The Pokeball landed square in the pink thing’s face. The ball opened, revealed an amorphous red light, and sucked the Pokemon inside whip-like. Zakana had seen it too many times to count, on TV, when his mother did it, in his dreams. Somehow, throwing a Pokeball and watching it in real time felt different. There was an unmistakable thrill that came with the real life kind. The Pokeball landed on the rock, bounced there once. It rolled side to side, once, twice, three times, and finally the red light filling the center circle went out. Instantly, the Pokeball flew through the air, and returned to Zakana’s outstretched hand.
He stood there dumfounded.
It was easy—almost too easy. Zakana threw a Pokeball and in doing so caught a Pokemon—his first ever Pokemon.
“I told you I could catch one, Mom!”
The anger welling up inside Zakana had not dissipated, and catching the pink thing made him even more confused than before. He had sworn never to catch one of them, never to partake in the world surrounding them, but here he was clutching his Pokeball, fiercely, as though he would never let it go. The winter winds whipped against the open parts of his face, reminded him where he was, what his mother had said. Quickly, he returned to the house.
“Kirish,” he began. “Just go to Kirish and she will take care of it. Kirish is the answer always,” Zakana said, mocking his mother’s iron voice. It had been almost three years since he had seen his older sister, and he really had no burning desire to change that. Whereas Zakana avoided the Pokemon universe at all costs, Kirish threw herself into all its activities. She took the stereotypical Pokemon journey, left Pallet town at age ten, chose her starter, searched the planet to be the world’s greatest Pokemon master, like so many before her. And for a while, she did pretty damn good. Of course she did. Kirish was perfect, and the only reason she hadn’t made it was because she changed her focus from trainer to breeder.
I just want to feel the love of Pokemon by helping them be happy and healthy,
Zakana couldn’t forget it. It was so trite and annoyingly subtle that it came off to him as aggressive. That was the thing about Kirish. She was bitingly sarcastic, passive aggressive, and as stubborn as the weeds in the backyard. What was so important about getting the papers to her so quickly anyway?
The living room and kitchen were just two stops on Audria’s path of destruction. All of the cabinets and closets opened, papers and packs on the floor reminded Zakana of the gravity of his mother’s words. She never made a mess, never left the house for more than a few days, and never ever took all her Pokemon with her. On other days, Zakana thought she left some behind just to get Zakana to spend time with them, but it never worked.
Zakana moved to the fridge, and realized the Pokeball was still in his hand. It didn’t squirm or shake anymore like it did when Zakana first threw it. It was still, the pink thing inside quietly waiting to be let out. It didn’t look or seem dangerous. In fact, it looked like the dumbest Pokemon he had ever seen. Zakana suddenly grew curious. This wasn’t his mother’s creepy Misdreavous or bratty little Piplup. This Pokemon was different because it was Zakana’s. Somewhat against his will, he smiled, tossed the ball to the floor, and said, “Pokeball, go!”
The same red light spilled out of the ball, formed the shape of the Pokemon, then went solid. From up close, Zakana noticed the Pokémon’s four white claws and its long, white-tipped tail. The pink dopey thing, eyes slowly focusing, looked up at Zakana and with a slow, raspy voice said, “Slowpoke!”
“God, you even sound like an idiot!” Zakana looked at his Pokemon, his eyebrows raised.
Slowpoke cocked its head to the side, said, “Slowpoke,” again.
“Yeah, I get it. You’re called Slowpoke. Whatever god or goddess named you had it right.”
Zakana rummaged through the pack his mother had given him, withdrew a red handheld device that opened like a book. He pointed the red bulb attached to the front of it at his Slowpoke.
The device clicked on, said in a mechanical voice, pausing rhythmically, “Slowpoke. The dopey Pokemon. Slowpoke takes time to respond to outside stimuli and is slow to notice its own pain.”
