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Stories Write a story to catch Pokemon. A Grader will then decide if it catches or not.


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  #1  
Old 11-27-2009, 05:52 PM
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Default What you make of it

((This is my first story here and the first story I've written in a long time, so pardon my crazy rambling writing style and the lengthy intro. I'm not really sure what Pokemon I'm going for yet but I'll probably make this long enough to have quite a few.))

"What You Make of It"


Being shot is never a pleasant experience. Sure, there’s the pain, which in some cases can be unbearable, and of course, the fact that you may die is pretty bad too, but the circumstances with which you are in may also affect the overall displeasure that you’re going to experience.

Maybe you’re an average Joe, who after a long day of work likes to spend his time at the local bar, who needs a few rum and Cokes to help him unwind. It’s just an average night, nothing out of the ordinary happening, until she walks in. Tall, thin, and blonde, her slinky black dress so tight, it’s like she’s practically begging for it. But of course, you’re pretty, well, average, and you know that you don’t have a chance with Slinky Blonde Bombshell. That is of course until she sits down next to you, orders a drink and begins to tell you her life story. She’s a rich widow; her CEO husband was killed by some disgruntled employee who’d snapped and shot up the entire floor and left all his money to her, and she’s lonely. Before you can even deliver a corny pickup line, she’s asking you to come back to her place. A wild night ensues, the most amazing of your boring, average life, and you think that you’re finally getting all the luck that you deserve. Unfortunately, the next morning, you wake up to the sound of yelling, with a double barrel shot gun pressed to your temple. The CEO husband home early from his business trip to Hong Kong, and he’s angry. This isn’t the first time he’s come home to find another man in his bed, and he’s ready to snap. Before you can say anything in your defense, Disgruntled Husband pulls the trigger. Bang, bang, you’re dead, and the next day it’s in all the papers. At least Joe’s last night was a good one.

Or maybe you’re a father to be, the baby not due for another few weeks. You’re a bit of a procrastinator and after a lot of nagging from your wife you finally decided that today would be the day to put together the crib you bought at the local foreign furniture warehouse. You think it’s ugly and overpriced for being some cheap thing that you have to build yourself but the wife just LOVED it and insisted that you get it. Anyway, the wife picks up the nail gun and begins to inspect it, because she’s never seen one or some dumb crap like that, and all of a sudden, her water breaks. It’s pretty early for anything to be happening, so she’s freaking out and the nail gun is still in her hand and you’re trying to grab it from her when, BANG, she accidentally shoots you in the hand. So you go to the hospital and while she’s going through labor you’re sitting in the Emergency Room lobby holding a piece of gauze to your bleeding hand all night. By the way, it’s a boy, and the name your wife picked out isn’t very manly at all. If only you’d picked out a different crib.

Of course, you’re not either of these things. Instead, you’re running for your life in the woods, because there’s someone about two hundred yards behind you who is trying to gun you down. This is probably one of the worst ways to get shot (if there were ever a competition, though getting shot in general is never a pleasant thing) because in a sense, you’re being hunted. You know what’s about to happen, and you know that no matter how fast you can run, there’s no escaping your fate.

The girl had been running for what seemed like forever. Her short brown hair, which had at one time been neatly styled into a trendy angled bob, was now soaked with sweat and plastered to her face, dripping perspiration into her eyes. Her chic city clothes were stiff with dried mud and she doubted that they would ever get completely clean, but that didn’t really matter now anyway. She heard a loud crunching of leaves and a dog’s barking which signaled that her pursuer was catching up with her, so she pumped her legs even harder. But her shoe must've come untied or her legs must've given out because suddenly she was falling, then she hit the muddy ground and began to roll down the hill. Soon enough, she hit a tree almost hard enough for her to black out, but she dug her nails into the bark and pulled herself up. There was a howl several meters back, but before she could even turn around, she heard a small bang and then felt a searing pain in her right thigh which caused her to fall back to the ground.
-------------------------------------------------------------

“Ow! You little brat, you shot me!” she said through gritted teeth, pulling her leg up to her chest.

“Will you relax? It’s just a BB gun, stupid.” The boy snarled, then pulled the lever on his extremely realistic looking toy rifle and reloaded it. He dug into the pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a treat, which he fed to the Houndoom that had been following behind him. “Stella, you suck at this game. You’re the worst prey I’ve ever had.”

