Nobody yet. Actually I know who they are, but I’m not telling. Tomorrow I will perform the winning poems in a private spoken-word poetry slam event that will be videotaped and uploaded to my channel next week. I will contact the winners soon to arrange shipment of free Official Katya blouses. Thank you for your poems. Many of them were bad. But many of them were good.
“My father owns the Safari Zone in Route 121. He used to charge people to enter the Zone and would make them use ‘special’ Poké Balls, which gave everyone the idea that this was where their money was going. In truth, those balls were just plain Poké Balls painted over to look fancy, and my father gets free shipments of those balls from a small Poké Ball factory his brother owns in Kalos. He made a huge profit from charging the visitors, so it didn’t take long for it to get to his head.
“He started raising the entry fees, with fees being doubled in less than a month. Visiting trainers noticed, and their number became less and less each time the price raised. To make up for it, he started cutting the salaries of his workers. In turn, his workers started quitting one by one. The whole situation made him so mad that one day, he made me and Mom pack our bags and move out to Kalos to live with his brother, and we couldn’t say anything to change his mind.
“While we were in Kalos, he tried asking himself what went wrong in the business. He started blaming the workers for leaving, then the trainers for not appreciating the Zone, until he finally realized that there was no one to blame but himself. He knew that he let his greed get the better of him, and as a result, the entire business went down the drain.
“It would be five whole years before we heard anything about the Zone again. My father got a call from one of his old business partners saying that the Pokémon he left in the area turned the Zone into a fully functioning ecosystem. Stricken with guilt, my father came back and reopened the Zone. This time, he removed the entrance fees and asked for volunteers to sustain the Zone’s day-to-day business, with he himself becoming one of these volunteers. He claimed that it was under new management, and he wasn’t really lying—by the time we moved back here, he was a changed man.
“He tells me this story all the time, and one time I jokingly told him that he should write a book about it. Apparently, he took it seriously, and you can get free copies of the book at a stand in the Zone’s entrance. As much as I’m sick of the story myself, it’s an interesting read, and it’ll be worth getting one next time you visit the Zone.”
I just want to be covered in tattoos, tan all year round, have a constant shipment of (free) clothes and sneakers to my door every month, and be emotionally stable 24/7. Is that really too much to ask?