“Oh. Just perfect. No wonder you were so easy to catch.” Zakana sighed, turned away from Slowpoke, and opened his fridge. “My mom thinks she knows how I feel, but she doesn’t. I can be just as good as Kirish or her or Yumin even. I’ve chosen this life on purpose. I don’t want to partake. I don’t even want this dumb Slowpoke.” Suddenly, Zakana thought of returning it to the rocks he found it on. But not now. Food was more important now. Zakana removed some strawberry jam from the fridge, set in on the counter. He grabbed some bread, a knife, and began making his sandwich.
Yumin crossed his mind. How could his cousin have been kidnapped, and what was going on with father? Zakana set down his knife, jammed the two pieces of bread together. He thought of his mother’s words, her worried look, the slap on the face she had given him. She flew away and left him all alone. Maybe, after all this time, Zakana would need to join the world that his family was so deeply involved in.
Unlike Kirish, Zakana saw Yumin much more often. When his father came home, twice a year, Yumin usually came along. The two of them worked together, traveled together. In fact, Zakana wasn’t exactly sure what his father and cousin did. He knew it involved Pokemon of course. Could they really make all their money by battling other trainers?
He finished his sandwich, and drank a glass of water. The pack that he had laid on the kitchen table called to him. How soon would he need to leave Pallet? Just how serious, how accurate was his mother about everything?
They probably don’t even know you exist.
That was what Audria had said about the Viterals. The Viterals . . . whoever the heck they were.
Zakana eyed his Slowpoke. “How am I supposed to get to Kirish, anyway? There’s a ferry that goes out to those islands but that’s on the other side of town. I guess we better start walking.”
“Slowpoke!”
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you, but that’s the way it has to go. Once I meet up with Kirish, I can give her the papers and find out what’s going on. Maybe she’ll even take you off my hands.”
Zakana didn’t recognize his own voice. He only left home to go to school and do his workouts, and now he was thinking of leaving Pallet. His mother’s words rang in his head again.
It doesn’t make sense to you because you’ve chosen to remain blind, Zakana. And I understand why. I do. But I’m asking you to wake up now. There is no other choice.
Zakana was good at school—he was smart, but even with all his intelligence his mother had said a thing like that. Again, his anger flared.
The papers. Zakana thought of his father’s papers, moved to the bag he took the Pokedex from, looked inside. He pulled out a folder, set it on the table. During his studies of astronomy, Zakana followed a system of math and logic to find his solutions, and he realized that this wouldn’t be any different. He opened the folder, scanned it, felt how thin it was as he did.
Durin’s papers weren’t much to look at. There were only a few sheets there, unlike the giant stack Zakana had expected. He pulled out one sheet, examined it. The writing was tiny, almost illegible, just overly stylish scrawl on perfectly white paper. A symbol at the bottom left hand corner jumped out at him.
“This giant red ‘R’ . . . I feel like I’ve seen it before.”
“Slowpoke!”
“I almost forgot about you,” Zakana said turning to see his Pokemon still motionless on the floor, his tail hanging overhead.
Standing up, Zakana moved to one of the cupboards, pulled out a can of food. He sprinkled some of the soft brown Pokemon food near Slowpoke’s face. It took some time for the Pokemon to realize there was food in front of it. And even when it did, it took another ten seconds for it to take the first bite.
“Are you unaware of hunger too?” Zakana studied his Slowpoke, watched its every move now. “Do some of your kin starve because you don’t know when you’re hungry? The only reason I caught you was to show my mom that I could, but now I’m starting to regret it.”
If he ever did meet up with his mom again, what would she say if she saw Slowpoke? It wasn’t any great accomplishment, catching one of those. They lived on the cliffs behind the house. They weren’t rare, difficult to catch or special in any way. Zakana sighed, moved back to his place at the table. He tried to read the note but could only make out pieces of sentences.
The Pokemon you sent over . . . they are stronger in number and force . . . Team Rocket . . .
And then at the very end, signed, thank you, with the ‘R’ stamped on there. And then all at once it hit Zakana. He remembered where he’d seen the ‘R’ and what it meant.
Team Rocket.
From what it looked like, they were sending Durin a letter thanking him for something. Did that mean . . .?
Zakana shot out of his chair, performed the fastest movement he had all day. He stared down at the paper, then over at his Slowpoke.
