Story Notes:
Construction on story has been temporarily stopped due to an excess of writer's block
Age: 5
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any characters in the story. The plot is mostly mine, with several events from Diamond and Pearl tying in, and any character you will never ever ever find in any Pokemon game in existence will probably be an original character. Depending on the character, I may claim to own him/her, but for people like Cynthia's parents, it's fine. No copyright violations intended. Specific types of violations, maybe. *wink*
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Cynthia walked into the kitchen. The five-year-old girl had somewhat wavy blonde hair that hung down to the base of her neck, and no matter how much her mother brushed it, it always seemed to curl in random direction at the ends. Her favorite color was black, a fact which caused no end of concern from her parents, and she nearly always wore black pants and a black tee-shirt. She had her mind working on a very important problem in her life at the moment, a frown crossing her face, but she couldn't figure out a solution.
She was thirsty and wanted a cup of water, but was too short to reach the cups.
Cynthia wandered into the hall, intent on asking her parents, who were in the living room, to get the cup for her. As she reached the door leading into the living room, she heard them talking in lowered voices.
"I just don't know what to do, George." Her mother's voice reached her ears as she hid behind the door, intrigued. "She's only five and she already seems depressed. The only color she ever wears is black."
Cynthia was hurt. I just like black, she thought. Is that so bad? Her thoughts broke off as her father spoke.
"Relax, Cindy," he told her mother calmly. "It's not like she hurts herself or wears black makeup. She acts perfectly happy, just like any other girl her age."
"She had us paint her room black with yellow stripes," Cindy snapped. "Her favorite band is System of a Down. Is that normal for a five-year-old girl?"
"I know. Listen, I have an idea," George soothed her. "We'll set her in front of the spookiest ghost type we can find, and a Ponyta or something other girls would like. If she picks the ghost to play with, we'll get her some help."
I don't need help, Cynthia thought. I just want some water. What's a Ponyta, anyway? Despite her parents' love of pokemon, Cynthia had never even seen one.
She entered the living room, where her father was holding her mother, trying to calm her. They noticed her frown.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked.
"I'm thirsty," Cynthia replied, deciding not to let them know she'd heard them arguing.
"Okay, I'll get you some water."
George rose and picked her up. She squealed in delight as he carried her on his shoulders into the kitchen. He got a cup and filled it with water, after putting Cynthia down, then gave it to her.
"Thank you, daddy!" Cynthia told him. She drank the entire cup of water and put it on the counter, standing on her tiptoes. She hugged him.
"You're welcome, sweetie," George replied absentmindedly, as if he was distracted. Cynthia saw this.
"What's wrong, daddy?" she asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.
"Nothing," he told her quickly. Cynthia turned to leave the kitchen. As she reached the doorway, her father spoke again. "You're not...depressed, are you?"
"What does 'depressed' mean?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.
"Depressed is when you're extremely upset over something," he answered. "and you're so upset that nothing seems to be able to cheer you up."
"Oh," Cynthia said. "Nope, I'm not depressed."
"Okay."
Cynthia went back to room and lay there on the bed, thinking about what had happened that afternoon.
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Three Months Later
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"Cynthia, come with me for a moment," George told her, stepping into her room momentarily. "There's something your mother and I need to talk to you about."
"Okay." Cynthia, who had completely forgotten what had happened three months prior, hopped off her bed and switched off her music. As they walked down the hallway, she wondered what they needed to talk to her for. I haven't done anything wrong, I think. Not for a while, anyway. Then something occurred to her. Maybe it's that talk Gardenia had with her parents. Lorelei said girls usually have that talk when they're fifteen or so, though.
They went into the backyard, where her mother stood just outside the door. A small, yellow rodent with red spots on its cheeks was sitting on the lawn, scratching behind its ear. A weird stone with a large crack down the middle and a dot on each side sat nearby.
"Cynthia, these are pokemon," her mother said, pointing at the mouse and the rock. "Well, two kinds of them, anyway."
"Gardenia has a little green turtle she calls a Turtwig," Cynthia said.
"Yes, Turtwig is another kind of pokemon," her dad told her.
"I knew it!" Cynthia cried triumphantly, startling the little yellow pokemon.
"This one is a Pikachu," Cindy explained, pointing to the yellow mouse. "and this one is a Spiritomb." She pointed to the rock.
"Which one would you rather play with?" her father asked.
"Hmm," Cynthia said, wandering over to the Pikachu, who was nearly as tall as she was. "Hello," she told it.
