(This story is for the adventurer, the person trying to find themselves...read and enjoy!)
(Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon and the Pokemon characters mentioned in this story.)
Cell Signal
I'm struggling to get a cell signal. Maybe if I climb higher, I'll be in better touch. Oh, what are you doing. I slap myself clean across the face. I get this terrible red splotch on my right side. You're running away from home, Bianca! Stop trying to call your father. You're on a mission to become the real trainer you always longed to be. You watched those trainers on TV with such conviction in your eyes.
I guess I was forced to watch them when I was younger, considering how Black was such a battle fanatic at the time (well, he still is, actually even more so). Every day, we'd go over to his place, and that's all he'd be doing (other than battling and training his Pokémon when it was light out). I remember the resounding call to duty. "Be the trainer you always dreamed to be. Make a name for yourself. Reach the top…with new Castelia Corp. trainer outfits." We talked about advertising to children in Social Studies class. I wonder what's their motivation. Do they wish to train, to nurture…or do they wish to capture, to restrain?
I'd secretly pay attention to the televised battle tournaments that Black was such an avid fan of, but I wouldn't tell anyone, not my Dad. "Girls aren't supposed to battle," he'd argue. Then he'd take his sweet Unfezant and gently attend to its plumage. He's the girl, if you ask me. I'd protest, then I'd go to bed with a fresh, red splotch. My dad gave me a lot of those. Saves money on blush makeup.
Ugh. My new skirt's all muddy. That's the least of my worries now, trudging through a dense forest, trying to hide, when I realize I've got the million-eyed monster staring at me: the forest. I whimper a little; my trembling arms had pulled up to my chest, and clung on tightly in fright. I couldn't leave here…Dad would find me, and find what I've done. I can just picture it now. He'd have his paddle at the ready in one hand. He'd say I could've been killed, being the clumsy way I am. I guess I could be a killer, an assassin for Team Plasma. In my hand, dishes have a 90% fatality rate. Electronic devices…100% fatality, eventually. Rotisserie chicken…don't even let me recall that time. Let's just say if I hadn't been woken up by Dad, the fire would've spread to this forest I'm sitting in, this far-flung forest where I can't get a damn cell signal.
A wild Pokémon peeks from the undergrowth. Now's my chance to prove myself. I don't have any Pokémon with me, but I found a few stray Pokeballs in the woods. It's an Emolga. A fat, chubby one, quietly staring at me. She (I think it was a she) seems to be taking an interest in me. She beams back at me, and I become a reflection of her, a smile on my face as well. Then she switches to her sad face. "What's wrong?" I ask.
The Emolga points ahead. There're some Berries that she must have collected, sitting at the foot of a tree. I follow her through the thick ivy. Her arms are limp, she gestures. She can't break through the Berries; she shows her sad face again. I help her crack the Berries the best I can; they're quite firm, and my hand tires out after one or two. After a while, with the Emolga patiently waiting, I finally work to open all the Berries. She offers me one. I bite into it, and my vision gets blurry. I get flushed all over. Poison. The last thing I see before I black out is the Emolga scampering away, back up to her little tree. She faked the injury. The lengths she went to sure I didn't capture her. The plans she connived to render me immotile, and let my smooth stream of tears sting my raw, freshly-slapped skin. I use the little strength I had to get out of that place. That Emolga had sharp fangs; she must be carnivorous, a predator. Nature is a cunning, beguiling beast.
I finally wake elsewhere, seems like I arrived at a hiking trail. Crackle. Boom. Without further notice, rain begins to pour. Mud stains appear on my new white skirt. I let the falling droplets hide my tears as the sky dims, flashing an intense strobe through the clouds. What have I done wrong? Everything. Everything's wrong. Still no cell signal. "Bianca dearie, what were you thinking, running from home?" Arceus punishes me with pounding hailstones…rightfully so. The broken shards of numerous pieces of fine china will never be mended. Like the shattered pieces of countless dishware, Arceus pelts the hailstones on my body, hurting, bruising, but never bleeding out. I can just hear my Dad. "Careful with the china, Bianca!" Grab. Break. "No, Bianca!" Sweep. Sweep. No use repenting now. I feel myself shrinking, falling into the quicksand of the trail turned bog.
You ran away from home, you little tramp! Lightning flashes at the exact moment. Have you forgotten your morals, Bianca? You just left your father. No note, no phone call, nothing. Have you not defied and disrespected your elders? You've tried so hard, Bianca. You broke dish after dish after dish while trying to carry them; why do you still continue to try? Why do you not just say "I can't do it" and be done with it? You refuse to be considered inept. You believe next time "It'll be all right!". You affirm that all the time. Even if you're not endowed with mental sharpness, you still force your mind through the pencil sharpener, however painful or difficult it be, how impossible it may seem. That was you as a hardworker, Bianca. Look at yourself. What are you now? A trapped, rebellious teenager letting the rain bog you down…Bianca! Stand up, Bianca.
The rain stops. I hear the Pidoves chirping again, marking the beginning of a ray of sunlight peeking through the clouds. I let my shoes be muddy as I tread on the forest trail. I let myself stumble, but I never let myself fall. To think a step out of the house frees me of all my troubles. I breathe easier as my Xtransceiver finally picks up a signal. I'll call you Dad. There's a lot of things me need to talk over. I guess capturing and escaping is the easy part. Training and nurturing…no one's perfect at that. I ought to forgive my father.
"Thank you Arceus." The million-eyed monster did not attack, just quietly stared as I paced out of that damp forest, arms at my side, and not the least bit trembling.