Scribbled down on a scrap of paper in an hour. I promise the next one will be slightly more uplifting. It's been a bad week. Nonetheless, please enjoy.
Brawl for Leisure
Today is a dull day with boredom stirring in the clouds. They move menacingly across the Mansion's sky, slowly swallowing everything into their dark shadows. But today I can't care, or I won't.
…am I depressed.
I'm surrounded by a group of idiots, sociopaths or unbelievably naïve characters you won't believe. It's a pain to wake up every morning here knowing I'll see that disgusting face or the same moronic grin and have to plaster a plastic smile back on my face.
I throw the second half of my sandwich into my mouth. Might have been my third, but who's counting? I binge when I'm depressed, and today I could eat anything.
Nobody here speaks my language, or even bothers to try. They're wrapped up in petty insecurities like the next match or the next date or trying to hit on Samus when she's not actively destroying an opponent. Shallow. I pray I'll never stoop so low.
I brush crumbs off my face with the back of my hand. It's too late, isn't it? I've become what I've hated, stooped down to the level of these fellow morons, so-called "heroes" and "kings". Pah.
Sold out, didn't I? Signed a contract, didn't I? Obviously must have been drunk at the time; which happens more often than I care to admit.
I feel dirty, used. Kind of like when you realize that what you thought was alright – okay – turned out to be a very, very, very bad decision. The feeling keeps on gnawing away at your insides. Sure, you might not have actually done anything wrong, but the ache-twinge just keeps growing and growing until you feel like you're about to explode with nervous energy.
With a sigh, my practiced hands set to work in making another sandwich. Bread, spread, bread. Hm. Might as well add in a steak while I'm at it. At the rate I've been eating, I've pretty much given up on my figure.
Footsteps down the hallway. My early warning system. I quickly hitch a plastic smile on my face the way one hitches up a Halloween mask, the action done more out of ingrained habit than anything else.
"Heyy there, cutie ~" Peach Toadstool sashays into the little pantry in a flurry of dress and lace and pink. She has this extraordinary ability to wear pink around her like it's a perfume; I swear the light around her grows a little tinted with the colour.
Her boyfriend knows that I'm not the most keen with the Brawls here, but that's all he knows. And she either has never asked or he has never told. She prattles on about the upcoming Brawl teaming – "don't be late, okayy?"- herself visibly excited about the whole thing.
I nod, still smiling.
She pats me on the head – I hate that – and sweetly waves goodbye.
"See you, Kirby!" She winks and twirls out of the room in a twinkle and flurry of pink. I wave a hand weakly to wave, but she was gone from my sight, her dwindling steps echoing daintily down the corridor outside.
I sigh again, all fire gone. Not even the pointless anger at no one in particular. All that's left is the gray monotony of depression, humming in tune to the clouds that drift across the sky.
My sandwich lies abandoned on the counter.