I wrote this "fan fiction" (it isn't quite finished, but I suppose it could qualify by itself), putting a darker spin on Pokemon than ever before, about a year ago. Because I've recently gotten back into Pokemon, I decided to post this story for your enjoyment and critique. WARNING: Contains a bit of violence. Just letting you know. When you wake up tied to a cheap metal folding chair by ropes that grind into your wrists you begin to wonder why exactly people get so involved in money in the first place. You begin to question the importance of worldly wealth in the grand scheme of things. It was in these thoughts that I found the problem of this world: using nature as a means to gain the material instead of using the material as a means to gain oneness with nature. A door swung open and a light blinded me so strongly that I physically felt the heat of the neon tubes upon my face. Then, a large portion was blotted out by a man in a suit and tie. I'm surprised he came down here – he might get his cufflinks dirty. A veiny hand ripped at my hair holding it as Perseus held the Medusa's severed head, and the man bent down and looked me in the eyes behind black sunglasses. His hair smelled like sculpting product. “Tell me what you found, boy,” said the man into my ear through clenched teeth. I felt a ball of pressure smack into my abdomen. I remained silent. The man let go of my hair and brushed his jacket aside, pulling a handgun from his waistband. He put it to my forehead and demanded that I speak. I told him that I would rather take the bullet. Pulling the barrel of the gun from my sweaty brow, he snapped his fingers and left the room with a nonchalant, “Very well.” A moment later, I heard dragging footsteps and guttural snorts from the light before me. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a figure lumbering through the door. It stood on two legs covered by thick, black fur, the skin on its torso was a golden yellow color. Two large ears flapped on either side of its bulbous head, adorned respectively with a slobbering maw and dripping snout no longer than a foot. Despite its unusual appearance, the snorting creature's most frightening characteristic was its milky egg-yolk eyes. It extended its stubby arms and pointed all six of its fingers at my head. At this point, I began to panic. A bullet to the head is relatively painless, the mental biting of a Drowzee was no laughing batter. This was the reason that many of Team Rocket's former business partners entered mental asylums. This was the monster under the bed. I began to wiggle my wrists under the rope bearing its abrasive caress with hopes of escaping my dismal fate. The slobbering monstrosity's grunting became melodious as its dancing fingers began to catch my eye. Attempting to resist, I shut my eyes and shouted nonsense, hoping to drown out the hypnotic gurgling. It was no use: even gods minded Drowzee. A splitting sound ripped into my ears and I jolted back to consciousness, frantically anticipating the onset of pain. Upon its absence and the coppery taste on my lips mixed with yogurt lumps of yellow, I looked into the light to see the crumpled cadaver of my imminent demise at the feet of none other than my childhood friend, a pistol gripped firmly in his right hand and his wild brown hair speckled with red. “Blue,” I shouted in surprise, spitting flesh chunks from my mouth, “What are you doing here?” “Saving your sorry ass from these goons,” he said, cutting the rope shackles with a pocket knife. “C'mon Red, we have a corporation to save.”
Thank you very much! I will eventually elaborate on it, but I'm going to be very busy for a while. Perhaps once things settle down a bit. Also, I was briefly working on a MLP: FiM fan fiction, parodying Fight Club, but I decided to drop it...I'd rather not corrupt something as innocent as MLP: FiM.
