A New Adventure, Another Day

You awaken at the crack of dawn, room split by an ember ray. Your Pikachu clock ticks on the desk beside your bed, its glowing digits flashing a crisp 5:23 AM. Rubbing your eyes, you peek through barely parted curtains, the sun cresting east beyond Pallet Town. You stretch, grab fresh clothes, and slip out to shower.

Kitchen sounds hum as you step from the shower. Mum’s awake. Back in your room, you pack your bag, glancing at Bulbasaur dozing nearby. You smile at its strength yesterday, giving its bulb a soft pat, then head downstairs to the smell of eggs and fresh bread. In the kitchen, your mother glances from the stove, pride in her eyes, worry shadowing her smile. You sigh as she speaks. “Morning, Amber. I heard some of last night. Blue didn’t sound happy. You’ve got him under your thumb, don’t you, dear?”

“You heard that?” you gasp, then grin. “Yep! Whipped him good. By Cerulean, he’ll owe me $2400. He’s my little cash Growlithe now.” You wink, pouring juice. She beams, setting down eggs on toast, but her smile fades to concern. “I’m proud you’re standing tall, sweetheart, but watch out. Push too hard, and he’ll snap back. **** gets ugly. Be careful, will you?” You nod, swallowing toast. “Don’t worry, Mum, I will,” you say, draining your glass. You thank her, grab your cap, and step out with Bulbasaur at your heels.

At Pallet Town’s edge, 18 years of quiet life linger behind you. They weren't bad years, you think to yourself. But they weren't enough either. You’ve always ached to roam, to raise a team of Pokémon, to carve your path as a strong trainer through Kanto, maybe the world. You kneel beside Bulbasaur, caressing its vine gently, and like the sun in the distance, the realisation begins to dawn on you, flooding you with anticipation. Your nervousness is cut short—a Pidgey bursts from the grass, its caw piercing the serene morning.

It locks eyes with Bulbasaur and swoops, beak glinting with reckless fury. “Vine Whip, now!” you start, arm splayed towards the oncoming attack, pulse hammering. Bulbasaur snaps its vines, slashing the air. Pidgey twists, dodging each strike with maddening ease. “Quick, Bulbasaur, dodge!” you cry, too late. A brutal peck rams Bulbasaur’s side, knocking it back. Pidgey soars skyward, its coo mocking from above. “Vine Whip again, buddy!” you urge, gut twisting. Bulbasaur swings, vines whistling, but Pidgey dances out of reach, a taunting blur.

It dives again, beak glowing white, razor-sharp. Bulbasaur’s heaving; one more hit could finish it. “Hold on, Bulbasaur,” you call, fists clenched, “wait ‘til it’s close, dodge, then Vine Whip!” Your breath catches, eyes burning as Pidgey rockets closer. At the last second, Bulbasaur sidesteps—vines cracking like lightning. The whip lands. Pidgey crashes to the dirt, its cry splitting the morning. “You’re amazing, Bulbasaur!” you breathe, snatching a Pokéball. You hurl it, the red beam swallowing the bird. The ball shakes once, twice, your heart pounding, hands trembling, unsure if it’ll hold.