Hello! This was just a weird little writing exercise that I decided to post. Read and Review, tell me how I did! Brownies if you read!

Alicia wrapped her arms around her Mew plushie, bit her lip, and stared at the wall across from where she sat on her bed.

Alicia was a twelve-year-old trainer, staying at home before she continued on her journey to Johto. She was a strawberry-blonde with green eyes, wearing her trademark blue denim capris and pink button down tee-shirt. In one hand, crushed between her body and her plushie, was a Pokeball. Her Pokeball, her Growlithe. Hers, no one else's.

Her Growlithe, almost stolen from her six times during her journey around Kanto. SIX.

The first couple times, she ignored it. Like most trainers, she had been targeted, she had recovered the Pokemon Team Rocket attempted to steal, and she kept on with her journey. She collected badges, participated in the League, and travelled a bit more for Pokemon she hadn't gotten a chance to catch before.

And then they came after her again...two more times than most trainers. And again-and again-and the last time, right before she got home.

And her confidence broke.

Something was wrong, why did they keep going after her? She didn't stop to make camp that night, she just kept going, running all the way back to Viridian City. She arrived back home in the middle of the night, knocking frantically at the door, because she didn't have a house key.

And now here she was, clutching Growlithe's Pokeball like it might run away, trying and failing to understand why she had become such a target.

Sometimes, though she felt terrible for admitting it, even to herself, she wished Team Rocket would have succeeded. Because somehow, she figured it was better for Growlithe to be stolen and for her to have a goal in getting it back, rather than having this constant chasing and anxiety.

Because there was a sense of triumph in getting a stolen Pokemon back; it was less detrimental than the fear, the constant fear that she was being chased. That even at home, she wasn't safe.

She buried her face in the plushie, her entire body tense. A large part of her didn't want to ever move from this spot; she had a good view of the door and window, with a wall at her back so she couldn't be snuck up on.

And the more she thought of it, the more appealing it seemed...