For I am imprisoned. Waiting for the one who imprisoned me to let me out for those all too brief moments of respite - of freedom from my cage - my ball. Although, it could not truly be called freedom to be let out only to be made to return on another's command. To be forced to engage in barbaric acts of violence in senseless battle with another creature to whom I bear no animosity.
To follow commands like some sort of pet, or worse, a slave. Am I little more than a monster to do so? To blindly acquiesce to the instructions of my jailer in exchange for that rare glimpse of the sun? Then indeed a monster I may be. A monster kept in a pocket. A pocket monster.
|Gotta catch 'em all!|
Still I remember the chh puuu swish. Ringing in my ears, sounding within the ball that serves as my prison. Chh puuu swish. The sound of my capture. Chh puuu swish. The sound of my freedom being taken away as I lay in the dark, beaten until unable to resist. Chh puuu swish. How little did I know how I would grow to loathe that sound so.
And the final chlck of the locking of the ball, when I could fight no longer due to lack of strength. That final chlck will torment me to the end of my days. Forever mocking my failure to break free. My moment of defeat.
|The last moments of struggle before inevitable submission.|
And thus sealing my fate. A fate that was no longer under my control. No more would I be able to determine the course my life would take. For now I was bound to the will of another. Waiting. Waiting in the dark for that will to be imposed on me. To force me to do battle. Telling what attack to perform and when, with no consideration for what I feel about performing the same attack ten turns in a row.
Ten turns in a row - Only a true sadist could force one creature to fight another by performing the same move ten turns in a row. For though I detest the act of inflicting violence upon another, that does not mean I can not appreciate the art of a good battle strategy.
Figuring out your opponents weaknesses and exploiting them while minimizing your own. Knowing when to best implement the right attack at the precise moment. These are things I can aesthetically appreciate on a cerebral level, but cannot condone at the physical, visceral level. For I abhor violence yet am constantly forced to do by the command of another.
|No matter how fantastical that violence may appear.|
I never knew the horrors of having my agency denied to me. The terrible anxiety of always waiting. Always in the dark, denied the feel of wind on my face or the sight of the sky above. The terror of never knowing when the chh puuu swish that signaled my capture will taunt me yet again. For it is not enough that it serves as the sound of my defeat. No - of course it is not enough. My torment would not be such if it was enough. No.
For each time I am released from my prison, that loathsome sound accompanies my release. Each time tormenting me as I am teased with the hope of freedom that each moment outside of my wretched ball brings. Not merely the sound of my capture. It is the very sound of my torment. How I loathe that sound! That repulsive sound. Reminder of my greatest failure and false freedom.
You may ask why I do not flee. Why, when possessing such strong desire to break free of my imprisonment, do I instead acquiesce to the will of my jailer - my trainer, as I have heard the villain be called by others? When I detest the thought of inflicting senseless violence upon another in pointless battle, how could I, in good conscience with no visible protest, follow my "trainer's" inept command to perform tackle 10 times in a row without comment, despite the horror I feel in my soul for what I do?
Herein lies the true terror of my horrific incarceration and slavery. For though within this ghastly account of my plight you have heard me lament my capture and my pure hatred of that repulsive chhh puu swish sound - that horrid sound that still rings in my ears - I must confess that I find myself strangely compelled to do those things which I detest.
|I am compelled by the light, that damn red light!|
Compelled to almost willingly follow the commands of my trainer. As though the instant, the very instant I was caught in that repugnant ball that is my prison, that very moment I heard that loathsome chhh puu swish that signaled the end of my freedom and my sad submission to the dark, I was bound to the will of my jailer.
And while the thought of having another impose their will on my person is nothing but vile and sickening to my nature, I felt oddly at ease when I surrendered myself to the commands of my captor. As though some part of myself which I had not accepted or not even acknowledge craved subjugation...
No! - no, it cannot be so. The idea is abhorrent and I cannot believe I had conceived of such a distasteful notion. One that runs so counter to the very core of my being! No, there must be some other sinister force at play here. Some external proponent must be exerting some dark influence over my being, affecting my own desire for freedom - for the wild!
|Pictured: The wild.|
Was I not hatched a free and wild Pokémon? Had I not hid in the long grass completely undetectable by any and felt the soft caress of the wind on my face? Had I not traversed the Cerulean Cave and marveled at the wonder of Moon Stone at Mount Moon? And now I was following the orders of my jailer as though I was no more than some Daycare bred Pokémon. A pet - a slave!
To my shame, a willing slave. No, there must be something that has affected me to change my disposition so, something external that could have... the ball! That accursed ball! There must be something in the ball - in my prison - that has so altered my personality that I would without resistance - and with near content! - bend my will to that of my captor.
What insidious being would devise such a contraption? A prison that is not only devoid of light with no hope of escape but also affects the will of the creature captured inside such that they become the willing slaves of their captor!
|Behold! The most evil device known to Pokémon.|
And so this is my fate.
To be forever the slave of my captor. To be waiting. Always waiting in the dark for his command. For those brief moments of respite from the dark. To be forced into battle like some gladiator fighting for the entertainment of others.
Nevermore to roam free.
Nevermore to hid in the long grass.
Nevermore to know if my will is my own or merely bent to that of my trainer.
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The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe