I never wanted to be a trainer.

I mean, it's ridiculous. What's so great about walking everwhere trying to catch some funky little beast that can vomit some goo on another, even funkier little beast. And let's not forget collecting badges -- ha! Like a well-placed bribe couldn't get you one of those fancy scraps of tin!

Then again, I could be biased, since Pokemon are what ruined my life.

I'm Justin, by the way. Nice to meet you (not really, I'm just saying that to make conversation). You might have already heard of me. I'm the unlucky fool who was chosen to save or destroy you. Not you personally, of course--don't flatter yourself! I don't play favorites. I meant "you" in the vaguest, "entire-pitiful-population-of-the-earth-crushed-under-my-thumb-mwa-ha-ha" kind of way imaginable.

Maybe you are a little confused. I'm sure you feel that way a lot, but I'll back up a little for you just out of the goodness of my heart. So you can get the full picture, as it were.

It all started when I was eleven--that tender age when you still haven't realized that your dreams of becoming a superhero will one day be vanquished by the evil villain known as Life. And your dreams of magic? Yeah, those too.

But to this day I maintain that I never experienced a childhood of any sort. All that crying and screaming and prancing about in a most undignified manner...no, that sort of thing is simply not me. So naturally, by the time I turned eleven such dreams had already been vanquished by Life and all it's little sidekicks such as neglect, shame, and poverty . . . also capitalism, taxes, and infomercials.

The point is that throughout all this I held fast to one small dream. I dreamed that one day I could become a cyclist. Not one of those stupid battling cyclists. Just a good cyclist, preferably with a few years of prepaid auto insurance. As you might be able to tell, I never really got the dream.

On my eleventh birthday, that harbinger or disillusionment, I asked for only one gift: a Machbike. I lived in a poor family so I didn't ask for a brand new one. Just a secondhand bike. But -- shock and surprise -- life swooped in like a feral golbat, bit me on the ass, and flapped away.

I woke up on my birthday and rushed down the stairs into the kitchen hoping to see a bike propped against the table--maybe even my mother and father sober enough to wish me a happy birthday. I didn't find a bike. I didn't find my parents.

I found a box.

Not only a box, but a box with a note lying next to it, in a completely empty house. I looked at the note with a glimmer of hope. Picking it up, I thought maybe there would be an explanation within as to why my bike was apparently folded up inside a box.

It didn't give me an explanation, but it did bring on some of the most heart-breaking years of my life. Also a nasty paper cut, but you know. Priorities.

Dear Justin,

Your mother and I feel you are old enough to go out on your own and start your own adventures. We are gone for the day.

- Dad

P.S. Happy twelfth birthday.

The note puzzled me at first -- beyond the fact that he had forgotten his oldest son's age. I thought that perhaps I would understand more if I opened the box.

The box, like the note, seemed hastily put together. It wasn't wrapped, and it was warped as if they had picked it up out of a damp alley. I opened the lid and saw something that raised in me an emotiont hat I haven't felt since then. I felt abandoned.

In the box was a tarnished red and white Pokeball and a dented Pokedex.

Everything made sense now. My parents wanted me out. Out of their house, out of their hair, out of their life. Well, if that's what they wanted, that's what they were going to get. I grabbed the two 'gifts' and left my house . . . their house. I never saw them or my siblings again.

And to be honest, I don't give a damn if I ever do.

------

well thas the end of chapter one and I have a request

I need a female charecter. just the basic info really for the char.

Build:

Eyes:

Hair:

Clothes:

Pokemon: ( I only want ONE pokemon )

maybe a little back ground...and attiude.

Review or I will poke you with a poking stick.