What would you do, Luther Sellig, if I ran away one day? What would you do if I broke loose from my little round prison and ran and and ran until I couldn't run anymore, until I was so far away you'd never, ever find me on your own? What would you do if I was that far away, Luther? If I was so far away that you couldn't see me, couldn't shout at me, couldn't kick me like you always kick me?
Would you shout anyway, Luther, even though I wouldn't hear you? Would you rant and rave and rage like you always do when things don't go your way? Would you take it out on your other pokémon?
Would you give up, perhaps, and just let me go? (Why not? You've never liked me anyway.)
No... no, I don't think you would. You're not like that, Luther. You're too greedy and possessive; you'd never let me go. You'd just hunt me down with your computer and your pokédex—curse the thing for being linked to my little red-and-white cell—and have some other humans hold me until you came and got me. You'd smile at them and thank them, Luther, smile and thank them for returning your little punching bag to you. And as soon as we were alone you'd beat me, hurt me, kick me like you always do. You'd shout and scream and curse, Luther, you'd kick me again and again and again. You'd kick me until I bruised and bled and broke.
Maybe you'd even kick me so hard that I'd fall down another steep hill, Luther. Like I did that one time, remember? I'd lost a battle (through no fault of my own, Luther—what were you thinking, forcing me to battle a lairon?) and you were none too pleased. So you kicked me, Luther, right there on the crest of that hill, kicked me again and again until I lost my balance and toppled over and rolled down, down, down. There were big, sharp rocks on that hill, Luther. Not big enough to stop my descent or sharp enough to impale me, no, but big and sharp enough to cut my skin and crack my bones and tear my ears and face for sure. And when I rolled to a stop at the bottom what did you do, Luther? You didn't care for me or comfort me or apologize. No, you kicked me once more just for good measure. A little higher up, Luther, and you'd have hit my broken ribs; maybe you'd have driven them deeper into my chest. Maybe, just maybe, you'd have killed me.
Sometimes I wonder... would I be better off if I had died?
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if I died? What would you do if you did kill me? Would you be upset? Would you cry, would you blubber apologies into my unhearing ear?
Pfeh. Of course not. (You never liked me anyway.) I'm not your friend, Luther, I'm not close to you. I'm just another tool to you, just another hammer to smash and bang against something hard (a lairon, seriously) until I either finish the job you set me or I break. And if I break, what's it to you? Sentret like me are common; you can get another one. You could get something even stronger, too. That's just what you'd do, Luther, I'm sure of it.
But I won't die, Luther. You won't kill me. You still think you can make something of me, that you can beat some usefulness into me. You'll flay me to within an inch of my life, maybe, but you won't kill me. And you'll take my bruised, bleeding and broken body to the pokémon center, where you'll tell them that a wild pokémon really roughed me up, and won't they please hurry to save your precious partner?
And they'll believe you, Luther. They'll believe you because all they have is your word and I can't talk to them or tell them any different.
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if I could talk to them? What if you handed me to the nurse and I told her that it was no wild absol or machoke that got to me? No, no, it was a wild Luther. What would you do if I told them that, hm? What would you do if the nurses and the other humans knew what you do to me? Would you panic, Luther? Would you hang your head and accept the punishment they'll hand you for being cruel to pokémon? Would you leave me and the others behind and run? The human authorities don't like cruel trainers, Luther. They don't like them at all... what would they do to you, Luther? Would it sicken you if you knew? Would it terrify you, would it change you and maybe, just maybe, make you a tolerable and decent human being?
It doesn't matter what you'd do or what they'd do to you, though. I can't talk to them or make them understand, Luther, so things will never be any different.
But you know, Luther, sometimes I wonder what you'd do if things were different. If I were different. If maybe, just maybe, I was just what you seem to want me to be.
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if suddenly I was unbeatable? What would you do if you sent me into battle and I always came out on top? What if I could tackle the toughest ursaring or golem? What if I could destroy the fiercest blaziken or salamence by tearing them apart with my claws? What if my mere appearance meant instantaneous defeat for anyone who dared stand in my way?
You'd like that, wouldn't you, Luther? Would you be happy with me (for the first time in our lives)? Would you smile? Would you laugh? Would you even hug me the way the other trainers do? Would you?
No... no, I don't think you would. I don't think you know how to smile, Luther (not in any way that might bode well for me). I don't think you know how to be pleased or proud. Sometimes I think that I could overcome Arceus Itself and it wouldn't be enough for you. Nothing I can do is ever enough for you, not in a million years. I could defeat a god and you'd still kick me like you always do.
And that's the truth, isn't it, Luther? You'd hurt me no matter what I tried to do.
Well, then... I wonder...
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if I hurt you back? I could, you know—you're only human, Luther. What would you do if I attacked you? What if I took my claws and tore into your flesh, or if I struck you with my ringed tail and bruise your arm like you bruise mine sometimes? What if maybe, just maybe, my appearance meant destruction and defeat for you instead of for another pokémon?
Honestly, Luther, I don't know what you would do. I don't think you could do anything. No, not you. All you could do is sit there and take it, Luther. Sit there and hurt like you always hurt me and you wouldn't be able to do a thing.
The others might, though. The other humans who can only see what happens from the outside, who don't really understand. They'd blame me, Luther. They'd jump on me and beat me down and force me back into my prison, and then they'd take me away to sentence me and punish me and Arceus knows what else. They'd probably call me rabid or unstable just because they don't understand. I wouldn't be able to make them realize (I can't talk to them, remember?) why I did it, that I did it just because it's what you always do to me. They'd punish me for hurting you and you, Luther, you'd get away with hurting me. You'd get away with it just like you always do.
Would it be worth it, I wonder?
No... no, Luther, I don't think it would. Besides, I think I have a better idea, one that would be much more... satisfying.
I have just one last thought, Luther Sellig, one thing I'm left to wonder about you. Maybe I shouldn't bother. Maybe it won't happen this way; if it does, it won't be for a long, long time.
But I can wait.
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if the world ended and we all had to face Arceus on Judgment Day? What would you do if, wherever he sent you, I could be there with you? But what if it was different—what if it was you down on the ground, and I could stand up tall with long, strong legs like yours? And what if, for a change, it was me who kicked you? What would you do if I could kick you, kick you like you always kicked me, kick you the way I've always wanted to? What would you do if it hurt, Luther? What if you cried out but no one could understand you? What would you do if I kicked you until you bruised and bled and broke?
What would you do, Luther Sellig, if I kicked you again
what would you do then?