The story of Garbodor

You wake up in a hot place. The brightness of the sun beating down on you. Not that you know what the sun is. Or what you are. Your vision is blurry, so you rub at your eye with one mangled, broken appendage. No one but a sadist with a sense of humor would call that thing held together by grime and filth rags a hand. Birds wheel and screech in the sky above you.

You take your first attempts at movement, feeling your new body bend and shift in strange ways. As you climb to your shaky "legs" you see someone nearby, offloading green bulks of stuff. You feel a kinship to this stuff that you don't understand. You toddle forward on uncertain legs, not noticing as fruit peels and drinks cans, and other chunks of refuge fall from your mass. It won't be missed. You are constantly integrating more into your body as you trudge through a sea of garbage and debris.

Perhaps you sense some past relationship with this person. Maybe some of his garbage makes up your body. You walk towards him as a child would. Fearless. You are a baby. Perhaps this person will take you back. Back where? You have no idea. Just back.

With time and experience you will come to mourn this innocence. But that comes later. You try out your voice for the first time then. "Garrrborrr" you gurgle through a throat that was never intended to make sounds. The person looks up and sees you. An expression crosses his face that you will later learn is a mix of fear and disgust. The man might throw a bag of refuge at you. or maybe he just drives away in horror. Its just a game to you though, and you follow at an unsteady pace, stopping occasionally to delve into garbage on the sides of the street.

You don't know it, but you're spreading a new plague, one that will bring to life every pile of garbage you play in. A plague of new life, and the misery to ensue. More children to be feared, hated. And ultimately rejected. As you walk into the town, more and more you notice people running away from you. They are too fast for you to catch, and the game quickly becomes old.

Some of them make a loud sound at your approach, and mistaking it as a greeting, you make a loud sound back. This makes those run who have not yet ran. You still don't understand. You don't know yet the sounds of fright. But you will.

Then you find it. The place. This place is a good place. This you know. You have fragments of memory of being at this place, in front of it. Before.

This is the place no one will run from you. This is the place you belong. To your surprise, the people in the place also run away, some while making the loud sounds.

Why won't they let you near? You begin to suspect, as your ability to reason grows, that something else is going on here. Not the fun game you previously believed it to be.

* * *

The people in the yellow were nicer then the ones in blue, but they still won't get close enough for you to touch them. And that makes you sad. Even more, it makes you scared this game won't stop. That they will play it with you forever.

* * *

A month has passed now. You're back in the junkyard from whose filthy womb you were birthed. Cursed as you are by the shambling mockery you must endure, you are doubly cursed by intelligence. You still cannot speak the sounds of the people that keep you and all the others like you trapped in this junkyard, but you can understand them.

Even as they become accustomed to your kind, they are repulsed. Disgusted by you. They call you the garbage Pokemon, and you understand this is an insult.

You look at the younglings, the Trubbish, just as innocent now as you yourself once were. They will learn rejection just as you did, their delight of the humans will be replaced by fear, just as yours was. They will wonder why they were created to be rejected, and you won't be able to give them an answer.