“Team Rocket is notorious for causing problems within the Pokemon world. Does that mean . . . is Dad helping them? Is that why Yumin is in danger?”
Zakana pored over the document more, looked at the others, tried to find more clues, but they were mostly repeats of each other.
The wind outside picked up, howled against the roof. Clouds of charcoal gray rolled across the sky, blocked the sun from shining through the windows. Zakana became acutely aware of the rapid change in weather. He ran to the window, repeated his mother’s words, and for one painful moment, he knew he had taken too long.
Upstairs a window shattered, spilled glass into one of the bedrooms above. What Zakana saw outside was nothing he could have ever imagined would show up in Pallet. It was too strange, too out of place to make any sense. But even still, the winds continued to howl, and the snow began to fall—first in flurries and then harder, mixed with freezing rain and ice to create a hailstorm . . . in Pallet though?
Zakana gathered his father’s papers, thrust them in his bag, threw it over his shoulder.
“Slowpoke! I think it’s time we get out of here!”
Zakana fumbled for his Pokeball, tried to return his Slowpoke to him, but something threw him off course. Part of the house split asunder, ripped open right before Zakana’s eyes. The edge of the house, crushed by a giant piece of lumber, crumbled to the side and threw Zakana through the room like a lifeless Pokedoll. He slammed against the fridge, felt the handle in his back.
“What the hell—!”
There it was. Or rather, there they were. Two of the biggest Pokemon Zakana had ever seen in real life. They were giant leafy, wooden snow creatures, with white and green fur and demonic red eyes, as though they were under some sort of spell. They both held pieces of lumber, trees that dragged in the snow behind them.
Clouds of hail, flurries and white dust swirled around their heads and bodies almost as though they had brought the storm with them. And in that moment, Zakana’s mind made some quick connections. First—of course they had brought the storm with them. Second—everything The Pokeball landed square in the pink thing’s face. The ball opened, revealed an amorphous red light, and sucked the Pokemon inside whip-like. Zakana had seen it too many times to count, on TV, when his mother did it, in his dreams. Somehow, throwing a Pokeball and watching it in real time felt different. There was an unmistakable thrill that came with the real life kind. The Pokeball landed on the rock, bounced there once. It rolled side to side, once, twice, three times, and finally the red light filling the center circle went out. Instantly, the Pokeball flew through the air, and returned to Zakana’s outstretched hand.
He stood there dumfounded.
It was easy—almost too easy. Zakana threw a Pokeball and in doing so caught a Pokemon—his first ever Pokemon.
“I told you I could catch one, Mom!”
The anger welling up inside Zakana had not dissipated, and catching the pink thing made him even more confused than before. He had sworn never to catch one of them, never to partake in the world surrounding them, but here he was clutching his Pokeball, fiercely, as though he would never let it go. The winter winds whipped against the open parts of his face, reminded him where he was, what his mother had said. Quickly, he returned to the house.
“Kirish,” he began. “Just go to Kirish and she will take care of it. Kirish is the answer always,” Zakana said, mocking his mother’s iron voice. It had been almost three years since he had seen his older sister, and he really had no burning desire to change that. Whereas Zakana avoided the Pokemon universe at all costs, Kirish threw herself into all its activities. She took the stereotypical Pokemon journey, left Pallet town at age ten, chose her starter, searched the planet to be the world’s greatest Pokemon master, like so many before her. And for a while, she did pretty damn good. Of course she did. Kirish was perfect, and the only reason she hadn’t made it was because she changed her focus from trainer to breeder.
I just want to feel the love of Pokemon by helping them be happy and healthy,
Zakana couldn’t forget it. It was so trite and annoyingly subtle that it came off to him as aggressive. That was the thing about Kirish. She was bitingly sarcastic, passive aggressive, and as stubborn as the weeds in the backyard. What was so important about getting the papers to her so quickly anyway?
The living room and kitchen were just two stops on Audria’s path of destruction. All of the cabinets and closets opened, papers and packs on the floor reminded Zakana of the gravity of his mother’s words. She never made a mess, never left the house for more than a few days, and never ever took all her Pokemon with her. On other days, Zakana thought she left some behind just to get Zakana to spend time with them, but it never worked.
