There once was a boy named Ash Ketchum who dreamed of being a pokémon master. His neighbor, the esteemed Professor Oak, promised to give him his very first pokémon when he turned 10 years old. When the day finally arrived, Ash was so excited that he woke up with a jolt ten minutes before his alarm.
"That was weird. I thought... I dreamt I slept in, and Prof. Oak was out of pokémon. He gave me a Pikachu, and it wouldn't go in its ball, and there was a talking Meowth..." Ash shook his sleepy head. "Oh well. I'm ready to start my adventure!"
Ash slipped on his official Pokémon League Expo hat, his prized possession, and blew right past his mother as he ran out the front door. He heard her shouting out after him, but he ignored it and pressed on. "Probably wants to tell me how to wear my underwear," he surmised.
When he arrived at the laboratory, the professor offered three pokéballs. Before he could explain the contents of each, Ash interrupted. "Do you have a Squirtle?" With a warm smile Oak handed him the pokéball and sent him on his way.
That day, Ash won his first pokémon battle, trained his Squirtle to shoot Bubbles, and even captured a wild pokémon or two! But on his way to Viridian forest, Ash got cocky. He saw a lone Spearow roosting in the distance. "Squirtle, you take it easy. I've got this one." With that he picked up a small rock and tossed it at the bird and crack! He pegged it in the skull. It turned and glared at him with malice before flying away, squawking dark threats under its breath. Ash and Squirtle laughed heartily at its expense.
Later that day, after the new trainer had thoroughly worn himself out, he unpacked his bag and began to set up camp. There was a storm brewing and Ash wanted to take shelter before it began. The air was still with anticipation. Night descended quietly while he pitched his tent.
A sudden screech pierced the silence and the beating of a hundred wings filled the dark sky. Ash turned to see a Fearow and an entire flock of Spearow swooping down on him before he could even fumble for his pokéballs. "Squirtle, go!" he barely managed before a small, sharp beak slammed hard into his forehead.
Though Squirtle fought valiantly, his Bubble attacks just weren't effective enough to stave off 40 or so birds at once. He fainted, and the birds quickly pecked his unconscious body to death, along with his master's, then they spat on the corpses for insulting one of their own. When the coroners cut the clothes off Ash's crumpled body, they found his underwear badly soiled. "We judge he had been wearing them for two whole days, at the very least," they told his mother, who collapsed on the spot and wept bitter, bitter tears.
Though Ash's tale is a great tragedy, life moves on, and from it we learn the importance of respecting wild pokémon. This is why we tell our children, "Don't throw rocks at Spearows."