My name is Chi, and I'm a banette.
I know what you're thinking. You think that this is gonna be another one of those stories about how I was thrown away by my owner, and how I was so consumed by anger, that I became a banette, and then I found her again and killed her. Well, my story is quite different to that of other banettes. See, my owner loved me. As in, really really loved me. She would never have dreamed of ever throwing me away.
I remember the day that she found me. I was beautiful; a soft, fluffy pachirisu, with shiny glass eyes, and rosy yellow cheeks. I was on a shelf in a toy shop, next to at least a hundred other dolls, all of whom were identical to me. I watched children come and go, picking out bigger, fancier dolls, which had clothes and shoes and moving parts, and cried like real pokemon if you pressed their paws.
I was starting to lose hope that anyone would ever want me. I was nothing special, after all. Just a cuddly toy pachirisu. I could not cry like the other dolls. I had no clothes or shoes which I could be dressed up in. I could not move.
And then she spotted me.
It happened so fast; within the space of about a minute, I was snatched from my shelf, and then I was carried over to a man, whose name was 'Daddy'. The little girl who'd taken me told him that she wanted me. He tried to talk her out of it. He showed her lots of other dolls who were far more special than me.
My heart almost stopped when he showed her an enormous milotic doll. The doll was more beautiful that I could ever have dreamed of being; its glass eyes were perfectly clear and polished. The material it was made from was a beautiful beige, and as soft as the most luxurious velvet. Its stitches were barely visible.
And yet, she held onto me, and declared that she wanted me. It was the luckiest day of my life.
Later that night, when I arrived at my new home, I learned that her name was Claire, and when she put me on her bed, I got a good look at her for the first time. She was beautiful; rosy cheeks, golden curly hair, big blue eyes. She declared that I was going to be called Chi, and that she and I would be best friends forever.
"Claire and Chi, Claire and Chi, best friends forever, you and me," she gleefully sang as she swung me around by the paws. How beautiful her smile was. How happy and full of energy she was.
She hid me in her bag when she went to school, and got me out at playtime, where I would play games with her. After school, she took me to the park, and pushed me down the slide, and held me while she went on the swings. She set a place for me at dinner, and when the day came to an end, she snuggled up with me and went to sleep.
She told me everything. I learned that her favourite colour was red, and that she hated carrots and onions. I learned that she didn't like Ashlynn from blue class, because she pulled her hair and teased her.
And she told me that when she grew up, she was going to be a trainer. And that she'd take me with her on her journey, and let all of her real pokemon play with me.
That was her dream. But dreams are just that, aren't they?
She started getting sick. Daddy and Mummy took her a doctor. The doctor said that she needed to see other doctors. I remember how much she cried as those strange people prodded her with cold tools and needles. How she sobbed into my fur, and begged Mummy and Daddy to take her home.
They said that she needed to go to a 'hospital'. She was put in a cold, sterile bed, much different from the soft one which we shared at home. She stopped playing with me, day by day.
She started losing all of her beautiful curls. She no longer had the strength to pick me up. The sparkle in her eyes faded. I sat on her bed as she looked at me, and tried to smile.
Then, while she was asleep one night, I heard doctors talking. Mummy and Daddy were there too.
I didn't manage to make out most of what they said, except for 'terminal'. And then Mummy and Daddy started crying.
And then there came a day when Claire stopped moving.
And then I was taken home. Mummy and Daddy packed up all of Claire's things, including me. They threw them all away, except for the pictures.
I didn't understand. Why wouldn't Claire move anymore? Why had they thrown all of her books and clothes and favourite things away? She was going to come home someday, and she was going to grow up and become a trainer, right? Right?
I was Claire's best friend. How dare they just get rid of me! And then I felt something explode within me.
When I awoke, I found that I could move. And I could fight. I wasn't a pachirisu doll anymore. I didn't know what I was, but I was strong.
I cut my way out of the bin bag. I saw a car taking Mummy and Daddy away. I followed it.
We arrived at a church. There were lots of people in black, and a car carrying a little white box with flowers on it. Mummy sobbed. Daddy put his arm around her.
A man in flowing robes started to speak. And I'll never forget what he said at the end.
"In loving memory of Claire Dionne-Wells."
I think that was when I knew.
Claire wasn't like me. She walked and talked and sometimes scraped her knee and got sick. I did not. I never felt pain, nor was I ever really alive. I was a toy. I couldn't scrape my knees. I couldn't catch colds. I couldn't have, what they called, 'cancer'. I couldn't ever die.
I stood by her grave after it was over. There was a carving of a pachirisu on it.