Stella rolled up the leg of her shorts. There was a large red welt where she’d been shot, and it was already starting to bruise. “Well, when you said, “let’s play a game”, this was not what I had in mind. Why couldn’t we just play hide and seek or something?”
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Old 11-27-2009, 10:36 PM
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Default Re: What you make of it

Well, it was better than cleaning the grease traps at the local burger joint for minimum wage, or, at least that’s what Stella kept telling herself. It’s hard enough as it is to find a decent job these days when you’re young, but being a high school drop out made things even harder on the seventeen year old. School was never a big priority for Stella. She was not, by any means, stupid, but she had a hard time paying attention to anything that didn’t interest her and she didn’t do well on tests, so the logical thing for her to do was to quit. You’d think that having a mother who’d dropped out herself and now pulled double shifts at the Waffle House just to make ends meet would convince her to do otherwise, but once Stella had her mind set on something, she had to do it.

Growing up, she’d always wanted to be a fashion designer, and everyone in her neighborhood had faith that she was going to make something out of herself. She was the go-to girl whenever somebody needed something sewn, and she’d been making her own clothes, which were always chic and trendy, since she was a young girl. But times were always tough, and even with the money that her mother had been saving for her, she didn’t have nearly enough to get herself started.

Then one day she received a package in the mail from her father. He’d been out of the picture for as long as Stella could remember, the only correspondence between them being the occasional school photos and the cheesy cards with $10 in them that would be post marked weeks after her actual birthday. Inside the box was a Pokeball, which Stella promptly dismissed as junk and threw into the back of the hall closet to gather dust. She’d been hoping for money, some much overdue child support; leave it to her old man to be so undependable.

It wasn’t long before Stella had gotten the idea to go off on her own. Sure, she was young and had no money or work experience, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. There was a famous fashion designer who had just relocated to her hometown of Avengrove, a small, bustling city that was surrounded by lush forest on three sides, and it was only a few days travel on foot. Surely if she showed off her sketches, the fashionista would be so impressed that she’d offer her a job. Maybe not as a fully fledged designer, but possibly as an intern or something similar that would give Stella the opportunity to put her foot in the door of the fashion world; that didn’t sound so farfetched, did it? After giving it several minutes of thought, she quickly printed off some maps of the area, withdrew most of the money from her savings account and had left a short good bye note on the counter for her mother to read when she got home from work the next morning.

“Alright, one last check to make sure I have everything I need.” She said aloud, and tossed her bag, a vintage leather backpack that she’d gotten for almost nothing at one of the many hole-in-the-wall resale shops downtown, on her bed. She opened her bag and rummaged around; checking to see if she’d forgotten to pack extra socks or anything like that, but surprisingly she had everything on her checklist. She looked at the clock on the wall, it was only quarter to five.

“It’s still so early, maybe I should wait until it gets a bit darker before I leave…” she muttered, needing the cover of darkness to slip out undetected. She lived on the second floor of a crummy apartment building, and Mrs. Kowalski, the old widow who smelled like cat food and lived downstairs, was sure to have her window open and would notice Stella trying to sneak out. Her mother had just left to run some errands before her starting her twelve hour shift at the diner, and she wouldn’t be home until five the next morning. She figured that it would be for the best if she didn’t tell anyone else where she was going. It’s not like she had friends her own age anymore, and the ones that she did have were too busy with school and boys and all that other unimportant teenage stuff to bother with. They didn’t understand why she would ever drop out; they were too shortsighted to see any sort of method to her madness.

She sat down on her bed, her head leaning up against the wall because she didn’t have a headboard. “I’ll just rest for a little bit…” she said, yawning a little, “If I’m well rested, I’ll cover more distance…” shift She shut her eyes and slid down so that her head was resting on her pillow, and in a matter of minutes she was out cold.

The sound of a car door slamming suddenly jerked her awake. The clock said it was only 5:36. She sighed in relief, for a minute there she’d been worried that she’d overslept. Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she slipped her feet into her ratty old hiking boots and turned to take one last look at her room. She probably wouldn’t be coming home for a long while. Her room was small; the walls still the same dingy white as they’d been when Stella and her mother first moved in, almost fifteen years ago, and were plastered with band posters. She’d already taken down most of her fashion sketches and put them all into a manila envelope that would be coming with her. Her bed was just a box spring and mattress on the floor, and the rest of her furniture were scratched up thrift store finds. Well, it may not be much, but it was home, she thought to herself, before shutting the bedroom door behind her.

As she was about to leave, the kitchen light switched on and her mother was standing in the doorway, tapping her foot. Her dark brown hair was messily thrown up into a bun and she was still wearing her Waffle House uniform and nametag with the peeling white letters, her name Dianne misspelled with only one ‘n’.

“And just where do you think you’re going at this hour?” she asked, eyeing Stella’s bag.

Stella froze. “Why aren’t you at work?” she asked, avoiding the subject. It’s not as if her mother would be furious at her for leaving, after all, she was almost eighteen and could fend for herself, but she figured it was probably not the best idea to leave without telling her first.

“I just got off work, remember, I work 5 pm to 5 am?” Dianne replied, raising a thin eyebrow.

“Oh…I guess I did oversleep.” Stella mused, and let out a little laugh at her foolishness. How did she not realize that it was light outside? “I guess I won’t be leaving.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t. You’re old enough now that you can make your own decisions, and as your mother I’ll always support you. I just wish you’d found a better way to tell me.” Dianne said, holding up Stella’s note. Then she pulled her other hand out of her sweater pocket and held out a small drawstring bag.

“What’s this?” Stella asked, taking the bag and pulling it open. Inside was the Pokeball her father had sent her a few months prior, as well as some laminated index cards that looked like the sort of thing you’d get at a nature exhibit, with photos of Pokemon and all sorts of little tidbits of information.

“Come on, Stella, I know you’ve never really been much of a Pokemon fanatic, but really, did you think that you’d be able to get all the way to Avengrove by yourself, with no Pokemon to protect you? There’s a pretty decent Pokemon inside that Pokeball, and some of its moves as well as some info about the Pokemon in the area on those cards. Trust me, you’re gonna want to know this stuff.”

Her mother offered to drive her through the shadier part of town, as it wasn’t exactly the safest place for a cute young girl to be walking alone, and Stella reluctantly obliged. She didn’t want to be a burden on her mother or anyone else, so she decided she’d take the rest of the way on foot.

“Well, I guess this is good bye…” Dianne said as she pulled her dented old pickup truck up to the entrance of the town park, which bordered a thick forest that Stella would have to get through in order to get where she needed to be. “I guess I shouldn’t be too hesitant to let go, after all, most mothers are letting their ten year olds walk all over the damn region with nothing but a weak Pokemon to protect them from gang members and child predators.”

Stella chuckled. Her mother always had a good sense of humor. She leaned over and gave her a tight hug before saying her goodbyes and getting out of the truck. Her mother turned the truck around and drove off, and Stella turned to face the forest. It was so immense and thick that it seemed like it would take ages for her to get through it. She sighed. This was going to be a long week.

Last edited by sheepskinfuton; 11-29-2009 at 07:08 PM.
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Old 12-18-2009, 11:09 PM
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Default Re: What you make of it

((I haven't updated this in a while but I've been kinda busy and haven't had the time or creativity to write anything.))

It was almost noon now, and Stella figured she was making good time. She’d eaten a protein bar before she started walking, but that could only hold her and her fast metabolism for so long, and it wasn’t long before her stomach started to rumble. She’d packed a couple packets of dehydrated food and few meal bars, but before she’d left, her mother had stopped at the corner deli and bought her a sandwich to eat for lunch. She headed to a small clearing and sat down under the shade of a small tree, then pulled the sandwich out of her bag.

“Awesome! I freaking love you mom!” she exclaimed as she unwrapped her sandwich. It was fresh deli turkey with plenty of lettuce, provolone cheese and a few squirts of spicy Dijon mustard on a huge pretzel roll that had been baked that morning. Just as Stella was about to take a bite, something white and gooey fell down from the sky and landed, splat, right on her sandwich.

“Huh? What the hell?!” she looked up at the tree above her just as a bird Pokemon cooed and lowered its tail. Disgusted, she threw the sandwich down and jumped up. “Why you little-! Wait ‘till I get my hands on you!”

The Pokemon quickly flew off and Stella foolishly tried to catch it for the better part of ten minutes, until finally she lost sight of it altogether, but when she finally got back to where she’d been sitting, she found her bag open with all of its contents spilled out into the dirt.

“Ugh! My good sweater!” she exclaimed angrily, and bent down to inspect the damage. It was then that she realized all her food was gone, with several sets of small tracks leading away from her things and going in various directions. Stella fell to her knees, digging her nails into the dirt. Maybe this little adventure wasn’t such a good idea after all. A city girl at heart, she obviously had no idea how to survive in the wild. Her stomach growled even louder, and it felt like it was mocking her. But she couldn’t go home now. No, she’d just have to tough it out until she reached the Pokemon Center that was supposedly halfway through the forest. She brushed off her stuff and carefully put it back in her bag. Slinging one of the worn leather straps over her shoulder, she shuffled onward, her ego bruised and her stomach still empty. “…Nature, two; Stella, zero…”

About fifteen minutes later she stumbled upon another clearing, though this one was lined with bushes that were covered in small, luscious purple berries. Stella’s eyes widened and she immediately rushed over to the nearest bush and began to pick berries, stuffing them into the pockets of her jacket with one hand and into her mouth with the other.

