(Before we continue, I should admit that I don't write romance. Not that not being able to write romance has stopped many of you, admittedly, but I don't think I can really do justice to the poorly written unless I can write it well myself. But since no one else seems to have stepped up, and something has to be done (in my decidedly unhumble opinion, anyway), I must.)

(I also have trouble reading these – I tend to think no one could write that badly unless on purpose. So if I fail to include many of the subtler clichés, it's not because I don't hate them, but just that my brain spontaneously shut down midway through the story)

Unoriginality #2 AAMLudicrousness

By a confused Farla who is still boggling at the idea people write this willingly.

Version 1.1: The Original Story Pretending to be a Pokemon Story

(Or, a stupid yet somehow less painful kind)

(Oh, yes. Because I know you care:)














Misty looked at her reflection in the mirror. She bore only casual resemblance to the 'Misty' of which Pokemon fans were so familiar with. Her orange hair had changed a deep, rich auburn, at least if you honestly believe this thing used to be Misty at any stage in its lifetime. It cascaded down her back in waves, a fitting simile for the water trainer that is in no way overused. Her eyes were a deep, beautiful sea blue, further evidence pointing toward the possibility this particular creature was not the 'real' Misty. She was wearing a long, white silk dress with intricate lace ruffles like ocean spray around the collar, sleeves and hem. Small pearls were sown into it in beautiful patterns. She was also wearing slim white gloves over her arms, which went up almost to the elbow. The rest of her arms were bare.

I hope nothing goes wrong, Misty thought vacuously. Ash should be here any minute to take me to the dance.

Now that Ash was Pokemon Master, the exact details of which are unimportant to this story and the last mention of anything pokemon-related you'll be getting, he went to public functions like these. Exactly why public functions should be limited to dances in ballrooms where no one would disturb them and with no discernable presence of reporters or other members of the public was a mystery that would just have to go unsolved. Misty, her brain vapid and consumed only by vacant thoughts about the dance, was incapable of reflecting upon this.

The doorbell rung. Clasping her hands to her ample bosom for a moment, Misty paused to mentally prepare herself for the wonderful events to come, then walked daintily out of the house to see Ash waiting in a limousine. He smiled at her as he held the door open, and Misty reflected for a moment on how everything was so perfect and devoid of real detail that it was like the poorly-conceived romantic daydream of an airheaded fifteen year old. She sighed happily

The ride in the limousine went by as quickly as if an author was skipping over the scene because she'd never been in one before and didn't know what to write. They entered the ballroom.

It was huge, with high, cathedral ceiling. A flawless rip-off – er, recreation of the gorgeous Sistine Chapel paintings covered it. The paintings were made up of beautiful angels nicely clothed in dresses and flowers, with little fuzzy bunnies hopping about, because of course that was what Michelangelo had painted. What else could a work of art involve if not flowers and bunnies? Why, it would be like writing a story that wasn't fluffy and romantic.

Other gym leaders and Elite Four members were there, but not all of them. Only those who could be considered cool and mildly romantic, so thoroughly it almost appeared as if it was on purpose. The younger Erika and the older Koga, Giovanni, Agatha, Blaine and Lt Surge were inconspicuously absent.

Ash asked her if she wanted to dance in a touchingly romantic, yet endearingly uncertain way. Misty wasn't quite sure what the exact words were, but that didn't matter. They headed out onto the dance floor.

They waltzed, or breakdanced, or whatever it was that people did on dance floors. The auth– Misty wasn't quite sure. But it was very romantic.

When they retired (Misty gave a soft coo at how romantic it was to be able to think of 'retiring from the dance floor', earning her an odd look from Ash), they headed over to the refreshments. Misty sipped delicately at the Kool-Aid or whatever the red beverage they were serving was.

Ash turned to her. She stared back worshipfully, stars in her eyes. He went down on one knee, opened a small box with a beautiful white gold ring with a huge yet perfectly cut deep blue diamond, and proposed to her.

"Oh, it's lovely," Misty said breathlessly, feeling lightheaded. She reached toward it, ready to enter into martial bliss with her love. But everything was starting to become hazy…

Misty yawned, rolling over, her eyes slowly opening. She slowly sat up in bed. Stifling another yawn, she got up.

Her husband, also waking, smiled at her. "Hey Mist," he said casually. "Have any good dreams?"

Misty considered. "I had the weirdest dream…" she said.

"Really?" He yawned sleepily. "What was it about?"

"It was...very boring," she said slowly, trying to remember, but the dream was already slipping from her mind. "It was very, very boring."