It starts with a minor detail. A small event in the grand scheme of the universe. Most stories start with such humble beginnings, and this one is no exception. A chrysalis hangs from a leaf of a nettle. It is a dull grey color, and is surrounded by its kin. Other chrysalides hang empty, or open. Some completed their tasks and now lay abandoned by their former occupants, while others had fallen victim to predation or other acts of nature, and where ruptured and rotted. This single chrysalis quivered, once, twice, then it cracked open. Gracefully, the butterfly inside emerged from its former home. One versed in entomology would classify the newly formed butterfly as thoressa varia. It was a rather common and frankly uninteresting example of the species. It was aware of the creature watching it in only the vaguest of ways. It could see the object in front of it. It had eyes, and gave off heat. It was not like the plants around the butterfly in this regard. Even so, the butterfly gave it no mind. Should the thing move too close or move too suddenly, it would likely flee. One end of the thing was giving off heat and light. The light was attractive, but the heat was to intense, and repulsive. This too compelled the butterfly to avoid it cautiously. This butterfly had no name, no sense of identity, and no lasting memory to consider the thing with. In a few hours the butterfly will have forgotten the thing entirely. In the following seven months that made up the entirety of its natural life, the butterfly will never again consider the thing. It will never be aware of the tremendous impact that it had on the thing, or the series of events that unfolded due to its presence. The thing on the other hand, which possessed roughly ninety-thousand times the mental capacity of the butterfly, would remember it for the rest of his life. He would never forget it, and how totally and irrevocably it had changed his life, and how, from his point of view, it had all been his fault.
Like the butterfly, the Charmander that watched it had no name, or sense of identity. He was Charmander, a fire-type Pokemon. He was roughly three years old, and in good shape for that age. His soft scaly hide was a sun-burnt orange. His claws were sharp and clean, and his tail flame was bright and steady, if a tad small. The Charmander was entranced by the butterfly's colors and shape. He got close. The butterfly flew away. With a giggle, the Charmander gave chase. The butterfly would flutter away to land on a different leaf somewhere, and the Charmander would follow. He loved butterflies. He had learned the word for butterfly only a few days ago, when he saw one in the sky. He had never been this close to one, and the excitement of the occasion distracted him. Soon he found he was in a clearing. It was an odd clearing. There were no more plants and trees for the butterfly to land on. It hovered in the air before moving on, but the Charmander's attention was now focused on the clearing he had found. The ground was black and hard, like rock. But it was flat, abnormally flat. He didn't know the word for it. Charmeleon would know the word for it. She knew lots of words. She was... Gone. Charmeleon was gone. Charmander looked around, panicked. He was so engrossed at the butterfly that he had lost track of her. Charmeleon was his older sister and his guardian. They were out hunting together. Or rather she was hunting, and since he could not be left alone for any length of time, he was accompanying her. Charmander wandered around. He called out for Charmeleon, but she did not come. He looked back into the forest, and didn't see her. A noise brought his attention to the clearing again. It was a low rumbling noise, a growling noise. A box made of metal came down the clearing towards him. He had never seen it before. He didn't know the word for it. Dim lights came out of the front of it like eyes. It did not have legs, but round turning things under it to move it forward. He froze. He did not know what the box was. He was afraid. He was alone. Where was Charmeleon. She would know what to do.
Charmeleon tackled him. She grabbed him and carried him across the clearing and into the bushes. ``Why are you in the road!'' She demanded. He did not know that last word. He was two scared to respond. She was clearly mad at him. What had he done? What was the box? Where did the butterfly go? The growling stopped. Then a thudding sound was heard. Charmeleon looked up. Charmander could see the fear suddenly written on her face.
``Keep quiet.'' She ordered. Her voice was suddenly soft and trembling. Slowly, she crawled out of the bush and looked out into the clearing. A loud sound, a loud bang, like thunder echoed through the forest. Birds and other winged things called out in alarm and flew away. Charmander was no longer afraid. He was terrified. His whole body was frozen in fear. His heart beat against his chest as if it wanted to be free of its captivity within him. Charmeleon was on the ground. Her scaled were a beautiful golden color. Charmander loved the color of her scales. He loved the word gold for its association with her. But now there was something brown around her. A strange vine of some kind was wrapped around her.
``Don't Move! Don't speak! Hide your tail!'' She shouted. She stared at him. She yelled at him. Her eyes had in them the purest rage that Charmander had ever seen. Suddenly, he found himself. He curled up tight as he was taught. He hid his tail flame under him, smothering its light. He was supposed to keep his head tucked in tight until she said it was safe, but he couldn't. His eyes were frozen. They watched his sister struggle. Two new creatures came. They came from the direction of the box. Charmander knew them. He knew which word to use. Humans. These were humans. Some were good, but some were very bad. Charmeleon had taught him this. It was impossible to tell if the humans were good or bad from looking at them. They all acted good until it was too late. These humans were the bad kind. These humans were the worst kind. Humans were often accompanied by Pokemon, but thee humans were not. They had black clothes with brown coats. One carried a long stick made of wood and metal. The other carried a sharp flat claw. Like the butterfly, Charmander would never forget them. Like the butterfly, Charmander did not blame the humans.
One of the humans put a piece of cloth around Charmeleon's snout, forcing her to be quiet. The other pulled out a small box, and a leaf. The leaf was colorful and square. It had a pattern of five stars, in an arc on it. The starts grew in size from small to large. This too was forever imbedded in Charmander's memory. The human opened the box and held it before Charmeleon. Light came out of the box. The light should have startled him, but he was too terrified to be startled. The human held up her tail, held out the box again, and more light came from it. The entire time Charmeleon stared at Charmander. Her face was one of rage, of absolute fury, and she kept her eyes on Charmander. He knew what she meant. Don't move. Don't speak. Hide your tail. Why was she mad at him? What did he do? The light box made noise and the human looked at it. He showed the light box to the other human, who smiled. They held Charmeleon down. One Human pulled a cloth from inside him, and poured some water on it from a metal thing he carried. Charmander could smell the foul water from his hiding place. The human held the damp cloth to Charmeleon's nose. She struggled and thrashed as best she could, but soon her struggling became sluggish and slow. She whimpered softly, and seemed to go limp, as if she were asleep. Her chest still moved. She wasn't hurt. She was asleep. Why was she sleeping? What was the cloth? What was the box? Where was the butterfly? The humans carried Charmeleon and placed her in the box. The box growled again, and moved back down the clearing. Charmander didn't move. Charmander didn't speak. Charmander hid his tail. He did not move again until the sun had set. He did not speak again for nearly two months. For a long time, if he was not moving, he hid his tail. For the rest of his life, Charmander blamed himself for this. Not the Humans. Not the butterfly. He blamed himself, and none of the few people that he eventually told this event to would ever be able to change his mind.