- 20
- Posts
- 8
- Years
- Seen Aug 4, 2016
summary;; an abused teenager runs away from his family to start his pokemon journey. he ends up in the mysterious region known as mysste, leagues away from his birthplace in kanto, with no recollection of how he got there. and so, he and his Shinx Themba must travel to find out how he got there and who took him there, leading him straight into the heart of the region's most heated battles.
PROLOGUE
The boy makes his escape in the dead of night. There is no other time to make this risky move. If he wants to get out of the house without his parents noticing, he has to do it fast. He starts packing his bag when the air begins to cool outside, the sun's merciless rays finally putting themselves to rest behind the canopy of trees. He doesn't even need to go outside to know that it is time. Something inside of him just... knows. He feels his heart jump to his throat when his parents walk by his room a few times, voices raised in some petty argument, but he doesn't bother to listen to their words. After tonight, he won't need to listen to them ever again. Won't need to hear how much they hate him, how much they regret bringing him into this world.
The boy shoves more clothes into his bag, practically punching them in. He can feel his anger rising, as much as he tries to hold it back. What's the use in holding it in now? He won't be around for much longer. Once he's shoved several pairs of clothing inside of it, the boy zips up the backpack, looking around his room for anything else of value he wants to bring with him on his journey. He nabs his wallet with a few dollars still inside of it and shoves it in his pocket. It won't last for long, but it should be able to last long enough until he can get into town and start winning some battles. Then he'll have all of the money he needs.
After his bag has been packed, now he has to play the waiting game. The sound of his parents' footsteps echoing through the house has to stop before he can even think about leaving. He sits on his bed, ears pricked and listening, bag in his lap. He hopes this won't be one of those nights where his parents decide to stay up into the early hours of the night arguing. Thankfully, tonight doesn't seem to be one of those nights; they go to bed relatively early, and leave the boy to his own devices. He slings his bag over his shoulder, then slowly opens the creaky door to his room. There's still one more thing he has to grab.
He sneaks out of the room and down the stairs, careful to skip the creaky third step to avoid any chance of him getting caught. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs on feet quiet as a cat's, he quickly walks into the kitchen, covering almost two steps at the rate of one. His full bag thumps against his back, but he ignores it as he closes in on his destination: a singular cabinet underneath the microwave. He opens it up to find what he's looking for: a cache of empty Pokeballs. Unzipping his bag, he shoves as many of them as he can into his bag, counting a total of twenty. That's probably way more than he needs, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters now is getting out of here.
The boy gives one last look to the place that's been his prison for the past fifteen years. He doesn't think he'll miss it. No, he knows he won't miss it. With a final fleeting glance, he shoulders his bag and opens the front door, carefully shutting it behind him and then taking off down the street.
Ricky Bradley is finally free.
PROLOGUE
The boy makes his escape in the dead of night. There is no other time to make this risky move. If he wants to get out of the house without his parents noticing, he has to do it fast. He starts packing his bag when the air begins to cool outside, the sun's merciless rays finally putting themselves to rest behind the canopy of trees. He doesn't even need to go outside to know that it is time. Something inside of him just... knows. He feels his heart jump to his throat when his parents walk by his room a few times, voices raised in some petty argument, but he doesn't bother to listen to their words. After tonight, he won't need to listen to them ever again. Won't need to hear how much they hate him, how much they regret bringing him into this world.
The boy shoves more clothes into his bag, practically punching them in. He can feel his anger rising, as much as he tries to hold it back. What's the use in holding it in now? He won't be around for much longer. Once he's shoved several pairs of clothing inside of it, the boy zips up the backpack, looking around his room for anything else of value he wants to bring with him on his journey. He nabs his wallet with a few dollars still inside of it and shoves it in his pocket. It won't last for long, but it should be able to last long enough until he can get into town and start winning some battles. Then he'll have all of the money he needs.
After his bag has been packed, now he has to play the waiting game. The sound of his parents' footsteps echoing through the house has to stop before he can even think about leaving. He sits on his bed, ears pricked and listening, bag in his lap. He hopes this won't be one of those nights where his parents decide to stay up into the early hours of the night arguing. Thankfully, tonight doesn't seem to be one of those nights; they go to bed relatively early, and leave the boy to his own devices. He slings his bag over his shoulder, then slowly opens the creaky door to his room. There's still one more thing he has to grab.
He sneaks out of the room and down the stairs, careful to skip the creaky third step to avoid any chance of him getting caught. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs on feet quiet as a cat's, he quickly walks into the kitchen, covering almost two steps at the rate of one. His full bag thumps against his back, but he ignores it as he closes in on his destination: a singular cabinet underneath the microwave. He opens it up to find what he's looking for: a cache of empty Pokeballs. Unzipping his bag, he shoves as many of them as he can into his bag, counting a total of twenty. That's probably way more than he needs, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters now is getting out of here.
The boy gives one last look to the place that's been his prison for the past fifteen years. He doesn't think he'll miss it. No, he knows he won't miss it. With a final fleeting glance, he shoulders his bag and opens the front door, carefully shutting it behind him and then taking off down the street.
Ricky Bradley is finally free.