Warning: If the subject of depression and suicide is a trigger for you, I wouldn't recommend you read this fanfic.
That said, hi! It's been a while since I've published a new story - in fact, I think April was the last time (and that wasn't even a Mario fanfic). I will admit that this is one of my more depressing fanfics, but hopefully you'll still like it. I've never experienced depression, so I hope this fanfic is accurate - if there are any errors, I apologise. I do not mean to be disrespectful.
Also, I'll explain this better at the A/N at the end, but Mario's views on suicide don't necessarily match my own. In my opinion, calling suicide the "coward's way out" is insensitive and inaccurate - though of course I would never encourage someone to do it, either.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Nintendo.
One breath in. One breath out.
Mario let out a rueful sigh. Counting breaths at a time like this, it was absurd.
He decided to make the most of it. In a few minutes' time, he wouldn't be in this world anymore. His breaths would be no more in his pale, lifeless body on the rocks below. He relished the image for a moment. No more pain. No more emptiness. No more grief, no more suffering. No more Super Mario who rescued damsels in distress.
No more depression, that dirty word he had been terrified of mentioning.
No more suicidal thoughts, fantasies of death that had plagued his mind for months.
No more anything.
He sat at the edge of the cliff, contemplating on all that had led him to this place - oddly, he was in no hurry to die just yet.
It had all started on the day he'd realised that Peach didn't love him. It had been a typical afternoon, the two of them walking around the Princess's castle, taking bites of their slices of cake. He still remembered its spongy texture, chocolate cream filling his mouth.
He'd looked up at her, and not for the first time, he had been unable to tear his gaze away. She had looked so beautiful that day, her golden hair flowing with the breeze, her blue eyes sparkling with joy, her cheeks rosy. He'd ended up watching her for too long, and she had turned to him, smiling.
It had seemed like the perfect moment to initiate a kiss; besides, even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to resist her. They had stared at each other for a long time - Peach's smile had begun to fade. He had stood on the tips of his toes, and leaned in - a fateful mistake.
Her body had stiffened, and he saw now that she hadn't wanted anything more than his friendship, but back then, he had been too blinded by his feelings, too dumb, too stupid to just look, really look, to see if she was reacting the right way.
When his lips had brushed against hers, she'd gasped, finally moving, and pulled back violently. The pain, the pain, he could still feel it now - slow realisation, internal panic that he didn't dare to show, a terrible numbness. They'd somehow forced themselves to keep talking, like nothing had happened, but he knew. She hadn't said a word, but he understood. She didn't want him. He had thought, for a long time, that she felt the same way, but she didn't. And how painful that moment had been! How that one error had changed the way they interacted forever!
He should have known that the rejection on the moon had meant something. How naive of him, to put it down to Peach being overwhelmed, to bad timing! But he had been a lovesick optimist, and he'd thought, assumed, that she'd still want him, even after making it clear that she had no desire to marry him.
That was one year ago. Now, Mario and Peach were barely more than polite acquaintances. He rescued her, she thanked him, they parted ways until the next kidnapping. But his feelings hadn't faded, not even a little bit.
No more feelings. No more pain.
But Peach hadn't been the cause of his depression; she had merely been a catalyst. No; there was one person he loved more than Peach, more than even his own parents, the person who had been by his side since birth, his twin brother, his baby brother, his rock when times were difficult.
Luigi.
A fresh wave of grief hit Mario as the muddled, cloudy events of that night took over his mind. Bowser spitting fire in all directions; a fireball about to hit Mario from above, with no time to escape; Luigi pushing him away. His brother's high pitched, agonising screams, his body barely visible under the fire, Mario trying to stand up, too weak, too late to do anything, nothing he could do to save him, Luigi's wails stopping. His unrecognisable, scorched corpse.
He'd sunk down to his knees, his legs unable to support his weight. But he had no time to mourn; he had to defeat Bowser, Peach's future was in his hands, his hands only.
He couldn't remember throwing Bowser into the lava; or had he flipped the axe, or pressed a switch? He didn't know. All he knew was that it was a long time before he began to care about Peach behind him, weeping loudly at the sight of Luigi lying still at Mario's feet. It felt like a dream; it felt so real. He felt so much pain; he felt nothing at all.
