Warning: The following story contains foul language, violence, and may or may not get into sensitive subjects.

Reader discretion is advised.


"Santa, I don't know if you're real or not, but if you are, and can hear me-" Tears began flooding my eyes. I tried to hold it back but the more I spoke, the more I wanted to wish to the big man, and the less I could see. My tears were even staining the worn cloth of the Santa doll. It was then that my voice cracked, even through whispers and whimpers. "All I-i want, is to evolve. That's it, nothing more." I shoved the doll in my face, eyes shut tight; it seemed to squeeze the tears out. "I'll give anything for it!"

"Cheetie," Lisa called me with an authoritative voice from her bed. Like I gave two shits. All it did was add onto the pile of hatred I had exclusively for her. "Go to bed!" she yelled.

I nearly ripped Santa's head off before I growled and chucked it away, hitting the other end of my small cage with a decent clang. Lisa's bed was still. The lazy bitch didn't bother putting in the effort to scold me, but I knew she was mad, which was satisfying. My tears ceased but were now hardened into my fur. I pulled in my legs, hugging them close. I knew it was a long shot, but at least a wish was better than none.

But I think I ran out of tears. It was hard to believe she was the nicest kid when she first met the most stuck up riolu I was. I wonder what happened? Was it the partying? Drugs? Alcohol? The poor excuse of parents? All of the above? Not sure who stuck the stick up her ass but I'm glad it was there; gave me more motivation to shove crap in her purse. Oh and I'm not talking about mine. Ever see the neighbour's arcanine eat chocolate? Yeah... that's reserved for only the most privileged. Good thing I know where Lisa's guilty pleasure stash is.

I think it was when I started shivering that I got under my sheet and laid down on the hard bottom plastic, curled in a fetal position. Even then I was shaking, trying to sleep.

Maybe the fat man dressed in red will steal me away. At least his elves won't be taller than me; I'd be able to kick their ass. But that was just a dream. Wish my whole life was a dream.

Sadly nothing changed that night.


Let me start over: I don't really have a name, but those beings on two feet call me Cheetie. I hate that name. I tried pounding it out of their thick skulls but nothing does the trick. All I've ever known were the metal bars of the adoption centre; being given up, adopted, given up, adopted, given up... you get the point. The home I was in was a temporary shelter to me. I couldn't care less where I went.

But I will say that was the longest time I've been in one place. It was at least five years. When they adopted me, they were your typical happy family with one child.

I don't know what happened. I kinda blame myself actually. The father turned to some illegal stuff, the once cute daughter that put up with me grew up around party-goers, while the mother tried her best to keep them together. Eventually, we all hated each other, but we had to live together.

It didn't last.