It was then that she noticed a pair of antlers sticking out of one of the bushes. Surely a deer wouldn’t get this close to a human, was it a wild Pokemon? Before she could do anything, the creature spoke.
“I’d spit those berries out, or else you’ll regret it in a few minutes. They’ll go right through you.” It said, in a voice that was definitely human, and definitely male.
Stella froze. Pokemon couldn’t talk…could they? A bit stunned, she spit the half chewed berries on the ground and emptied her pockets, wiping her hands on her thighs. Then she slowly backed away, her eyes still locked on whatever it was that was in that bush.

“Oh, silly me, where are my manners?” it said, and then the antlers rose up out of the bush to reveal that they were attached to a black plastic headband, and what was wearing the headband was certainly not a Pokemon of any sort.

It was a man, probably in his mid twenties, with long chestnut hair that had been loosely tied back in a ponytail. His face was rugged yet handsome, and he had the most gorgeous eyes Stella had ever seen. They were a rich brown and they looked at her so deeply that Stella imagined she could swim in them. When he stood up she could see his somewhat muscular build through his t-shirt, which was covered in dirt and stray leaves. This guy should’ve been the star role in any spy movie, fighting off foreign mercenaries with his amazing martial arts skills then using his good looks and charisma to get the girl, not crawling around in the woods with some twigs stuck to his head.

“I just get so caught up in my research sometimes…” he said, taking the antlers off.

“Gorgeous…” Stella mumbled, a bit awestruck that she would find such a hunk in the woods.

“Pardon?” the man asked, leaning in a bit closer, “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Uh…I said Gesundheit.”

“I didn’t sneeze.” The man said, and then laughed. “My name is Harrison, and you are?”

“St-Stella. My name is Stella.” She replied, and laughed nervously. Real smooth, you’re a regular Casanova.

Harrison smiled, and even his teeth were gorgeous. “Nice name. You don’t hear that one too often these days.”

Stella blushed slightly; it was rare for someone to say something nice about her name. “A Streetcar Named Desire. My mom is a big Marlon Brando fan.”

“That’s pretty cool. So what brings you out here?”

They talked for several hours, Harrison enthusiastically discussing the mating rituals of Wurmple and Caterpie while Stella just smiled and nodded, as she had no clue what he was talking about. Harrison was a Pokemon breeder who’d been doing field research in the forest for a couple of weeks, which lucky for Stella meant that he knew a lot of shortcuts.

“Avengrove is actually a lot closer than you’d think,” he said, and pulled a laminated map and a marker out of his backpack. The path that Stella had planned to take was clearly labeled. It was a straight shot from the forest entrance to Fox Run, a quant little village that served as a rest stop for many people who were on their way through. Once there, it was basically a U-turn back into the forest to get to the city. “See how the forest gets thicker in the middle? That long road that goes through Fox Run makes it easier for people and cars to travel, but there’s a pretty small path that’ll take you right to Avengrove. It’ll save you at least a day and a half of travel. I’ve taken that way a few times, it gets pretty rocky, but it’s definitely worth it. Do you have any Pokemon on you?”

Stella nodded and dug through her bag to produce a Pokeball. “I think it’s called a Scyther?” she said, looking to Harrison for some kind of agreement.
“Really? Wow, you’ve got a pretty nice Pokemon on you. That’s your starter? Who gave it to you?”

“My dad mailed it to me a few months ago. He does that weird Pokemon breeding thing too. I didn’t know it was an actual job, I just thought it was some creepy thing people did in their basements, you know?” Stella replied, and Harrison blushed.

“Never thought of it that way,” he said, and laughed a bit uncomfortably. “Who’s your father? I’ve been in the field for a while, I may have heard of him.”

“Roman Wilder.” Stella said flatly, used to only seeing the name on the return address stickers that would be on the card she got once a year, two or three months late.
Harrison’s mouth fell open. “The Roman Wilder?! Stella, your dad is one of the most influential breeders in this region! He practically wrote the bible on inherited natures! I sleep with it under my pillow!”

“…That’s really creepy, dude.”
__________________

supermonkey07 (11:45:01 PM): lol
(11:45:03 PM): silly sheep
(11:45:10 PM): trying to act like people do
(11:45:14 PM): talk the people talk
(11:45:16 PM): eat the people food
(11:45:20 PM): but you're just a sheep
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