You were born in a pokemon centre, so that speaks volumes. [break][break]

you’re born mewling, crying, energetic. you’re born screaming, laughing, then finally quieting down as you’re held in the cold arms of a mother who glares with no affection (why would she, when you’re the reason she’s sitting at a room set by the pokemon centre? when you’re the reason she has forfeit her comfortable life of pillows and cushions, and devoid of the love of a man she once loved so?). [break][break]

it’s why your biological (english) name is mallory, and that such a sweet sounding name was supposedly your bad omen for the rest of your days. mother never gave you a proper homeland name - and why would she? - so you were left with mallory. You take her surname, but you’d only hear that name being called the few times you go to school (bruised and battered. it's no wonder your mother pulls you out shortly afterwards, claiming she wants to homeschool you. she’s tired of the eyes and the questions being asked about your condition). [break][break]

mallory remembers oaken planks and the waves crashing against one another on the shores of Sunyshore. you remember the occasional ocean breeze that rushes through the cracks of a moulded window and the cries of wingull flying from above. you remember the golden sands that you can always see from the distance in your small, dark apartment. you remember the plastic that bent under your weight when you grabbed the stool to stand, and you remember your rough, little hands holding onto the white, dusty ledge of mites and webs as bright eyes gazed to the outside. [break][break]

such is a place you cannot reach. [break][break]

you're fine, you think. fine to where you disregard your mother's sudden shift from disgust to sudden protectiveness, as she clings onto you. after she yells and hits you, she strokes the back of your head, whispering in a manic giggle: "you won't ever leave mommy, will you?" or "you won't be like daddy, will you?" or "you won't be like your grandparents, will you?". you never know what to say, so you only shake your head. that usually calms her down. [break][break]

you went out one day, because you wanted to play with some friends. it was her birthday, and you haven't seen them in a while. you beg your mom, even though she yells at you, accusing you of not loving her. you feel bad for going, but you really wanted to go. the next morning, she's smiling and she took a shower, and the apartment looks clean. she tells you that it's fine, and you can go out with your friends. you're happy, hug her, tell her you love her, then leave. you're so dumb for thinking everything was okay. [break][break]

so she spites you from the grave.

you come home and your eyes are scarred. the police are called, everything passes like a blur. you're brought in by people, asked questions from the police, but you can't respond. someone who says they're a mind doctor talks to you, but you can't respond. you realize that it's because there's something wrong with you. they tell you it isn't your fault (but you think "if only i didn't go to that birthday party"). [break][break]

eventually, you're put in an orphanage with other kids who don't have parents. you don't talk to them, and there's no one who comes to talk to you. they're put off because you don't talk. they call you clingy and think it's unfair that the caretaker gives you extra snacks just because you don't talk. you become scared to talk, until an old man comes to the orphanage and you're brought to him. [break][break]

he smiles to you, with a sunny smile that reminds you of mom. you don't talk to him, but he tries his best to talk to you. he tells you he has all the time in the world, says he wants to get to know you. he says he wants you to grow up big, and strong, and healthy and good (though you don't know how to be good, since you have blood under your belt). but he saves you, and you're forever grateful to him. [break][break]

you eventually get back to talking, and you want to become a police officer like he was. you spend a lot of time with him, and you love him like your own parent (the right way, this time. the kind where you can talk to him like a friend when he isn't disciplining you like a child).