The lights of the big city had nearly all come
on, signaling the beginning of nighttime. Buses, police cars, and
ambulances could all be heard roaming around in their usual ways they did every
night. On the corner of a rather lonely rag-tag street, a small dumpy
sort of house sat. In reality, it was
even better looking than the even dumpier house next to it. This was the poor area, the slums, the
ghetto, whatever you'd like to call it; but it was called another thing to the
children of the street-- home.
A small light came on in the window of the small, dumpy house on the corner, and humming could be heard from it. A little girl of about five sat on a cardboard box, humming softly, and coloring with a broken crayon.
She had managed to scrape up a scratch piece of paper from the junkyard by her house, and was now using it to draw pictures. Her long red hair would sneak up onto the paper once in a while, and she would absentmindedly brush it away. Her short blue-violet crayon was her only playmate, and her only toy, and she cherished it like no other thing. It was her friend, and the only stable thing in her life. And so she drew her dreams, her fantasies, all on the many scraps of paper she found daily simply just lying around.
'What kind of people could leave such treasure just lying around in a pile?' she thought to herself.
But her thoughts of ponies and magical lands were interrupted suddenly by a banging at the door. The little girl turned around, her sapphire eyes suddenly burning with malice.
Her father was home.
"Coming!" a voice said. The girl's mother walked up to the door, and opened it, letting a rather large man walk in. "Oh, honey, home so soon?" the woman said nervously, looking apprehensive.
"I told you I'd be home early. Where's dinner?" the man asked.
The girl poked her head out of her room's doorway.
"Well, I forgot you'd be coming early… so I… I… haven't…" her mother said, tears beginning to trickle down her face.
The man sighed. "I'm sorry Rebecca… but you know what I have to do… if you had made the dinner, I wouldn't have to do this… but…" his voice trailed off, and the girl closed her eyes.
She knew that when her dad said those words, in that tone of voice, it was signal. He raised his hand and struck the mother's face. The sheer bulk and strength of the man made nearly impossible to take a hit and still be standing, so the woman was easily thrown to the ground with another blow. She got up slowly, rubbed the side of her face, tears streaming, and repeated to herself that she was sorry.
The man stormed out of the tattered living room, and past the little girl yelling about getting the dinner ready.
The little girl felt a tear or two roll down her cheeks, and tried to think of it as just another day… How she hated her father.
If there was only something she could do…
-----------------------------------------
Little Jessie had only been in school for three weeks, but it had become apparent to the teacher that she was so behind that she would probably need to stay back for next year. She sighed, knowing that she was trying with every fiber to make Jessie into something wonderful, but it was just no use when her family life was less than perfect.
No matter, today that could all change.
"Good morning class!" the teacher said cheerfully, brushing off her depression.
A few kids raised their heads and murmured, "Good morning Miss Hazuki."
Most teachers at this point would address the class again to get a more enthusiastic answer, but Miss Hazuki knew better, this was the poor area, and she was lucky to get even a few kids to answer in this class.
Six of her students weren't even there; five were okay and had loving families; and ten of her students were so bad off that the school had to give them clothes to wear.
The day went on as usual, but was stopped at about noon, right after lunch.
"Class, now I want you to meet someone very important. This is Mrs. Smith. She's here to ask you some questions about your mom and dad; or caregivers," Miss Hazuki said, nodding to little Tommy, who had never seen his real parents.
Mrs. Smith introduced herself, and walked around to each of the children, and asked them all questions about their parents.
When she got to Jessie, Jessie was playing with her crayon. Mrs. Smith sat on the left side of her, and acted as friendly as possible. "Hello…" she checked her paper, "Jessie! How are you today?"
Jessie didn't look up.
"Can you leave me alone? I don't wanna talk about my parents right now… I'm drawing a beautiful pony with me riding it," she said, still drawing.
"Oh okay, that's fine. I'll just do you later." She got up, and began to walk away when she saw the other side of Jessie's face… A large purple bruise was clearly imprinted on her cheek.
"Oh my goodness child! Did someone hit you?" Mrs. Smith said, looking appalled.
"If I tell you…," said Jessie in nervous tone, "Can you put him in jail or something?"
Mrs. Smith blinked. "Who's 'he'…?"
Jessie looked nervously from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one was listening, "My… my… dad."
Mrs. Smith sat down again, and made it very clear that Jessie was in no danger, and that they would do everything they could to keep her safe.
Jessie smiled inwardly. This was her chance to get revenge, to get her father in trouble for all the beatings, all the nights she stayed up crying…
By the end of the day, Mrs. Smith and several other important-looking adults walked up to Jessie's house, and placed her father under arrest.
Jessie's father didn't go too easily. And when he found out that his six-year-old daughter had landed him in the slammer, he was outraged. He claimed to have never done anything to his wife or daughter, and pleaded not guilty. But it never held up in court, and he was sentenced to ten years in prison.
As he was being taken away into the prison truck, Jessie ran up to him and smiled at him.
"That was for hurting me!" she said triumphantly.
Jessie's father glared at his daughter.
But Jessie didn't care; she was so happy, nothing could ruin her day. She hated her father for what he had done, and was glad to know that the next time he'd be able to see her again, she'd be old enough to tell him off some more.
Her mother was so happy for her little girl, that she worked extra hard for the next few months at her job and saved up enough money to buy her daughter a most unusual birthday present…
"Okay Jessie! You can open your eyes!" her mother said excitedly.
"Mommy? What'd you get?" Jessie said, opening her eyes.
There on the table next to her mom's famous homemade 'snow-cake' was a lone pokeball.
"A pokeball?" Jessie said stupidly.
"No silly! Inside the pokeball! Go on!" her mother said, handing it to her.
Jessie held the round ball in her hands, and tossed it gently on the ground. A flash of white light, and soon a large, purple and yellow snake was on the ground!
"Mommy… I don't know what to say…" Jessie said, tears coming down.
Ekans regarded its new master. "Ekans?"
Jessie just hugged it.
A/N: First off, I'm not really sure how much jail time you can get for child abuse, but I just stuck in what worked for my story! ^^ I know the ending was kinda fast, but I didn't want the first chapter to be too long. The next chapter will be, of course, about James' early past. The chapters will go back and forth between the two until they meet in the Bridge Bike Gang. Now, since they've never really said all of Jessie and James' past, some of it will be made up, but I'll try to keep the little bits of things that they have said in the show in there. Anyway, please R&R! All responses are accepted! ^^