"Pika pika?" the Pikachu responded, cocking its head to one side. Then it flipped onto its head, using its jagged tail as a support, waving its stubby arms and legs about. Cynthia giggled and reached out to touch it.
"Careful," her father warned her. "Pikachu are electric type, so it could shock you if it doesn't like what you're doing."
Cynthia quickly pulled her hand back, and the Pikachu fell over, quickly jumping to its feet again. "Pika?"
"Daddy, what's the Spiritomb do?" Cynthia asked, not noticing the slight frown that appeared on her mother's face. At the sound of it's name, the Spiritomb abruptly turned to face her, startling her. "Is it a rock type?"
No. A voice spoke in her mind, sounding like several snakes hissing and being echoed. Cynthia's eyes widened.
"No, Spiritomb is ghost and dark type," her father told her.
Hello, the voice said.
"Did you say that?" Cynthia asked her parents.
"Say what?" her mother asked.
"Hello," Cynthia answered.
"I didn't hear anyone say hello," her father said, looking a bit concerned.
"Huh," she said, turning back to the Spiritomb. She took a few steps toward it.
They didn't say anything, the voice came yet again. I did.
"Who are you?" Cynthia asked out loud.
"I'm really getting concerned," Cindy whispered to George, so Cynthia couldn't hear.
"Me too," he whispered back.
I'm a Spiritomb; didn't your parents tell you that already? the voice answered Cynthia.
"But you're just a little rock," Cynthia told it, puzzled.
Oh, really? Suddenly, a purple fog swirled out of the crack in the stone, spiraling above it. Several bright green spheres slowly appeared within the mist, swirling around with the fog, and a face appeared as well. The eyes and mouth were green, and the left eye had a black spiral in it that was constantly turning. The mouth was jagged, much like the mouths on the jack o'lanterns she saw on Dusknoir Night. Boo, it said without moving its mouth.
Cynthia was fascinated by the green spheres floating in the fog, and tried to grab one. The Spiritomb watched, the spiral in its eye following her movements. As she reached out and wrapped her hand around one of the orbs, she grinned and pulled her hand back, opening it. It was empty. Cynthia stared at it for a moment, then looked back at the fog. The spheres hadn't altered their movements at all. She repeatedly tried to catch them in her tiny hands, but each time the sphere would pass straight through her hands. The Spiritomb chuckled in her mind, and Cynthia giggled along with it.
"Hey daddy," she called. "I want this one!"
"Okay," her father answered reluctantly. Her mother burst into tears.
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Cynthia walked into the kitchen. The five-year-old girl had somewhat wavy blonde hair that hung down to the base of her neck, and no matter how much her mother brushed it, it always seemed to curl in random direction at the ends. Her favorite color was black, a fact which caused no end of concern from her parents, and she nearly always wore black pants and a black tee-shirt. She had her mind working on a very important problem in her life at the moment, a frown crossing her face, but she couldn't figure out a solution.
She was thirsty and wanted a cup of water, but was too short to reach the cups.
Cynthia wandered into the hall, intent on asking her parents, who were in the living room, to get the cup for her. As she reached the door leading into the living room, she heard them talking in lowered voices.
"I just don't know what to do, George." Her mother's voice reached her ears as she hid behind the door, intrigued. "She's only five and she already seems depressed. The only color she ever wears is black."
Cynthia was hurt. I just like black, she thought. Is that so bad? Her thoughts broke off as her father spoke.
"Relax, Cindy," he told her mother calmly. "It's not like she hurts herself or wears black makeup. She acts perfectly happy, just like any other girl her age."
"She had us paint her room black with yellow stripes," Cindy snapped. "Her favorite band is System of a Down. Is that normal for a five-year-old girl?"
"I know. Listen, I have an idea," George soothed her. "We'll set her in front of the spookiest ghost type we can find, and a Ponyta or something other girls would like. If she picks the ghost to play with, we'll get her some help."
I don't need help, Cynthia thought. I just want some water. What's a Ponyta, anyway? Despite her parents' love of pokemon, Cynthia had never even seen one.
She entered the living room, where her father was holding her mother, trying to calm her. They noticed her frown.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked.
"I'm thirsty," Cynthia replied, deciding not to let them know she'd heard them arguing.
"Okay, I'll get you some water."
George rose and picked her up. She squealed in delight as he carried her on his shoulders into the kitchen. He got a cup and filled it with water, after putting Cynthia down, then gave it to her.
"Thank you, daddy!" Cynthia told him. She drank the entire cup of water and put it on the counter, standing on her tiptoes. She hugged him.