Zakana moved to the fridge, and realized the Pokeball was still in his hand. It didn’t squirm or shake anymore like it did when Zakana first threw it. It was still, the pink thing inside quietly waiting to be let out. It didn’t look or seem dangerous. In fact, it looked like the dumbest Pokemon he had ever seen. Zakana suddenly grew curious. This wasn’t his mother’s creepy Misdreavous or bratty little Piplup. This Pokemon was different because it was Zakana’s. Somewhat against his will, he smiled, tossed the ball to the floor, and said, “Pokeball, go!”
The same red light spilled out of the ball, formed the shape of the Pokemon, then went solid. From up close, Zakana noticed the Pokémon’s four white claws and its long, white-tipped tail. The pink dopey thing, eyes slowly focusing, looked up at Zakana and with a slow, raspy voice said, “Slowpoke!”
“God, you even sound like an idiot!” Zakana looked at his Pokemon, his eyebrows raised.
Slowpoke cocked its head to the side, said, “Slowpoke,” again.
“Yeah, I get it. You’re called Slowpoke. Whatever god or goddess named you had it right.”
Zakana rummaged through the pack his mother had given him, withdrew a red handheld device that opened like a book. He pointed the red bulb attached to the front of it at his Slowpoke.
The device clicked on, said in a mechanical voice, pausing rhythmically, “Slowpoke. The dopey Pokemon. Slowpoke takes time to respond to outside stimuli and is slow to notice its own pain.”
“Oh. Just perfect. No wonder you were so easy to catch.” Zakana sighed, turned away from Slowpoke, and opened his fridge. “My mom thinks she knows how I feel, but she doesn’t. I can be just as good as Kirish or her or Yumin even. I’ve chosen this life on purpose. I don’t want to partake. I don’t even want this dumb Slowpoke.” Suddenly, Zakana thought of returning it to the rocks he found it on. But not now. Food was more important now. Zakana removed some strawberry jam from the fridge, set in on the counter. He grabbed some bread, a knife, and began making his sandwich.
Yumin crossed his mind. How could his cousin have been kidnapped, and what was going on with father? Zakana set down his knife, jammed the two pieces of bread together. He thought of his mother’s words, her worried look, the slap on the face she had given him. She flew away and left him all alone. Maybe, after all this time, Zakana would need to join the world that his family was so deeply involved in.
Unlike Kirish, Zakana saw Yumin much more often. When his father came home, twice a year, Yumin usually came along. The two of them worked together, traveled together. In fact, Zakana wasn’t exactly sure what his father and cousin did. He knew it involved Pokemon of course. Could they really make all their money by battling other trainers?
He finished his sandwich, and drank a glass of water. The pack that he had laid on the kitchen table called to him. How soon would he need to leave Pallet? Just how serious, how accurate was his mother about everything?
They probably don’t even know you exist.
That was what Audria had said about the Viterals. The Viterals . . . whoever the heck they were.
Zakana eyed his Slowpoke. “How am I supposed to get to Kirish, anyway? There’s a ferry that goes out to those islands but that’s on the other side of town. I guess we better start walking.”
“Slowpoke!”
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you, but that’s the way it has to go. Once I meet up with Kirish, I can give her the papers and find out what’s going on. Maybe she’ll even take you off my hands.”
Zakana didn’t recognize his own voice. He only left home to go to school and do his workouts, and now he was thinking of leaving Pallet. His mother’s words rang in his head again.
It doesn’t make sense to you because you’ve chosen to remain blind, Zakana. And I understand why. I do. But I’m asking you to wake up now. There is no other choice.
Zakana was good at school—he was smart, but even with all his intelligence his mother had said a thing like that. Again, his anger flared.
The papers. Zakana thought of his father’s papers, moved to the bag he took the Pokedex from, looked inside. He pulled out a folder, set it on the table. During his studies of astronomy, Zakana followed a system of math and logic to find his solutions, and he realized that this wouldn’t be any different. He opened the folder, scanned it, felt how thin it was as he did.
