Well, when I said this story was going to be better than my other one 'Pokemon Detective' I sure was right! I have gotten some great reviews, and that was just the prologue! –Is very happy- I'll reply to a few comments before getting on with the new chapter. I'm not taking a long time to write chapters because a) They are short and b) I have too much free time. But I'm going to change a) for now, I'm going to try to make my chapters as long as possible. Too bad I can't write as fast as I can read!

labrat-seph – Just want to be clear for one thing, I don't imply that I write better than others, I personally think my writing is not all that great. But thank you for the comment And I am so glad someone agrees with me a bit on some of the other stories, most don't have much of a plotline. I'm not really much of a writer though, an observant reader I should say. I love my opening chapter also, it is much better than all my stories put together!

Oh and just for anyone who is wondering why I write about growlithes a bit, it's because they are uber cool! My favorite type of pokemon is a fire type because they have the ability to learn more different types of moves and are a bit more spread out than others. And thanks to all who reviewed! On to the story! And I re-wrote this chapter because I wasn't too happy with it, so that's why it took so long to get the story up again! –Having a very bad case of writers block right now-

A Growlithe Miracle: Chapter One: A Ghost of a Chance

"You should go back to pokemon training," her father said. It's what he said every day to her at breakfast. Her parents knew she really wanted to go back to training, but she was torn from the desire to be with pokemon again; to see them, hear them battle, be the one training the greatest of them all, but she also wanted to keep that vow she made.

Flashback

Rachel ran out of the league building, sobbing and spreading tears all over her already soaked shirt. She ran through the trees, not knowing where she was going or what she was going to do, all she knew was that Bart was dead. She ran to a dead end, a cliff. She stood twenty paces from it, and let out her pokemon.

"Go," She said to them as they looked around confusedly. "I don't want it to happen to you either, so just leave."

Her sleek pidgeot that had been her first capture cocked his head at her. "What happened? Where's Bart? I thought we were at the league! Why are you crying?" He squawked.

"Bart's dead." Was all she said to him. "I don't want it to happen to any of you either. GO!" She yelled the last part out.

"Bart was our friend too! And you mean just as much to us as he did! We aren't going to leave!" Her jumpluff tried to reason with her.

"But it could happen again! I don't want that! I will never train pokemon again!" Rachel yelled, an echo bouncing off the rocks in the canyon below.

Her pokemon looked pityingly at her, but knew she meant what she said. They were hurt by her decision, but knew she meant the best also. She was just confused and soon enough they might find her again, ready to train. Not likely, but it could happen, maybe in months, maybe years, maybe her children.

Her pidgeot took off then, sleek feathers glistening in the sun as he flew down off the cliff and into the canyon; her jumpluff did what was in her nature and let the wind blow it away; her onix burrowed into the ground, leaving a big hole about five feet in every direction as a sign he had been there; her marill ran into the forest, his tail bobbing behind; her magneton floated into the forest behind the marill, hoping to find its way back to the power plant in which he was caught when he was making trouble for the workers; and lastly, the old hypno she had found and healed departed last, taking slow steps and stopped at the edge of the forest.

"You're going to regret this, we love you, we understand, but you're pushing us away, the ones who would do anything for you." He said, and then disappeared into the shrubbery beyond.

End flashback

And how right old grandpa was, they had always called him grandpa because he was so old and he looked like a grandpa. He was their second strongest pokemon in the group though, having many years of training at his disposal, the only one who could match up to him was Bart. He had a deep bond with Rachel also, almost as deep as the one she had with Bart. Rachel did regret letting them go, grandpa had probably died out there, not because of no way to get his own food or being eaten by pokemon, he was too strong for that, but because of old age. He had outlived his old trainer and knew so much, especially with him being a psychic.

"I don't want to train again." Was Rachel's reply every time her father said that, she would never train again, no matter the urge she had to find her pokemon again, she made a vow. She never wanted to hurt or be hurt by pokemon again. But she was wrong in making that vow, she loved pokemon, anybody who looked into her eyes could see that. Anyone who ever had a crushed love before would know, love is about taking risks, hiding from it will just destroy you from the inside, she was hiding from it. It was slowly eating her away, like a mouse would nibble on a piece of cheese, every time she said no, it would be another small piece of her heart that was rejected and torn away.

Rachel finished her breakfast and got out of the dining room as soon as she could, knowing that if she stayed her parents would try to comfort her, and that made it hurt even more as she found out the first time after she came home. She ran up to her room like always and flopped down onto her bed with a huge "Thump." Her room was nondescript, normal and cluttered, like almost every thirteen year olds who didn't train pokemon.

If you walked into the room you would think a hurricane had just struck there. To the left of the door was where her bed was up against the wall on its side, the headboard in the corner, fitting perfectly. But on it were piles of books, Rachel had taken to reading a lot after she stopped training, to the left of it was a nightstand, a small lamp on it with an alarm clock, both almost completely invisible from the books, on the wall opposite of the bed was a beautiful rosewood desk, a present from her grandma, and as you have guessed, piled two feet high with books of every shape and size, to the right of that was a small round table with a small television set on it. On the right wall was a small closet, and holding nothing but black and blue clothing, not "gothic" clothing, just normal black and blue t-shirts and jeans. And amazingly, it was the only place not piled high with books.

The room was very small and had no room for a bookcase, so that's why all the books were flung about everywhere. Rachel picked up the one she was reading "Adventures of Tom Sawyer" it said on the front cover. She usually read until lunch time, then ate, read until dinner, took a shower, then read until she fell asleep. People thought it a boring routine, but Rachel enjoyed books too much to think it boring. They seemed to draw her out of her miserable life there and take her on amazing adventures.

She read for around five hours, having a mother who wanted to have meals right on the hour; breakfast at seven a.m., lunch at twelve p.m., and dinner at six p.m. She had finished her book already and was in the middle of another, she was a very fast reader. She put the book down and rand out of the room right when her clock changed to twelve, on the table was a ham sandwich like always. Rachel ate it fast and before her mother could say anything, rushed out of the dining room again and went up to read.

That special feeling that had burned up inside of her all day was just about giving up hope of anything special happening. The burning feeling of excitement had died before she got to lunch. Rachel looked over at the clock on her nightstand. Twelve 'o clock a.m. it read. Drowsiness was already taking over her, she put the book that she was reading and rolled over on her bed, but not before flicking off the light.

"There's only a ghost of a chance that something is going to happen" She muttered to herself.

Outside a Bedroom Window

A haunter smiled creepily as he saw the girl turn off the light and fall into a deep sleep from his hypnosis waves. He fazed himself through the wall and looked her over.

"A 'ghost of a chance' it is, dear heart," he said. "It truly is." The haunter started chuckling, making a creepy ripple go up the spines of whoever heard it.

My writers block makes me leave you at this little cliffy. I thought I had the whole story planned but I'm not good at making things lead to other things. Oh well, at least I'm trying, right?