"You're welcome, sweetie," George replied absentmindedly, as if he was distracted. Cynthia saw this.
"What's wrong, daddy?" she asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.
"Nothing," he told her quickly. Cynthia turned to leave the kitchen. As she reached the doorway, her father spoke again. "You're not...depressed, are you?"
"What does 'depressed' mean?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.
"Depressed is when you're extremely upset over something," he answered. "and you're so upset that nothing seems to be able to cheer you up."
"Oh," Cynthia said. "Nope, I'm not depressed."
"Okay."
Cynthia went back to room and lay there on the bed, thinking about what had happened that afternoon.
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Three Months Later
----------------------------
"Cynthia, come with me for a moment," George told her, stepping into her room momentarily. "There's something your mother and I need to talk to you about."
"Okay." Cynthia, who had completely forgotten what had happened three months prior, hopped off her bed and switched off her music. As they walked down the hallway, she wondered what they needed to talk to her for. I haven't done anything wrong, I think. Not for a while, anyway. Then something occurred to her. Maybe it's that talk Gardenia had with her parents. Lorelei said girls usually have that talk when they're fifteen or so, though.
They went into the backyard, where her mother stood just outside the door. A small, yellow rodent with red spots on its cheeks was sitting on the lawn, scratching behind its ear. A weird stone with a large crack down the middle and a dot on each side sat nearby.
"Cynthia, these are pokemon," her mother said, pointing at the mouse and the rock. "Well, two kinds of them, anyway."
"Gardenia has a little green turtle she calls a Turtwig," Cynthia said.
"Yes, Turtwig is another kind of pokemon," her dad told her.
"I knew it!" Cynthia cried triumphantly, startling the little yellow pokemon.
"This one is a Pikachu," Cindy explained, pointing to the yellow mouse. "and this one is a Spiritomb." She pointed to the rock.
"Which one would you rather play with?" her father asked.
"Hmm," Cynthia said, wandering over to the Pikachu, who was nearly as tall as she was. "Hello," she told it.
"Pika pika?" the Pikachu responded, cocking its head to one side. Then it flipped onto its head, using its jagged tail as a support, waving its stubby arms and legs about. Cynthia giggled and reached out to touch it.
"Careful," her father warned her. "Pikachu are electric type, so it could shock you if it doesn't like what you're doing."
Cynthia quickly pulled her hand back, and the Pikachu fell over, quickly jumping to its feet again. "Pika?"
"Daddy, what's the Spiritomb do?" Cynthia asked, not noticing the slight frown that appeared on her mother's face. At the sound of it's name, the Spiritomb abruptly turned to face her, startling her. "Is it a rock type?"
No. A voice spoke in her mind, sounding like several snakes hissing and being echoed. Cynthia's eyes widened.
"No, Spiritomb is ghost and dark type," her father told her.
Hello, the voice said.
"Did you say that?" Cynthia asked her parents.
"Say what?" her mother asked.
"Hello," Cynthia answered.
"I didn't hear anyone say hello," her father said, looking a bit concerned.
"Huh," she said, turning back to the Spiritomb. She took a few steps toward it.
They didn't say anything, the voice came yet again. I did.
"Who are you?" Cynthia asked out loud.
"I'm really getting concerned," Cindy whispered to George, so Cynthia couldn't hear.
"Me too," he whispered back.
I'm a Spiritomb; didn't your parents tell you that already? the voice answered Cynthia.
"But you're just a little rock," Cynthia told it, puzzled.
Oh, really? Suddenly, a purple fog swirled out of the crack in the stone, spiraling above it. Several bright green spheres slowly appeared within the mist, swirling around with the fog, and a face appeared as well. The eyes and mouth were green, and the left eye had a black spiral in it that was constantly turning. The mouth was jagged, much like the mouths on the jack o'lanterns she saw on Dusknoir Night. Boo, it said without moving its mouth.
Cynthia was fascinated by the green spheres floating in the fog, and tried to grab one. The Spiritomb watched, the spiral in its eye following her movements. As she reached out and wrapped her hand around one of the orbs, she grinned and pulled her hand back, opening it. It was empty. Cynthia stared at it for a moment, then looked back at the fog. The spheres hadn't altered their movements at all. She repeatedly tried to catch them in her tiny hands, but each time the sphere would pass straight through her hands. The Spiritomb chuckled in her mind, and Cynthia giggled along with it.
"Hey daddy," she called. "I want this one!"
"Okay," her father answered reluctantly. Her mother burst into tears.