Leaving the voices, the horrid mocking voices behind her, she ran. They were always around her, behind her... everywhere. People did not udestand her, with her fishtail and her buleish-green skin. She collapsed in an alleyway, leaning against the wall. Her mouth bled from the corner, where she had been punched by the leader of the gang.
She didn't want to do it, hadn't really wanted to hurt them.
But they had forced her into it.
And she had left them, dripping wet, unconscious from being blasted against the walls with a strong blast of water. But the voices still followed her. The ever present voices.
Sometimes she dreamed of the voices, dreamed that they went away and she was finally free. But that was not to be her life. The story of her life was to be trapped and in pain, tormented and abused.
She hadn't really wanted to hurt them.

She leaned against the brick wall, feeling the relief of the brick behind her back, it was so strong, so stable. She longed for stability and strength in her life. Longed for something.
A butterfly, small and delicate flitted down the alleyway and she stared at it in amazement, fighting the urge to chase it and catch it, as she would have years ago, before she became the woman she was today. To see something so pretty in a place so drab. Brooke knew there was still magic in the world. Somewhere.

She dragged herself back to her feet and skipped from the alleyway. Just because she looked cheerful didn't mean she was cheerful, Brooke was a bizarre cornucopia of simple pleasures and tragic desires. The smell of a pie cooking made her mouth water and she realised how terribly hungry she was, how the beast that was hunger gnawed at her belly with teeth of steel.
She paused outside a bakery, peering through the grimy window at the cakes beyond. Delicious, creamcakes topped with tiny pieces of strawberry, looking almost like little Christmas decorations, gingerbread men. She liked Gingerbread men, liked to nibble their tiny little toes and work her way up to their face and then...
SNAP!
Somebody had thrown a rock at her. She whirled, her almond shape eyes meeting theirs.
"Get away from my shop you Pokemon freak!" The fat man in the white clothing shouted.
She cowered and ran, her tail bouncing against her feet.
And she was still hungry...

The evening found her wandering once more. She had found a package of fish and chips, tucked beneath a park bench, cold, lifeless chips and fish that tasted of...
She didn't even want to think of what.
This was no life, the Vaporeonmorph thought to herself. No life at all, wandering the streets hoping to find a rainbow so she could climb up it and get away from this place. Or catch it and release her dreams. It was no life, no life at all.
She assumed Vaporeon form for a time, because it amused her to do so. Thus she went searching for food using the more supreme senses of the water Pokemon. What was that she could smell? Yum, a discarded tuna sandwich.
Belly low to the ground she approached the enticing foodstuff. It would be enough for her shrunked stomach, enough so that she could sleep feeling content.
"Meeeoooowww," came a long, low growl and she looked up to find herself staring into the pale eyes of a black Meowth. It slammed one paw down on the sandwich and bared its teeth at her.
Vicious teeth, nasty shiny teeth.
"Pooorrrrr," she replied, snarling and suddenly the cat Pokemon attacked.
Savage claw swipes slashed her short teal fur, tearing gouges in her flesh. She was too frightened to fight back, too terrified to react. She turned tail and hobbled away.
They all hated her, human and Pokemon alike. What really was the point of it all?
An idea formed in the Vaporeon's mind, an inkling of an idea that she did not hesitate to grab in both paws and harness.
Why not end it all? Why should she fear death?
Feeling thus enthused, she reassumed her human-ish form and stretched. She was naked, but she did not care. It was unimportant, everything was unimportant.
It did not take her long to find the broken glass, the shattered bottle.
She took the fragment and held it up to the light, admiring the way the sunset showed through it, reflected off the facets.
She stared at it for five minutes and then, simply, brought the jagged edge across her wrist, opening a gaping red maw. The grass splintered, leaving fragments of dust in the wound, but it did not matter to Brooke.
For, suddenly, her destiny was in sight.