In the country of my birth, everyone has a Pokémon. Before one is born, an aura reader and his or her Riolu match up the fetus' aura to an identical aura of a Pokémon egg. The aura reader does not know where the egg came from, but much more often than not, it is from the baby's parents' Pokémon. Because the unborn's aura has not grown, and most likely will never grow, into a solid color, it is usually a mutation of the two colors. I have never heard of anyone with just one complete color. Same goes for Pokémon.
The Pokémon will hatch around the time the baby is born. The Pokémon's type, personality, and nature are said to mirror the baby's own. Since Pokémon are more active at a younger age, government specialists monitor the Pokémon for about a week, then they have the baby's life mapped out. In the north, if a Cubchoo was born, then the baby could be a rescuer to people trapped in avalanches. If it was a Starly, then the baby could be a flight attendant. No one complains about his or her station.
The only things not planned for are sickness and death. Most people are not worried about the former; we have doctors for both Pokémon and people. Last year, my Oddish, Maddelina, caught a bad flu, resulting in her hospitalization. From what I noticed of the other rainbow-haired people, I was the only one who cared about the health of my Pokémon instead of just setting her aside in a basket. I gained the attention of a green-haired man, but not any of the doctors or nurses with their Audinos and Happinys.
The structured lifestyle the government created for us made it to where death only comes to those who attained a great age. My family is an outlier; my mother died when I was born. I was raised by governesses and au pairs due to my father's hectic job in the government. He is a regulator of laws against Pokémon fighting and owning more than one Pokémon, both laws punishable with a hefty fine. He does not talk about my mother. I think Maddelina makes him sad; he has a Treecko.
Every night he is home though, we bond. We watch the cartoon of a person who was turned into a Pokémon by going back in time to save the future from eternal darkness brought on by Pokémon called "Dialga" and "Dusknor." I get excited when it is on, but by the time I go to bed, I remind myself that it is just a fake cartoon. Time travel and fake Pokémon do not exist.
There was exactly one month left of school when I turned ten. Nothing special was planned. The only thing unordinary about the day was that my father was at home when I woke up and was still there when I came back from education. I was wary, thinking that he was fired. He denied my speculation, instead telling me he took a vacation day. He slaved the day preparing a cake, oddly enough. Usually, we go out to eat.
My governess told me when I was younger that I would learn my place in life when I turned ten and should start my occupation once school finished. It was only after the chocolate lava mountain he made was devoured did I remember that fact. Truth be told, I did not want to grow up yet. Because my birthday landed in the middle of the week this year, I retired early, close to 10 o'clock. "Dad," I began as I wrapped the covers around Maddelina and me, a yawn escaping my lips, "What am I going to be?"
He whispered it in my ear, but my thoughts became too muddled to comprehend what he said. I yawned again.
"Lydia," he called, just barely keeping my heavy-lidded eyes from shutting 'til dawn. He kissed my forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too, Daddy."
"Sweet dreams."
My eyes closed off my cloudy mind in the thickest slumber I achieved ever. I should have been more wary.
My alarm clock did not go off when I reanimated. That was my first worry. My second was the sun, high in the sky, beaming on me, with Maddelina still asleep. The third was that I was not in my room. Sure, I was in a room identical in objects - television, wastebasket, personal computer - but the walls were foreign. There was a knock on the door.
"Lydia?" a woman asked, her voice soft. I could not recognize it. The door opened a crack. "Are you awake?"
I snapped my eyes shut, feigning sleep, but the bed creaked, giving me away. She opened the door, sternly saying, "Lydia."
A blue-haired woman in a red dress stood in the center of the room. She widened the gap in the curtains, allowing in more sunlight. "It's nearly noon. I've let you sleep long enough."
Maddelina smooshed her indigo self into the crook of my neck, tired and trying to escape the sun. I sat up, holding her. "Who are you? Where is this place?"
She did not answer immediately, instead, tossing a bag to me. "Get dressed," she ordered, "Then come downstairs for breakfast. We'll talk then. Bathroom's the first door on the right."
The woman left promptly. Maddelina hopped onto the sack, looking to me to open it since no Oddish has hands. I sighed, pulling on the zipper. Its contents, I recognized, vaguely. I could not remember where, but I had glanced on the outfit somewhere before: blue shirt, faded pink skirt, blue socks. That is going to annoy me, my faded memory. I checked the drawers to the dresser, finding no other article of clothing. Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the outfit and stumbled to the loo, washing my face and hands with Maddie on my heels.
It did not take long, a few minutes at most, for me to make myself look presentable. Down the carpeted stairway, along the cream walls, pictures of the woman and a boy hung. They were covered in dust and hidden in the shadows, as if the remnants of happier times were pain-inflicting poltergeists. The Pokémon by my feet noticed the solemnity in the atmosphere; she toned down some of her boisterous manner. To the left of the stairs was a fireplace mantle covered with photo frames. I shifted to the front of it, discovering a familiar face.
When I was younger, Dad toted around a camera, snapping pictures of Maddie and me. He had not taken any in recent years, and I did not know what he did with the film he developed. I figured he put it in a photo book. Yet here they were.
I turned away, following Maddelina to the dining room on the other side of the stairs. The woman placed a tray of toast on the table with a giant version of a Mime Jr. carrying a plate of scrambled eggs.
"Sit, sit," she ordered once she noticed me, gesturing to a chair. She took the seat across from me, our Pokémon on either side of us, a bowl of food for them both. The Oddish dug in immediately, the little traitor. My stomach, finding that my mind could not decide whether to trust the woman yet, growled, bringing to life its emptiness. Trusting her seemed to work out, for now.
She would not let me ask anything until I ate something. The woman filled her plate with the same food as I did, deeming it safe in my eyes. After a bite of the eggs, I questioned, "Who are you?"
She set down her silverware. "I am your mother."
I choked.
Hi everyone! To my Royals who were wondering if I was going to abandon OWM as I accidently did to LPatTT, I'm not. This story, I'm writing out on paper when I can't get onto the computer for OWM. I will fix LPatTT in the future, so don't worry.
To any new fans, if you liked this story, or you like any of the other stories that I write, then you automatically become a Royal (fan of the stuff I make).
Reviews inspire me to write more and beg my mom to let me on the computer more often; please review, please.
More chapters to come. -Z