It began when I was just a child, maybe nine or ten. Life's been rough around the edges, father pursuing his dream of collecting endangered species, promising me that he'll be back, only to find that he's joined a gym, taken up mountain biking, applied for the circus because he needs some income to purchase his equipment. At this age almost nothing is clear, and mother's too busy preparing me for travel, making that same old sorry excuse that everything will be okay. What's worse is that it's portrayed that way, like a completely segmented family is natural. Mother always said it'd give me freedom, passing on father's old running shoes the following morning because she believes that when I follow in my father's footsteps I'll need to fill the same shoes he did. They did the same thing in Nam, pushing underaged children out into open warfare, sometimes without any weapons, just the ability to synchronize with nature itself. Sometimes I wondered what else was out there aside from this lonely regime of wandering the planet in search of badges, but all the professions were saturated with skilled labour - Unless you were a Jenny or a Joy, you stood no chance.
When it's the day of admittance, you can only question your freedom. Every child grows up with the frame of mind of carelessness, happiness in the open world, stuffed toys and GameBoy games at five years old to action figures and torturous games like Bakugan, games that would later equip us for our journey. Soon mother would replace the toys for the real thing, balls of metallic red and matte white, the family gathering for the ceremony. Professors there, talking to mother about the dangers, but she's just too pleased to see her little boy growing up like his father.
A father that was never there.
What was the point in this wasteful exercise, capturing the very essence of other species and training them to be obedient? Was it the overpowering nature of humanity, their desire to succeed and rise to the top of the hierarchy? Or was it rather the simple truth that through generations of experience, expectations lay in the hands of the ultimate Masters.
I had heard some whacked out story once, that there were sort of mythical guardians of our world, fantastic trainers capturing them and utilizing their element. Trainers who were able to use genetic modifications to their advantage, a chauvinistic act of oppression. Throughout our lives we're forced to believe that this is our goal, but then again, what else could be?
Who knows where the father ends up, and where he's heading next. I've heard tales of trainers finding ancient relics, ultimate knowledge hidden behind unmovable boulders and the hard-shells of glaciers. All this is in possible grasp, but only for the very few to obtain. Most travelers end up walking around parks for years of their lives, waiting for the next trainer, building up their arsenal of pathetic creatures. Others sit in markets for endless periods, unable to face the shame of heading home. Even under extreme circumstances, creatures are the prize for tokens at casinos, indoctrinated by selfish trainers to believe that fashion and aesthetics are the sole valuables in success alone.
When mother's finished, and the day is over, Professor invited me back to his lab. he's giving me first pick out of the children in our small town, which creature I'd want to tame. I could only glumly peer into his gaze, his wrinkled features eclipsed by a towering backdrop of machines, and pick the first ball into mind.
And as we all head off, wave to our parents and smile, I could only think of the generations after ours. Maybe after decades of oppression we'll finally realize that the creatures aren't the only souls enslaved by this charade, but rather us as well.