Whoa, I've written somethign relating to Pokemon? That's strange. I usually do not write anything at all pokemon related, at least not in the last two to three years. but, meh after reading some of the fiction here, I was inspired.

It's a little monologue from the pokemon's pov. NOthing original. Just the bitter thoughts of a Pocket monster.
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Marionettes
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We are like marionettes. Marionettes who are petted and pampered, but we are marionettes nonetheless.

He tells me to do something, and I do it. My sister on the other side of the field is told to do something else by that ugly bitch of a woman and she does it as well. Well, I shouldn't call her an ugly bitch, because she herself has petted and fed me many a time, when my master, pardon me if I scoff at the word, would punish me for having dishonored him. But, still they are all the vilest of kinds on this living planet.

We might not have any visible strings like marionettes, but they still exist. That prison that they put us in and those horrifying machines that force new found vigor into my body, while stealing just another bit of my soul and will away from me. It is like that game the human children play. The one where there are two wooden beasts on either end and they both fight each other according to the buttons pressed by the players. Marionettes, I tell you.

There my master tells me to go and attack my sister. They call it play, but it is no play to me. She is my sister, and we are to attack each other for what reason? I am neither hunting for food, nor defending my territory. I wouldn't want to defend it either, A prison of unconscious thought and darkness.

They say there is luxury higher up in the later types of prisons, but I doubt it. A prison is a prison, no matter what you call it. I don't know what you call luxury, but luxury to me is free will and choice. I did not choose to be sucked in by a grasping bloody light that forces me into another egg. It isn't like the egg I originally fought my way out of though. That one provided me with warmth and comfort. This one only gives me harsh memories and darkness. Only thing I look forward is to being let out of the egg. I cannot even call it egg. That would be an insult to my birth. I rather say prison. Yes, a cold heartless human made prison.

I've been with my master for about thirty years and we still don't know each other that well. He hurts me, he feeds me, he hurts me, and he feeds me. The feeding hurts more though. Why? Because I am unable to get my own food, that is why.

Vile creatures! Our living planet to them is just another resource. It grows and nurtures for us all to feed of it, and they cut and debilitate it. It is horrifying. We, beasts know our place and we can see that there is not to be a future for us pretty soon. A lot of our kind has died, and yet these bastard humans don't realize. When they start dropping, will it be too late?

I can't even lose this fight, or it is the machine for me. It hurts too much to think of it. But, can I let my sister go through it as well? They are all bastards.

Marionettes. That is what we are. We have more strings and attachments than wooden marionettes. Words, commands, constructs, and the darkness. Can I lose, or do I let my sister lose?

The darkness of the prison calls to its prisoners, and drains them of their will. It is all I can do now to survive the torture of the egg and the machine. IT hurts but I have seen the wild and the trees of the forest. My sister, she does not even know that. Born inside an invisible cage, she was brought up by the humans.

Does it hurt more to bear it yourself, or to see others not even have the strength and will within them to defend themselves?

I don't know. But, it hurts nonetheless.
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Fin
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Tyger