wince a bit at the loud crack but order Eevee to perform a similar operation on the left. It does so, staggering under the continued electric barrage and a single landed swipe from the Pikachu's claws, sending the mouse sprawling into a mound of burnt grass. It screams and whips Eevee away with its tail, attempting valiantly to get up but failing, failing, failing.

Eevee is exhausted and hurt. Its fur has been singed. I gather it up into my arms and walk past the Pikachu, taking a few licks of electricity myself – but nothing substantial.

I hadn't commanded my Eevee to break that Pikachu's legs. Again, it did so of its own volition.

About a kilometre away (I travel until I can't hear the howls of the Pikachu) I set up camp for the night, and let my little Eevee rest.

What a brutal world this is.