A/N: This one-shot is probably a lot darker than most of you are used to me writing, just as a warning. There is death in it, and it dwells on it somewhat. In anycase, this was another entry for WAR Fan Fiction at PE2K, and it actually got first, so I must have been doing something right. ;3 And I apparently like writing in first person now, if you haven't noticed. xDD

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon, but I own the characters.

A Difference

I still remember that day so long ago.

I had only been about thirteen then. I had my first Pokémon, and my license, but before then, I had never had any inclination to leave home. And why would I? I had never been an adventurous child. I was just an only child who did what she was asked and was content to stay safe at home in Floaroma. I only had a Pokémon to begin with to appease my parents, in any case.

And then, one late afternoon, I was walking home from the grocery store.

Our house wasn't terribly far away from town. The house itself was surrounded by the wildflowers our little town was so famous for. It was late spring, when all the flowers had bloomed, creating a beautiful rainbow of color as far as the eye could see. I enjoyed walking to town that time of year, just looking at the flowers, like I was doing when I noticed the spots of red.

In spite of the beauty of the fields of flowers, I rarely ventured out into them, instead preferring to keep to the well-used path. Pretty though they were, the grasses and plants grew to waist height or higher, and they were generally full of Pokémon. When I noticed that red, it caused me to stop. I'd never seen a red quite that bright in the fields before. There were dark pinks, and some bright, orangey reds, but not this shade of dark red. After looking at it for several seconds, I realized that it wasn't a flower at all. Some of the plants had been splattered with what looked like blood.

My heart seemed to stop. Fear ran like ice water down my spine. Blood in the field. I knew I should have left and ran home to my mom, but I didn't. I stood stock still in indecision for only a moment before wading into the grass. What I found was ghastly.

It was a boy. He was older than me, but only by a few years. He was a Pokémon trainer, judging by the belt of Pokeballs on his hip. His hair was a mousy brown and a little long with bangs that fell into blue eyes. Regardless, he was injured. Horribly. His right leg was bent at an impossible angle, and his shirt was ripped open by what looked like claws, revealing nasty gashes on his chest. What was worse, however, was his neck. It appeared to have been bitten by something with large teeth, and there was blood seeping from the wound. More dribbled from his mouth, but somehow, the boy was still alive.

I instantly knelt down at his side. I knew I had to do something.

"Are you alright?" I asked, then quickly berated myself. Of course he wasn't alright, he was injured!

"What happened?" I went on. "Can you speak?" His blue eyes looked into mine, and in them I saw unimaginable fear. He opened his mouth, started to say something like, "Per-" but ended in a hacking cough, blood coming up with it. I winced at the sound. I had no idea what I could do for him. All I could do was go find help. Gingerly, I grabbed his hand, in spite of the blood that covered in, and squeezed it.

"I'll be right back," I told him. "I'm going to go get help." I started to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. His grip suddenly became stronger, but the meaning was clear. He didn't want me to leave.

"Alright, alright, I'll stay," I assured him, and his grip loosened a little. Instead, my hand went to my belt. I pulled off my single Pokeball, releasing my Budew in a stream of light. His eyes widened at the sight of the boy.

"Beru," I told him seriously, "go get Mom." He understood immediately, and disappeared into the grass. I watched him go before turning back to the boy. He still held my hand in his own, and I tried to convince myself that the grip wasn't becoming weaker, that he wasn't looking more tired. We only had to wait for Beru. He would come through for us.

And then I heard the snap of a twig.

I didn't exactly know why at the time, but it scared me beyond all reason. My heart leapt to my throat, and my head whirled around. There, just beyond the swaying grasses, I saw a pair of eyes. Whatever was, it was big, and from the way the boy gripped my hand and looked on in horror, it was what had done this to him.

It drew slowly closer, at a leisurely pace. Even though I couldn't fully see it, I could see that it was every inch the predator. It stepped nearly silently through the tall grass, its head bent in anticipation. I was like a Stantler caught in headlights until the boy started to speak again. It was gurgled at first, and I almost didn't notice it, until he was finally rasped, "Ball!" He took his hand out of my grip and pointed. I followed where he indicated, and saw a single Pokeball, alone in the grass.

The Pokémon tracking us apparently understood. It growled, low and angry, and began to move faster. I lashed out desperately, grabbing until I felt the cold metal sphere in my fingers. I had looked away for only a second, but it was long enough. The creature, a Persian with the white fur on its paws and around its muzzle stained with blood, lunged for me, jaws and teeth ready to close around my throat. I screamed and threw the Pokeball.

It split on its hinges, shooting out a red beam that enveloped the Persian, stopping it in its tracks. The cat Pokémon was sucked inside, but there was no rocking of the ball, like I had expected. With unease, I realized that the Pokémon that had nearly killed the boy was his own.

I turned back to him, glad to see him more relaxed now that the Pokémon was no longer a threat. Smiling, I crawled back to his side, holding his hand in mine once more.

"Everything is going to be fine," I told those blue eyes. "Everything will be fine." He smiled back at me, and though I knew it was to reassure me, it was almost terrifying with the blood that had run down his chin and the sides of his mouth. Still, I saw the bit of sadness in his smile. He rested his head back, and suddenly, his hand grew weaker. Feeble coughs shook his body once more, and then he whispered, though I almost missed the words.

"Thank you."

He took just one more shuddering breath before letting it escape his lips, his chest deflating. His eyes had closed as he exhaled, and his grip grew slack. I waited for a few seconds, sure he would begin breathing again. A few lengthened to ten, thirty, a minute, until I realized that I hadn't been breathing, either, and gulped for air.

He remained still. He was gone.

I found out later that his name was Isaac. He'd caught the Persian recently, and had first tried to use it when it attacked him and killed and ate the Pokémon he had been trying to use it against. Everyone told me there was nothing more I could have done, but in spite of that, I felt useless. I should have been able to do more to save him, not just let him die.

And that was why I decided to become a trainer. I wanted to become stronger, to be able to help someone in need. I didn't want to watch a boy die again because I was unsure of myself, and unsure of what to do. I wanted to gain confidence. I wanted to be someone who could make a difference.