Note: This is not .Dolum's story. This is sushi4427's story, but that person is using this account (don't worry, I asked permission) until Fanfiction will let them post stories (just 2 days, people. I know it's some new kind of torture, but we must be patient.)

Author's Note: I just beat Pokémon Black. Like many people, I had my doubts. The Pokémon are so stupid. I don't wanna fight with them. Turns out, some of the Pokémon are amazing, and so is the game. I made this story up as I played it, but changed some things to more fit my liking. And then, unlike any other fanfic I've done, I wrote it down.

I make things sad. It's part of how I write, which is what I wish to do for the rest of my life. So yes. It gets sad, or dark, or some other third thing, but it's all alright in the end. Promise.

Sa-don-ic [sahr-don-ick] adjective- bitterly sarcastic, darkly humorous, sadistically captivating and entertaining…

Prologue

The Depressing Funeral and the Necessary Back Story

"Forget-Me-Not," I said, looking at my Snivy. She blinked. I looked at the coffin, scowling. "How utterly appropriate."

Some people say that, when someone you love dies, it simply looks as if they're asleep in some sort of demented bed. It seemed as if the deceased's eyes would pop open at any moment, they described, and they'd smile and laugh and you would, too, but inwardly you'd be crying with happiness. I didn't see it. I really didn't see it. Graciela's skin looked as if had been drained of all the life a person could possibly possess. Her big, curly, beautiful brown hair seemed matted to her head. Dead. My best friend looked dead. And she was.

I turned to the Snivy again, not wanting my eyes to become forever pasted to my dead-as-she-looks best friend. It was almost worse. Forget-Me-Not the Snivy stared at me with sad, curious eyes, as if to say "So… what do we do now?" I sighed, and my head snapped in the direction of the coffin.

"Fiiinneee," I droned, my final words to the girl that, in hindsight, saved my life. Then, last time, I promise, I turned and began to walk away, motioning for Forget to follow. She did.

"We," I began, my voice shaking, "are going to be awesome." Forget practically jumped. She'd heard my endless rants about the Pokémon in Unova. "We're going to train as if it would've kept Gracie from falling over the edge of that cliff thing in Accumula, and we're going to travel and obliterate Gym Leaders, and… and… it's gonna be great!" Though much less poetic, Forget seemed to accept this conclusion, and unleashed the battle cry that she'd never gotten to use. I didn't shush her.

Yes. We'd go on this journey. We'd fulfill the dream I never thought I'd get to do by becoming trainers unlike any other. For Forget. And for Graciela. And for me.

Don't whine. It's an unwritten rule that the prologue must contain the protagonist's sad, sometimes ironic back story.

My name's Briar Casey. I have long blonde hair that's usually in a braid, hazel eyes, tan skin, and freckles. I was born in Palette Town in Kanto, and from the first moment I saw a Bulbasaur, I knew I wanted to be a Pokémon Trainer. I fantasized, dreamed about it, wrote and drew pictures of my team conquering the most powerful trainers in the world, earning a place among them.

Then we moved to Unova. And people wonder why I'm so sadistic.

It was as if my dream had been ripped from the depths of my once happy heart. I took one look at the Patrat outside my house and cried for a week. How could these… mutants compare to Chansey, or Machop, or my beloved Bulbasaur? And it was because I nearly drowned myself in my own tears that Gracie introduced herself.

She'd heard my sobs from her house next door, and when they didn't stop, she came to see what was causing this flash flood so close to her house. I decided, what the heck, and blubbered out my woeful tale of broken dreams. She listened ("To what I could understand!" she said earlier, laughing her bell-like laugh), and despite the fact that she was only seven years old at the time, comforted me like a professional, paid psychiatrist. None of that "there, there" crap. She hugged me, shushed me, whispered comforting, poetic words. When the tears mercifully stopped, I discovered that she was the closest thing I'd ever had to a best friend, and she seemed happy to fill the long empty position.

She was the one I ranted to about Pokémon. It's really depressing, actually. I seemed to fill any silence slinging insulting remarks at her homeland's Pokémon. It wasn't until after she'd died that I found out that they were something she took pride in.

If you're picturing a Unovian female, you're picturing Graciela. Where other Unovians would look at me and hiss "Foreeignerrrr…" upon sight, they would look at her and invite her in, saying the word "sister" at least ten times. It was almost unreasonable, her with her big, bouncy hair and blue eyes. And she was always bright and cheery, because it seems as if all Unovians are bright and cheery. DaAHang it, why the happy people always die, and why do their cranky friends always have to be their legacy?

