Hey, Serebii, here is another fic by me that I have recently started. If you don't know me already, I am the author of the finished fic, Survival Project. It was a ton of fun writing and finishing that fic and I want to try my hand at another journey fic.
The fic will be an epistolary fic, which means the story will be entirely told in letters. While this sounds boring to some, I can ensure you plenty of description, both emotional and physical, will be present enough to keep you interested. The journey will have many ups and downs and there will be many secrets to uncover about the Kalos region and its people. There will be two letters released at a time every two weeks or so.
I would like to say that there will be no spoilers for X/Y except for town names, route names, and description of game graphics. Another disclaimer is that I do not own pokemon in its entirety.
Please feel free to read, review, or, preferably, in my case, both. Thanks!
Story is rated borderline PG-13 for future sexual themes and complex concepts such as death.
// . PM LIST
- The Great Butler
- Bulba the Great
- Luphinid Silnaek
- Crystal Sneasel
// . LETTERS
1, 2 - this post
3, 4 - here
5, 6 - here
7, 8 - here
9, 10 - here
11, 12 - here
13, 14 - here
LETTERS 1 AND 2
Dear Markus Samaras,
I know I’ll be lucky if you even open this, but please do not throw away my letter just yet. They all told me that this was a stupid idea on my part. They all told me that you’ll probably want nothing to do with me, people “like you” (their words, not mine) don’t want an outsider’s pity, but I’m not here to give you pity. I’ll explain why I’m writing to you later. I need to get your attention as quickly as possible, don’t I? So don’t throw this letter away yet, because I believe in you. I’d bet my life on you—every single part of it. Oh, and yes, I’m well aware that I hardly know you.
Where do I start? I don’t want to bring you down, but I’ve been asked again and again, “How could you be so foolish, Haley? What are you thinking?” And it’s not just because I’m writing to a man in prison. If that sounds harsh, I’m sorry, but I don’t like to sugarcoat things. I want things to be as realistic and as honest as possible. Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I just turned eighteen. For a while I have been reevaluating my life, wondering if I was really where I wanted to be, being homeschooled in this city with its blinding lights and noises that say nothing. (I’ll tell you where I’m from and where I’m going if you decide to write to me, but not right now. I still have to play it safe.) I was always waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did. I recently realized that it was up to me to do something about my life. This year I had my golden birthday. What a perfect opportunity, right? I told my parents I no longer wanted schooling. Instead I want to travel from city to city with my pokémon, the only ones that have ever been there for me and understood me.
I guess you could be asking why I am writing to you if I seem to detest people so much. It’s not that I detest them, really. It’s quite the opposite. I want to know everyone and everything. Someone once asked me if I strive for omnipotence. Maybe, but I know it’s impossible. I want to be that person that someone approaches on the street because they need somebody, anybody at all. I want to be that person who hears all kinds of life stories simply because I look approachable and friendly. That means I want to know everything about you, but I understand if you don’t want to tell me everything right away. I’m hoping this will be something we can do in the long run, so I am okay with learning about you slowly. Anyway, I just don’t think the people here are living up to their full potential. Every day I see the same faces, even though there are so many. Every day I see them going to the same places with the same disgruntled looks and slouched shoulders. How bizarre and unsightly. I don’t like it. There’s got to be something better out there.
I’m sorry if I’m saying too much all at once. That’s just how I am. I can tell you more basics if it makes you feel better. If you’re wanting to here more of my thoughts, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Well, my father is my teacher and a stay-at-home dad for me and my younger brother, Joey. My mother works as a nurse at a pokémon center. They’re all against what I want to do. They don’t think I can become knowledgeable out in the real world, or, mostly in my brother’s case, they think it’s too dangerous. I’ve tried to see where they’re coming from, but we’re too different. The only person I’m particularly close to is my grandmother. She gave me my first two pokémon, Seybs and Ribbons. Seybs was a gift for Christmas when I turned thirteen. She thought it was appropriate to celebrate my transition into being a teenager. Seybs is a young pidgeotto and I named him because Seybs is a shortened version of my grandmother’s previous surname. People thought this was weird, but Seybs likes it and I do, too. Why can’t pokémon be named after humans, too? I just wanted to show my grandmother that she’s special. I know she’s not supportive of me either, but she is doing her best, and that is what counts. I know she’s trying because she bought Ribbons for me from a professional breeder in Johto recently. She said I needed another pokémon that wasn’t as lazy as Seybs. Sorry, Seybs, but I have to agree. Ribbons is a natu. The red spike on the back of his head reminded me of a ribbon, hence his name. Because he’s so protective and alert, he’s truly like a prize to me. He’s a symbol of what I want to accomplish on my upcoming journey. I’ve only had him for a week and I can already tell he’ll be a great pokémon.
