Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. I wish I did, though. I swear, us fans have better ideas for the series than the creators themselves.

Summary: 'I've realised that this isn't a story about my successes: this is a story about my failures, and how I lived through them.' Follow the journal entries of Lydia Johnson as she braves the dystopian land of Unova, finding love, loss, and corruption around every corner. Rated T for violent and romantic themes.

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Preface

Date: March 19th, 2014.

Weather: Overcast.

Listening To: The sound of Mom trying to clean plates by putting them in the washing machine.

Body Count: 0.

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Dear diary,

As soon as the opportunity presents itself, I'm using you as tinder.

The only reason I'm writing in you is that you're the parting gift my mom gave me, and if I throw you away I know she'll pop out like a motherfucking patrat and start foaming at the mouth. It's as if she went out of her way to give me the most inconvenient present: my backpack is already crammed with supplies for my nuzlocke, and the last thing I need is to have to shove you into it as well.

Still, if I squint I guess I can imagine how you could be useful- if only for emotional purposes. Dad's been telling me about his own nuzlocke, and how hard it was for him: how harsh travelling was, how brutal the battles were, and how lonely being a trainer can be. He explained to me how it would be a good idea to write everything down, and said that me being nineteen was no excuse not to keep a diary.

…Actually, no, I don't really see how jotting down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl will help me cope with the most important year of my life. It's not helping at all right now; it's not changing how Dad's 'pep talks' are doing the opposite of motivating me, and how Mom refuses to talk to me about it: all she does is look like she's about to start crying whenever we're in the same room. Even though she never went on her nuzlocke, it's as if she's blaming me for choosing to go on mine. This diary even feels like a bribe to stay, as if she can guilt me into not going.

But I won't be like her. I won't choose a life of security over a life of realness. Tomorrow I'm going to walk to school for the last time, put on my graduation gown, and sit with my classmates in the gymnasium. I'm going to hold the hands of those beside me as the principal reads out the rules of the nuzlocke. I'm going to try and imprint the memory in my mind.

My name is going to be called. I'm going to stand, make my way to the stage, and receive my trainer's license and my starter. I'm going to shake hands with my teachers. I'm going to hear the thundering of applause around me.

And I'm going to say hello to the rest of my life.

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A/ N:

I promised myself that it would just be a casual nuzlocke run, but no, goddammit. My muse slapped me in the face with this idea, and I just couldn't let it go. So welcome to the dystopian world of Pokemon, which will be explained in the next chapter.

Now, I'm still working on Last Train, don't worry, but I'm mostly editing earlier chapters at the moment. It's just so draining to try and steady a fic that's been stumbling since the beginning, you know? And of course I'm still slaving away at Violet- I love that fic to pieces, and the reason I'm so slow at updating is that I try and pour everything I have into each chapter.

So please review! This is going to be a dark, gritty retelling of Pokemon Black, which I hope you'll enjoy!