Gran's box

When I was young, like many '90s children, I had an obsession with Pokemon. It first started with my obsession with the video game. I didn't even have it yet, I just saw the few, lucky kids playing it on the school yard and I was instantly hooked. I watched the show every Saturday morning and I got the Pokemon cards. I even read the light novels. A few months later, it was my seventh birthday and my entire family was huddled around the dining room table. After the excessive amount of cake and ice cream, I was handed a present from my aunt. It wasn't very big, but it sure was a dense-feeling box. I eagerly unwrapped the box to find a purple, Gameboy Color and a copy of Pokemon Red. I felt like I was going to explode from the excitement. I swiftly opened up the�packaging and slid the crisp, new cartridge in to the back of the Gameboy. That classic Gameboy ding echoed in my ears and the iconic start up screen was playing. As I watched, my mother politefully nagged at me, 'Honey, you have one last present from me'. I reluctantly averted my gaze from the screen to see her expectantly holding up an oddly-shaped item. I opened it with one hand and slowly revealed the yellow cloth underneath. It was a Pikachu doll. Once again, my eyes lit up as I finally had someone to share my video game with. I had no siblings or friends to share these experiences with. My parents had absolutely no interest in such things, so Pikachu would become my best friend. Instantly I knew I would name him Sparky, after a Pikachu from the show. I slept with him and played Pokemon Red with him. I would watch the show with him and when I went to school I would hide him in my backpack. This went on for many years as I slowly accumulated more and more Pokemon merchandise. More games, more books, more cards, everything except dolls. Nothing could replace Sparky. But like a lot of my items,�I lost him. I lost Sparky! I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find him. I lost my Gameboy for almost a year, only to find it underneath the couch cushion once, so losing things wasn't new to me. For weeks I was heartbroken, but I moved on. Then I came home one day to find a rough, dirty Pikachu doll on the kitchen island. I asked my dad where it came from and he said he found it at work. He worked at a scrapyard and he saw this Pikachu in the back�of a car that was about to be crushed. I picked up the Pikachu with a slight grimace, trying not to touch the soiled spots all over it. I looked at the tag on his foot to see the name, Sparky, scribbled with�red ink. I found the red ink bizarre, but I assumed it was to make it stand out from the black-lettered label. It was a well-known nickname for Pikachu, so I wasn't all too surprised. Its tail was torn and the�seams started to show the potential of tearing soon, but otherwise it was in average condition I suppose for a 13-year-old doll. 'What a grotesque little Pikachu you are', I muttered slightly aloud. As I gazed into its soul-less eyes I began to feel trapped. I continued peering further and further into the abyss, for no apparent reason. They were the only unsoiled part of this Pikachu. They were jet-black, yet they release no reflection. It was such a bizarre feeling. It must be some weird coating they put on them. 'Hey, so you did take a likin' to the little guy', my father said abruptly, startling me immensely. Gasping, I dropped the Pikachu harshly to the floor. I hastily picked them up and set Sparky back onto the island. 'Yeah, it reminds me of the one I used to have. I still have to wash it a bit, but after that I hope it should look almost as good as ol' Sparky. Do you have any idea where he went?' 'Haven't a clue, that was your mother's department and she probably remembers less now than she did then. We searched the entire house, remember? Must be at your old school or sumthin''. The dull bitterness of the loss returned to me slightly, but only fleetingly as I returned my eyes to the new Sparky. I ambled off to ask my mother what would be the best way to clean this thing. I found her�knitting in her