I didn't rant to them, but there was also Earl and Dina. They were twins our age, and you could tell. The two were practically clones. They were both almost as Unovian as Graciela, crafty, extremely intelligent, and only slightly different. Dina was definitely the more innocent one, and Earl was the more annoying but still fun to be around one. They were our friends, too.

In our eyes, it was us against the world, a monstrous, difficult battle. But we knew that, somehow, we'd always win.

A week before I met Forget, Gracie's mom came knocking on our door, asking for me.

"Yes, Mrs. Pope?" I asked (just so you know, Pope is a pure Unovian last name) after all the usual formalities.

"I wanted to surprise all of you," she explained, obviously meaning me, Graciela, Earl, and Dina, "by giving you Pokémon." The way I crinkled my nose at the thought answered her next question. "The thing is, the Pokémon I want to get are rare, from far away, and rather expensive, so I just wanted to know if you'd actually enjoy one."

"That's fine, Mrs. Pope. I don't need a Pokémon. Thank you for the thought." I answered. And, to keep up my image as the pessimistic Kantonian, I did so with no emotion.

"I'm sorry, Briar. It's just, they really are expensive-"

"Seriously. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you sweetie. Oh, and one more thing."

"Hmm?"

"Could you keep this between us? I want to surprise Earl, Dina, and Gracie."

"Sure, Mrs. P. Bye."

"Bye, dear."

Sure enough, a week later, Mrs. Pope called Earl, Dina, and Gracie for a surprise. I tried to get out of joining them, since I knew what was happening, but Gracie insisted and AI didn't want to make her suspicious. I went in with them, promising myself that my eyes would not throw up at the upcoming scene.

I didn't.

I saw three Pokémon in the following order when we reached Gracie's room: Oshowatt, Tepig, and Snivy. My eyes lingered on Snivy, and I guess they never left. She was beautiful. So regal, so serious, so… perfect, unlike any Unovian thing I'd ever seen. Gracie must've liked her, too, because she practically dove for it when her mom told her she could pick one. She cradled Snivy in her arms while Earl and Dina picked (Earl got Tepig and Dina got Oshowatt, with a surprising lack of bickering), and for the billionth time, I was totally jealous of Graciela Pope.

"So what are you gonna name her?" I asked a few days later. I was leaning against a tree and Gracie was sitting in the sun. The wind was whipping her hair around her face, and her head spun as she watched Snivy run in circles around her.

"I wasn't going to," she answered, unsuccessfully trying to push a lock of hair from her eyes. "I was just gonna call her Snivy. Or Snivy, with the I-sound."

"Uh uh," I ordered. "Snivy sounds like some sort of runny nose, and Snivy makes her sound like a snooty rich person. You have to name her.

"Well… okay. What do you suggest?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed. "She's a grass type. Name her after your favorite flower or something."

"Um, okay, but I like a lot of flowers…" Snivy continued to run in circles around a cross-legged Graciela, and I tapped my feet impatiently, pounding the grass beneath me.

"Forget-Me-Not!" she said suddenly, snapping her fingers. Snivy stopped running and I hastily retreated from my Kanto-filled dream world.

"Huh?"

"Forget-Me-Not. That's my favorite flower. They're pretty, but frankly it's mainly because of the name." She picked up Snivy and began to cradle her again. "And it's your name now. But we'll just call you Forget when we're feeling lazy." I'd never seen a Forget-Me-Not or understood the name (it sounded like a catch phrase in a prayer or condolence card), but all to soon it grew extremely fitting.

This brings us to the short, painful day of Gracie's death.

"Professor Juniper asked me to pick something up from Accumula Town. Can you look after Forget? I won't be long." These were her final words to me, and mine to her weren't even said while looking in her eyes.

"Bye, Gracie. Don't bang your head on the door." My standard good-bye. If I'd known what awaited her in Accumula, it would've been so much more. I was pulling Forget towards me when I heard Gracie's footsteps and the door close, softly, so as not to startle Forget. She didn't bang her head on the door. She did, however, bang it on the old, cracked concrete of Accumula's lower level. She just died, leaving me with the Snivy I'd always wanted in the worst way possible, its name the message I'd always thought of. Forget me not. Forget me not.

My name is Briar Casey (in case you were illiterate approximately three pages ago), and this is my sardonic adventure.

Let's begin.

Author's Note: I know this prologue/chapter wasn't the best, but I promise the next one's better. Just bear with me until all the sad or boring stuff ends and the plot begins. I really hope you still liked it, and I'll have the Chapter One up really really soon. Thanks so much for reading, and please review!