For the first time ever, I cried.
I know what you're thinking. You think that this is gonna be another one of those stories about how I was thrown away by my owner, and how I was so consumed by anger, that I became a banette, and then I found her again and killed her. Well, my story is quite different to that of other banettes. See, my owner loved me. As in, really really loved me. She would never have dreamed of ever throwing me away.
I remember the day that she found me. I was beautiful; a soft, fluffy pachirisu, with shiny glass eyes, and rosy yellow cheeks. I was on a shelf in a toy shop, next to at least a hundred other dolls, all of whom were identical to me. I watched children come and go, picking out bigger, fancier dolls, which had clothes and shoes and moving parts, and cried like real pokemon if you pressed their paws.
I was starting to lose hope that anyone would ever want me. I was nothing special, after all. Just a cuddly toy pachirisu. I could not cry like the other dolls. I had no clothes or shoes which I could be dressed up in. I could not move.
And then she spotted me.
It happened so fast; within the space of about a minute, I was snatched from my shelf, and then I was carried over to a man, whose name was 'Daddy'. The little girl who'd taken me told him that she wanted me. He tried to talk her out of it. He showed her lots of other dolls who were far more special than me.
My heart almost stopped when he showed her an enormous milotic doll. The doll was more beautiful that I could ever have dreamed of being; its glass eyes were perfectly clear and polished. The material it was made from was a beautiful beige, and as soft as the most luxurious velvet. Its stitches were barely visible.
And yet, she held onto me, and declared that she wanted me. It was the luckiest day of my life.
Later that night, when I arrived at my new home, I learned that her name was Claire, and when she put me on her bed, I got a good look at her for the first time. She was beautiful; rosy cheeks, golden curly hair, big blue eyes. She declared that I was going to be called Chi, and that she and I would be best friends forever.
"Claire and Chi, Claire and Chi, best friends forever, you and me," she gleefully sang as she swung me around by the paws. How beautiful her smile was. How happy and full of energy she was.
She hid me in her bag when she went to school, and got me out at playtime, where I would play games with her. After school, she took me to the park, and pushed me down the slide, and held me while she went on the swings. She set a place for me at dinner, and when the day came to an end, she snuggled up with me and went to sleep.
She told me everything. I learned that her favourite colour was red, and that she hated carrots and onions. I learned that she didn't like Ashlynn from blue class, because she pulled her hair and teased her.
And she told me that when she grew up, she was going to be a trainer. And that she'd take me with her on her journey, and let all of her real pokemon play with me.
That was her dream. But dreams are just that, aren't they?
She started getting sick. Daddy and Mummy took her a doctor. The doctor said that she needed to see other doctors. I remember how much she cried as those strange people prodded her with cold tools and needles. How she sobbed into my fur, and begged Mummy and Daddy to take her home.
They said that she needed to go to a 'hospital'. She was put in a cold, sterile bed, much different from the soft one which we shared at home. She stopped playing with me, day by day.
She started losing all of her beautiful curls. She no longer had the strength to pick me up. The sparkle in her eyes faded. I sat on her bed as she looked at me, and tried to smile.
Then, while she was asleep one night, I heard doctors talking. Mummy and Daddy were there too.
I didn't manage to make out most of what they said, except for 'terminal'. And then Mummy and Daddy started crying.
And then there came a day when Claire stopped moving.
And then I was taken home. Mummy and Daddy packed up all of Claire's things, including me. They threw them all away, except for the pictures.
I didn't understand. Why wouldn't Claire move anymore? Why had they thrown all of her books and clothes and favourite things away? She was going to come home someday, and she was going to grow up and become a trainer, right? Right?
I was Claire's best friend. How dare they just get rid of me! And then I felt something explode within me.
When I awoke, I found that I could move. And I could fight. I wasn't a pachirisu doll anymore. I didn't know what I was, but I was strong.
I cut my way out of the bin bag. I saw a car taking Mummy and Daddy away. I followed it.
We arrived at a church. There were lots of people in black, and a car carrying a little white box with flowers on it. Mummy sobbed. Daddy put his arm around her.
A man in flowing robes started to speak. And I'll never forget what he said at the end.
"In loving memory of Claire Dionne-Wells."
I think that was when I knew.
Claire wasn't like me. She walked and talked and sometimes scraped her knee and got sick. I did not. I never felt pain, nor was I ever really alive. I was a toy. I couldn't scrape my knees. I couldn't catch colds. I couldn't have, what they called, 'cancer'. I couldn't ever die.
I stood by her grave after it was over. There was a carving of a pachirisu on it.
For the first time ever, I cried.