Durin’s papers weren’t much to look at. There were only a few sheets there, unlike the giant stack Zakana had expected. He pulled out one sheet, examined it. The writing was tiny, almost illegible, just overly stylish scrawl on perfectly white paper. A symbol at the bottom left hand corner jumped out at him.
“This giant red ‘R’ . . . I feel like I’ve seen it before.”
“Slowpoke!”
“I almost forgot about you,” Zakana said turning to see his Pokemon still motionless on the floor, his tail hanging overhead.
Standing up, Zakana moved to one of the cupboards, pulled out a can of food. He sprinkled some of the soft brown Pokemon food near Slowpoke’s face. It took some time for the Pokemon to realize there was food in front of it. And even when it did, it took another ten seconds for it to take the first bite.
“Are you unaware of hunger too?” Zakana studied his Slowpoke, watched its every move now. “Do some of your kin starve because you don’t know when you’re hungry? The only reason I caught you was to show my mom that I could, but now I’m starting to regret it.”
If he ever did meet up with his mom again, what would she say if she saw Slowpoke? It wasn’t any great accomplishment, catching one of those. They lived on the cliffs behind the house. They weren’t rare, difficult to catch or special in any way. Zakana sighed, moved back to his place at the table. He tried to read the note but could only make out pieces of sentences.
The Pokemon you sent over . . . they are stronger in number and force . . . Team Rocket . . .
And then at the very end, signed, thank you, with the ‘R’ stamped on there. And then all at once it hit Zakana. He remembered where he’d seen the ‘R’ and what it meant.
Team Rocket.
From what it looked like, they were sending Durin a letter thanking him for something. Did that mean . . .?
Zakana shot out of his chair, performed the fastest movement he had all day. He stared down at the paper, then over at his Slowpoke.
“Team Rocket is notorious for causing problems within the Pokemon world. Does that mean . . . is Dad helping them? Is that why Yumin is in danger?”
Zakana pored over the document more, looked at the others, tried to find more clues, but they were mostly repeats of each other.
The wind outside picked up, howled against the roof. Clouds of charcoal gray rolled across the sky, blocked the sun from shining through the windows. Zakana became acutely aware of the rapid change in weather. He ran to the window, repeated his mother’s words, and for one painful moment, he knew he had taken too long.
Upstairs a window shattered, spilled glass into one of the bedrooms above. What Zakana saw outside was nothing he could have ever imagined would show up in Pallet. It was too strange, too out of place to make any sense. But even still, the winds continued to howl, and the snow began to fall—first in flurries and then harder, mixed with freezing rain and ice to create a hailstorm . . . in Pallet though?
Zakana gathered his father’s papers, thrust them in his bag, threw it over his shoulder.
“Slowpoke! I think it’s time we get out of here!”
Zakana fumbled for his Pokeball, tried to return his Slowpoke to him, but something threw him off course. Part of the house split asunder, ripped open right before Zakana’s eyes. The edge of the house, crushed by a giant piece of lumber, crumbled to the side and threw Zakana through the room like a lifeless Pokedoll. He slammed against the fridge, felt the handle in his back.
“What the hell—!”
There it was. Or rather, there they were. Two of the biggest Pokemon Zakana had ever seen in real life. They were giant leafy, wooden snow creatures, with white and green fur and demonic red eyes, as though they were under some sort of spell. They both held pieces of lumber, trees that dragged in the snow behind them.
Clouds of hail, flurries and white dust swirled around their heads and bodies almost as though they had brought the storm with them. And in that moment, Zakana’s mind made some quick connections. First—of course they had brought the storm with them. Second—everything Zakana’s mother said was absolutely true, and third and finally, Zakana was suddenly very grateful he had caught his Slowpoke because it was the only thing standing between him and the abominable creatures before him.
Zakana’s mother said was absolutely true, and third and finally, Zakana was suddenly very grateful he had caught his Slowpoke because it was the only thing standing between him and the abominable creatures before him.