I guess I should tell you why I’m writing to you. Along with wanting to meet people, I just want to see new sights, things I’ve never seen before. New lights, festivals and parties, anything at all. I don’t think those kinds of things should be left to the eye alone. The view becomes especially spectacular when you can describe it to someone else and make them feel the same as you did when you first saw it. That’s the kind of connection I want with you. Is that too weird? And you’re probably wondering… Why you, of all people? Well, my brother is one year younger than me and he’s been in a whole lot more trouble than I have. He claims that’s why he knows my journey is dangerous. He’s handled drugs with many people of many different ages. He said he knows you because of that. I don’t want to assume you’re in jail because of drugs, but that’s what’s in my mind right now. He says you probably got caught one day and sent to jail for rehabilitation. Is this true? Again, I don’t want to push you, but I don’t want to make assumptions, either. I chose you because I had to choose someone, and someone my brother knows is the best it’s going to get. Also, I feel that you will appreciate knowing about the outside world from someone else’s point of view until you’re free and can see it for yourself.
I don’t know anything about you, but I would like to. Won’t you write back to me?
You can call me Mark. Markus makes me sound like I’m old, though I am already thirty and am having trouble moving and moving on, if you know what I mean. I am indeed a former drug addict, though there may or may not be a part of me—maybe an arm, maybe a leg—that still craves the stuff once in a great while. You say you want to know everything about me, so I start with that. I will not give you details, but I will tell you everything you want to hear. I don’t believe in sugarcoating, either, and as you will learn, I am very blunt. I don’t leave room for questions that I don’t want you to wonder about. Ask me direct questions and I’ll sidestep you the best that I can, but if you ask me indirectly, you will, in time, learn almost everything that you are aching to know. I will tell you the truth, but there will be no honesty. If anything, I would be your enigma. Are you still interested in talking to me?
I’ve been thinking a lot about what I would say to you. There is not much to say. I too see the same things every day. I hear other inmates yelling obscenities and I see cold, gray bars. I see a blur of orange jumpsuits or an unforgettable shade of blue on the cops that occasionally swing by. All I’ve been doing is lying on my rather uncomfortable cot and looking at the ceiling. Above me is a very vast sky, but I can’t see it, and, even if I could look through walls, first I’d see my neighbors, more ingrates that society deems unworthy of their time! But you are different. For some ungodly reason you want to talk to me… I do not recall your brother, I must say… Nonetheless, you are sweet, and even if you change your mind, I will not forget you.
The only thing that makes me stand out is that I will tell you stories like no other. I’ve been places, too, from the big places like Lumiose City to the small towns, like Santalune. I’ve had several jobs and met many people. Maybe we can help each other out. I must admit, however, that I tend to exaggerate a lot. My own parents inflated everything that ever happened to them. If a glass of milk was spilled, then the whole house was drowning. Do you get what I mean? Let me tell you the story of my birth, and maybe it will tell you where I went wrong. Supposedly, my mother was having quadruplets when she had me. Unfortunately, she knew not all babies would survive. Sure, we would all be born, and so we were, but my three brothers did not last long. She was, she said, a woman who could spit out fire in her sleep, after all... The fire struck all the babies after one week of her trying to suppress her powers, and I was the only one who survived the wounds. What really happened, I cannot tell you, but here I am, with no kinship to hold or scars to prove there were others like me. Again, are you interested in talking to me? You can still leave.
Regardless, I will not be like other adults and tell you what you are doing is silly and wrong. I have no place in telling you anything regarding morals. From the words you told me you want to know all about culture. Why do people act the way they do? What do they believe in? Those kinds of questions seem to be the ones you are asking. It should be obvious to you already that culture is not just about the foods people eat and their annual customs, like the schools mostly teach about.
Cultures are all integrated. They unintentionally bounce ideas off each other and alter themselves based off of what they learn. I will not give specific examples. I will leave it to you to learn about the individual cities here in the Kalos region.
Cultures are also changing all the time. What Lumiose City was like for me could totally be different from the Lumiose City you will see on your journey. Do not fret about this and think you are being cheated. It just means that you are seeing the better version of the city, and you should be grateful.
What else can I say? Cultures are strengthened by their values. Each individual you will meet may act in a specific way, either because of their culture or the way they were raised or a combination of both. Cultures are fluid and negotiable—something you do or say could change an entire culture! What would you think of that? Oh, and absolutely, cultures are unique to us human beings. Pokémon do not experience cultures the way we do. They experience communities, yes, but nothing as expansive or as wild as a culture. Perhaps, however, you can teach them what it is like to be you. Assuming you can’t talk to your pokémon yet, they will appreciate it on those days where they cannot communicate with you fully.
It’s almost just as important to know what cultures are not. A person’s culture is not the sole explanation for anything a person does. Culture is not the result of a complete consensus; you will definitely meet rebels and outcasts. Culture is not the same thing as civilization or society, nor is it the same as being refined or sophisticated, as some may think themselves to be. Don’t fall into these traps. One culture does not define us all, and one culture cannot make another look inferior or superior.
This is the best advice I can give you. …You must forgive me for taking so long to write to you. I would give an excuse but there is none.