Reason Why

You look at me. Your face shows that odd mixture of confusion and contempt I'm so used to. You've just hooked a L40 magikarp.

I can almost hear your thoughts. Why wouldn't a magikarp evolve? Why? What's wrong with it?

Look, Mr. Wannabe Pokemon Master, did you ever think about gyarados? I mean, really think about them? Not just the gyarados-are-super-powerful thoughts, not the gyarados-are-super-weak-against-electricity thoughts, not the I-want-one thoughts, not the gee-it's-hard-to-get-one thoughts, but really thought about it. Thoughts that don't revolve around pokemon training.

Yeah, I thought not. Well, Aspiring Master, when you think of gyarados, what do you think of first? Its legendary strength. And the second thing? Its infamous temper. You don't realize...-No, you trainers are all alike.

Well, think, really think, about this for a moment. When a magikarp evolves, its personality is kind of magnified. Especially in things like anger and revenge.

A magikarp's life isn't great. Not utterly awful, no, nothing like that. We may get knocked out quick, but we're pretty tough. We don't get sick or injured much. And we only have about a thousand brothers and sisters for protection and companionship.

Being on the bottom of the pecking order isn't great, but at least we aren't on the bottom of the food chain. Magikarp aren't prey animals for the most part. I mean, what in its right mind would even think a pile of super-hard scales and thin fish bones is food? Unless we're actively bothering other pokemon, they leave us be. We eat the food no one else wants: algae, tiny worms and bugs, old scraps and other such morsels.

Okay, there are the occasional (or more then occasional) pokemon who just like to beat the crap out of us for fun, but hey, anyone who spends their time fighting magikarp isn't getting much stronger. And anyone who fights just to fight ignores us, since we aren't even worth the time to knock out.

Not that you would understand, Rookie Trainer or Expert Trainer, whichever you may be. Not that it matters, all things said and done. You're all Rookies, really. But anyway, because we're so weak, pokemon don't even both to beat us up. It's not taking candy from a baby. We don't have anything anyone wants. It's more like just beating up a baby. Sure, it happens but not on a regular basis.

Which isn't to say our life is great, just bearable. We survive. That's something we're good at.

But why not evolve? Ah, trainer, Rookie or Master, you are all fools. Evolve into what?

Think for a moment, just a moment. Not about power but about life. There are many, many reasons. There are plenty of little ones. We may not enjoy our underdog status, but it's not awful. As a gyarados, we would have to fight battles. We would be sought out by strong pokemon. We would be attacked by humans and captured. No one expects a magikarp to fight back, but a gyarados can't just let a pokemon beat it. We would have a place in the hierarchies of species and individuals, a place that we would continually fight to keep. It is much simpler to just be a magikarp.

But yes, yes, you would never understand. It isn't the only reason, of course. We also fear evolution, for the obvious strangeness of losing your body to change. And because, well...

Not that you care about any of this, Pokemon Trainer. You are simply deciding if I'm even worth the effort of battling. I'm a magikarp – but a L40 magikarp, enough to give a small but useful bonus in battling.

And you're decided to fight me, yanking me onto dry land where I won't even be able to fight back against my opponent, or escape. This is the thanks I get, after all.

No, a magikarp's life is not easy. Bad times equal the good, all things said and done. And evolving into a gyarados would create a powerful monster with one goal – revenge.

A gyarados evolved from a happy magikarp, one without abuse, it will still be the magikarp at the end. But one such as I, one such as most are, would become a raging demon, the hurts and abuse and pain overwhelming whatever was left of me.

Electricity races through me, and I slump to the ground. One good kick from you sends me flying back into the water, where I am again able to use my attacks if I wasn't beaten. More importantly, if I actually wanted to. I could evolve, I could destroy and destroy and destroy, I could make you and others pay for everything you've done to me.

But I don't. You, little trainer, don't understand –maybe can't understand– why I won't, but I will not. Because they were such little cruelties, and perhaps not even realized by the doer, only the victim. Because I, unlike gyarados, can forgive.