You huffed.
You sprawled out, mentally crumpled, on your bed and shielding your eyes from the incoming rays seeping through the window shades. You would've relished in it before, but it only amplified your growing headache.
Glancing over at the rejection letter unfolded and sitting atop you desk, you groaned. You spent sixteen tiring years in the education system only to end up outright dismissed in the end. You read it twice over before tossing it and watching it flutter down to your desk.
We're sorry to inform you that we have rejected your application to graduate this spring semester. In order to graduate with a B.S. in Biology and concentration Evolutionary Biology at Celadon University, you will need substantial field credits and competence as a pokémon trainer. Your next window to graduate will be spring, next year. Please take this time to reassess your career choices.
Reassess your career choices? Like that wasn't a sucker punch to the face.
Four years of grueling studying, dissecting (yes, pokémon), and caffeinated all-nighters got you absolutely no where. You were a B student, but you spent years mingling with professors and spending time outside of class working to secure internships at top laboratories. But three credits? A measly three credits was preventing you from graduating for another year. You went from being, possibly, the next Professor Oak or Bill to a college drop-out. Sheeeee-it.
It was just rubbing salt in your wound when those three credits happened to be pokémon training. The one aspect of life you always wanted to experience as a kid was now the bane of your existence. It was hindering you.
Where were you going to go? Home?
Your parents hated the idea of pokémon trainer as a career, but even more appalled by the idea of a college drop-out. You didn't want to return, but eventually you would have to. The lease for your apartment ended in three weeks and you couldn't pay rent without the financial aid. The money stopped flowing in when you stopped going to school.
What could you say to them?
You know those two things you hate? Well, I'm dropping out of college to become a pokémon trainer. You can forget about my graduation in May 'cause it ain't happening!
No. That would probably get you a busted lip. Probably from mom. She tended to sway towards the dramatic side. You would have to ease the information in.
Listen...mom and dad. The university won't allow me to graduate unless I get my final three credits training pokemon. Do you mind if I move back home?
NO. Just, no. You could already imagine the tears of disappointment stinging the corner of your mother's eyes as she sobbed into your dad's shoulder. He would give you a disapproving glare from over the crown of her head as he consoled her.
There was an unspoken rule in the house to never make mom cry.
However, you weren't entirely repulsed by the idea of being a pokémon trainer, just annoyed by it. If you were ten, it would be different. So different...
You remember being ten years old and spectating pokémon stadium matches on television. The hours spent in front of that screen wasn't to discover who became the victor; you had an addiction watching the relationships between trainer and pokémon. It seemed...each pokemon was fiercely loyal to their trainer even going beyond their limits to win matches and...you wanted that.
Your parents completely halted any aspiration you had of training, but not without reason. The idea of sending their ten-year old into the wilderness never appealed to them. Around that time, Team Rocket was also spreading their influence from Kanto to Johto. The gang had long disbanded in Kanto, but still existed in Johto, your home. So, it was understandable why they didn't want to send their child into a region where pokémon and children alike, on occasion, disappeared.
You tried to appeal to them. It was an age-old argument and one every child lost. You asked why every other child except yourself had the privilege to go. Their answer of course, was simple.
We want something better for you. Something stable.
Even your best friend from grade school was a trainer. You never saw her again after she left your hometown. Apparently, her family moved to a different region when she got engaged to a pokémon breeder.
Also, there was your father. He could be such a fucking hard-ass.
Why do you want to waste your life bumming it with a bunch of green runts? Most of them don't make it past the first gym and neither will you. And, if they do...they get recruited by one of these gangs.
Choose a real career. Your mother and I didn't put money on this table by training pokémon. We worked. Your mother got a college degree and I joined the military. Those are your two choices.
You wish he wasn't so black and white, but the military life did that for your father. There was no room for gray in his household. You couldn't be a pokémon trainer AND successful. It was one, or the other.
You peered over at a few boxes you fished out from your closet to move-out. You wanted to prolong your move-out as long as possible, but there was no point. Your parents would eventually find out. Your ass would eventually be grass. There was also no way you were going to mope around in your apartment for three weeks: alone, in your sweatpants, and smelly. You set to work on collecting all your possessions from the apartment and carrying them to the truck.
You resigned yourself to your inevitable fate. You would be on that ferry back to Johto tonight.
Author's note:
Hey guys. Is it what you expected? Not what you expected? Did shit get too real or not real enough?
2nd person. I know, scary and weird. You're reading it as if it's you, but that's the point, right? I know it's not popular, but I enjoy writing in 2nd story and giving the reader the reins. Magic stuff happens and fireworks go off somewhere. People start relating and ish, tears shed, and yadda yadda-kaput.
Anyways, drop me a review. Or a smiley face.