English II Honors
The Life and Times Of Deleon The Squirtle
A bright light appeared as Deleon’s pokeball was open for the first time. The halcyon, calm Squirtle laid eyes on his inexperienced trainer. Ten year old Mikey Ketchum tentatively held out his hand to grasp the red and white sphere in his small hands. With the sacred talisman, or amulet, of Ash, his father, around his neck, Mikey was ready to follow the footsteps of his father. Ash was known to be the greatest pokemon trainer of all time.
Professor Oak’s voice pulled him out of the trance. “Here’s your pokedex Mikey.” Oak explained, “It identifies pokemon and will be an essential tool in your development of becoming a professional pokemon trainer.” “Hey what about me?” asked Oak’s great-grandson Grant who strived to become a trainer too, “Don’t I get a pokemon?” Deleon didn’t know what to make of the boy’s myopic, shortsighted point of view. Of course he would get a pokemon.
The Professor waved good-bye to the boys as they set off on their journeys to catch all of the pokemon known to mankind. Grant ran off summarily as not to delay and waste time. He wanted to have his Charmander evolve into a Charizard as soon as possible. Mikey took his time as he walked towards the boundary of Palette Town with Deleon by his side. The meek, level 5 pokemon was terrified of the tall grasses that were presented on the land ahead. He had never battled another pokemon before. Obviously Mikey could see the terror in his eyes as the young trainer said, “Don’t worry Deleon. You’re going to do great! I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” This comforted Deleon as he was patted on the head by Mikey. He knew Mikey was an avid, enthusiastic trainer but the young boy had a caring side to him.
Only seconds after walking into the tall grasses, the team was approached by what his pokedex identified as a level 4 Pidgey. “You won’t get hurt so stop making such a histrionic and melodramatic reaction.” Mikey responded to the quivering Squirtle hiding behind his leg. The monotone voice of the pokedex sparked Deleon’s attention, “A pokemon must be weakened before it can be caught with a pokeball. To do this your pokemon and the pokemon you want to catch must battle.” Mikey turned around and Deleon, of course, was missing except for an overt inkling of a brown shell sticking out. Deleon didn’t hear Mikey’s suppliant, earnest question over the chattering of his teeth. Before he knew it, the Squirtle was being pulled up by his shell back in front of the Pidgey. “Don’t worry,” Mikey assured him, “There’s no way I’m going to use you as a gambit or a sacrifice for my gain. Now Deleon, use tackle!” The nervous pokemon accosted or approached the rival and used the attack with all his might. The pidgey went down with a thud. Mikey threw the shiny pokeball with great celerity or swiftness.
It all went so fast that it seemed like only moments after the sphere containing the pokemon was on the ground before him. The thought hit him like a speeding train. Mikey caught his first pokemon. “YAHOO!”, he screamed with elation as he picked up the pokeball and held it up for the world to see. “Look Deleon! Look what we did! We caught it.” He tried communicating to the Squirtle in shock sitting next to him. “You did perfectly. You didn’t make any pejorative attacks that would have made things worse. You did exactly what you were supposed to.” An undulate or wave-like feeling of pride came over the little Squirtle. He did it. He was successful in aiding his trainer. “Squirt! Squirt! Squirtle!” the once meek pokemon grunted as he jumped up for joy. “I must say,” Mikey commented “You had a definite sense of propriety when attacking that Pidgey. You had very proper form.” Deleon couldn’t help but smile. Mikey looked down at his father’s amulet with a sense of accomplishment. He would never commit a sacrilege to this sacred token of his father.
They settled down for a long night’s sleep after a rough day. Deleon dreamt well that night. Images of him as an almighty Blastoise creating maelstroms and whirlpools to take down the incendiary known as Charizard raced through his mind. He put out the fires the arsonist put to life. The devious, sly creature trying to take him down. But alas, he was curled up in his sleeping bag with a brackish taste from his salt treat floating on his taste buds. He realized that he will do anything to prevent animadversion and disapproval from his new trainer and best friend, Mikey.