Set 8 of the pokédex mini drabble collection. I'll update the page as I finish more pokémon that fall into this number range. In general these drabbles will cover a wide range of genres/subjects/etc., hence the vague summary below; if anything warrants a special note, however, it will be mentioned here.
Genre: Varies, usually General
Rating: Varies, usually K
Approx. Wordcount: 100 words each (800 total)
Newest Additions: 372 Shelgon on 01/29/2017
He sees and hears everything from his prison—screaming, crashing, burning, dying, the whole world shaking as some cosmic force's fury ends it all with a barrage of stone and fire from the heavens. It wasn't supposed to end like this. He'd rushed to tell them, warn them before it was too late, but instead of understanding they'd chased him down and bound his paws and shut him away in their fear and ignorance.
It wasn't supposed to end like this, blazing oblivion streaking toward his cage while everything disintegrates around him, but he smiles anyway.
He'd told them so.
"Because it's mine," Sentret sighed, holding the berry up out of Wynaut's reach. "You can't have it because it's mine."
Wynaut tilted his head. "Why is it yours?"
"Because I found it." Sentret rolled her eyes.
"Why did you find it?"
"Because I'm hungry! I found a berry because I'm hungry! Surely you can understand that!"
"Because— because when you eat food, it— because if you don't eat, you— forget it!" roared Sentret. "It's my berry and you can't have it!" She waggled a paw at him.
Wynaut jumped up, snatched the berry and ran.
The smallest spheal sat on the hilltop, alone. This was about as close as he could get to playing with the others. They rolled in circles, laughed at the snow stuck to their coats, enjoyed themselves now the runt wasn't getting in their way.
So he sat up there, sniffling and hiccuping, until he hiccuped himself right off the hill.
The spheal below stopped their rolling game to catch their breath and shake away the snow.
"Where's the pipsqueak, anyway?" one asked.
They turned around just in time to see a massive snowball barreling downhill and heading straight for them.
They'd told him that he couldn't do it, hadn't they, and just look at him now! All the other sealeo in the circus were jealous, stuck juggling mundane things like beach balls and spheal and forever overshadowed by a feat of strength and dexterity they could never hope to follow. He'd wowed the whole crowd, he'd done the impossible, he'd be headlining the show, and dammit he'd told them so.
He sank into his pool, letting the icy chill soothe the fiery full-body pain that only bouncing 300 pounds of wailmer on your nose could cause.
Totally worth it, though.
"But I want to fly, Father!" the bagon whined. The salamence flinched as the hatchling stomped about the cave.
"You need to be patient," the old dragon replied. "Good wings come to those who wait, after all."
"I don't want to wait," said the bagon. "I want to fly now. Now now now now now—" He turned and slammed his forehead against the cave wall, punctuating each smash with a heartrending wail.
All his father could do was roll his eyes and sigh. Sometimes it was both a blessing and a curse that his son had such a hard head.
Shelgon knew biding time inside his shell was the next step toward achieving flight, but at this point it had been forever. It was cramped and itchy, far worse than being a bagon. He hated waddling around while his fully-grown friends took to the sky. He hated waiting. He couldn't even get up a good run to ram the wall in frustration.
Two new itchy spots ran along his back. They were impossible to reach, under the armor on either side of his spine.
Shelgon sighed as he tried scratching anyway. Good wings, Father said, come to those who wait.
"Good wings come to those who wait," Father always said, and at long last he could finally appreciate the pithy platitude. The unfamiliar weight of the new growths on his back, muscles reaching into his chest for pumping them up and down, felt strange, but gloriously so. Good wings made for carrying him through the sky, soaring rather than plummeting and landing on his head.
He leaped off of the ledge in celebration and found himself on his head five seconds later when his good wings had failed to open.
"It helps," his father said dryly, "if you practice first."
"Howdy, everybody!" Ranger Randy grinned at the campers. "Monty Monferno and I are gonna give you some tips about fire safety!"
The monferno next to Ranger Randy waved, then swung his tail at an annoying insect.
"It's fun to camp with pokémon friends, but try to keep fire-types in poké balls when near the trees!"
Monty growled. The insect buzzed blithely around his ears.
"Remember, kids, by working together, you can prevent..."
Monty screamed and launched a fire blast at the persistent pest.
Ranger Randy turned around just in time to see a stand of trees blazing merrily behind him.