King Candy was the self-proclaimed greatest racer ever; unfortunately, his greatness was only as the ruling racer of Sugar Rush. There were many other racers (for example: Captain Falcon) better than him, but he was so blind-sided by his own ego that he didn't notice. Plus, they didn't seem to draw away from his game's own fame.
One day, after a Random Roster Race (which he without a doubt won), he decided to take a nice leisurely drive. The king drove through the Candy Cane Forest, always an adventure. As he looked through the peppermint-striped trees, he saw a bit of red and white that looked….familiar. It was also moving.
Hopping out of the kart, King Candy followed the figure on foot. He followed it until he could see what it was clearly. The figure stopped, and the king made out a helmet with a T on the back. He gasped and hid before the figure noticed him. He whispered to himself, "Oh, he can't be from another system. Litwak'd never bring him back after what happened!"
"Why are ya talking 'bout yerself in the third person?" the figure asked; he had indeed noticed the king. The disguise was revealed; how this foriegn racer knew about the charade was a question to be asked later. Right now, King Candy got to more important matters, and turned to face the intruder.
"What are you doing here, and why are you game-jumping?"
"Maybe you should ask yerself that." The figure seemed more interested in climbing the tree in front of him than talking to the king. "Vanellope could've asked the same question."
"H-how do you know all that?" The white-clad racer was now hanging upside-down.
"Because…I'm you." The figure "booped" King Candy's nose. Then, he pulled out a guitar from hammerspace. Oh boy; the king knew for a fact that this guy was no songbird. Still, the image from his past sang pretty well:
La-da-da-duh-da, I'm gonna bury you in the ground,
La-da-da-duh-da, I'm gonna bury you with my sound;
I'm gonna drain the red from your pretty salmon face,
I'm gonna—!
"Turbo, that's distasteful!" Finally, the king spat out the name he so long loathed. The racer hanging on the branch scowled.
"Oh, you don't like that? Or do you just not like me?!" After the outburst from both of them, the song picked back up.
I'm sorry I don't treat you like a god,
Is that what you want me to do?
I'm sorry I don't treat you like you're perfect,
Like all yer little loyal subjects do
I'm sorry I'm not made of sugar,
Am I not sweet enough for you?
Is that why you always avoid me?
That must be such an inconvienence to you
Well, I'm just your problem,
I'm just yer problem;
It's like I'm not, even a person, am I?
I'm just your problem
Well, I-I-I-I shouldn't have to justify what I do
I-I-I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you
I'm sorry that I exsist, I forgot what landed me on your blacklist
But I-I-I-I shouldn't be the one that makes up to you
So…why do I want to?
Why do I want to….
"Stop this right now!" King Candy exclaimed, sick of the racer's song.
"King Candy?" He suddenly heard another voice, one much younger. He turned to see Adorabeezle staring at him. "What are you doing out here?"
"I thought I saw…" The king turned back, only to find no one hanging on the branch. "Someone…" The popsicle racer took the older racer's hand. She could tell this was one of his less sane moments.
"Come on; I'll take you to your cart." As Adorabeezle led him back, King Candy wondered what had just happened. He had seen visions of his past self before, sparked by fear of being caught. But they were never, ever this vivid. But what the mirage had sang to him was right; his past was a problem, one that even someone as skilled with coding as himself could never get rid of.
((A/N: I have a few ideas for more short stories, but if you have any ideas, let me know! I will give a shoutout to you if you do help spark an idea for a short story here. Expect more shorts here coming soon!))