The months that followed were torture. There were days when he couldn't summon the will to leave his bed, much less eat the meals his friends had prepared for him. He could go for weeks without exiting his home, excluding going to Bowser's castle to save a princess who didn't love him. Those adventures were driven solely by anger. One day, he would kill Bowser, watch him die slowly while Mario laughed over his body, just to pay him back. A small part of him suspected that Bowser felt some remorse for what he'd done - he went a little easier on him when they fought nowadays - but Mario didn't have the emotional capability to forgive anymore.
Paparazzi, news reporters surrounded him to this day, all after one goal: to get a story and some photos into the newspapers and magazines. Mario often sneered in their faces, refusing to share any information about his current state. Couldn't they at least pretend to sympathise with him? Did they even care about anything except for the money they would get out of this?
But their lack of concern was infinitely more bearable than his compassionate friends. They did everything for him - he couldn't count all of their good deeds. They often asked him if he was feeling okay - he would reply that of course he was. He didn't tell them that he almost always wished to be alone. Just because he was hurting didn't mean he had to take it out on the others.
They were so kind, but their efforts were wasted, because he wouldn't have been standing at the edge of a cliff today otherwise.
And amidst all of his grief for Luigi, he was still pining after Peach. Maybe, just maybe, she could have healed him if they had been sweethearts - not that he was blaming her for anything. She was as nice as the others, baking him cakes he didn't want to eat and telling him stories he wasn't interested in. She was so caring, in a formal, distant way, and that was too much for him, but it was also too little.
He'd envisioned a happy life. He should have been planning a wedding today, buying a suit and asking Luigi if it suited him. He shouldn't be about to commit suicide.
Yet here he was.
He gazed at the sky, tears filling his eyes. The sunset was beautiful, a ball of fire suspended in a blood-red sky. It was strange, noticing these details right before his death when all his life he had only been focused on the bigger picture. Luigi was the one who saw the little things, fretting over the smallest situations and worrying about minor events.
He stood up, his breaths becoming shallower with an emotion that was foreign to him. Luigi had died an honourable death, but Mario wouldn't - he would take the coward's way out. The irony almost made him reconsider his decision; but only almost.
He thought of Luigi, always afraid, but always facing his fears. Would he be proud of Mario for doing this? He doubted it.
But right now, he didn't care.
Mario was thinner now - his face looked longer, and he had less fat around his middle. Sometimes, when he peered in his mirror at home, he saw a shorter Luigi staring back at him. It hadn't been obvious before due to his gluttonous tendencies, but they were almost identical.
He hated that. He hated being reminded of Luigi every single day. Now, he would be free from all of that.
He kicked the ground below him, trying to get familiar with the idea of falling hundreds of metres to his death. That strange feeling was stronger now, sending something like dread down his spine. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? An easy escape from the hardships of life? A shortcut to getting over his grief?
A distant memory of him showing Luigi how to handle his middle school bullies appeared in his mind. The next afternoon, Luigi had stepped into the bus with a huge grin on his face. They finally stopped, he'd said. He had told Mario what he'd said to them, how he'd taken his advice, and thanked him for his help. At the time Mario had smiled, patted him on the back and forgotten about it a week later, but now, he recalled in sharp detail the look of awe on Luigi's face, naked admiration for his older brother.
He'd received that look from him many times throughout his life - when Mario had helped him with his algebra homework, Luigi's weakest area in math; when they'd defeated Bowser for the first time; when, after years of crushing on her, he'd encouraged Luigi to ask Daisy out, when he'd made it sound so easy. The last one had taken place a week before Luigi died.
If Luigi could see him now, would he still look at Mario that way?
No, he wouldn't. Luigi would hate for Mario to turn into what everyone had called the man in green - a coward. Luigi had rarely been happy, now that Mario thought about it. There was always something to worry about, and he cried regularly, and he even experienced occasional bouts of jealousy. But did he ever break, under all of that?
No.
Luigi wouldn't respect Mario's decision to kill himself, even if he tried to sympathise.
Suddenly, he understood what that odd emotion was. It wasn't something he felt often, but he recognised it. It was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of ending his life so abruptly.
He took a step back from the cliff's edge, swallowing hard. What was he doing? Why was he here? What had led him to a place so dark he couldn't find his way out of it? Was there truly a dead end to the tunnel, or was the light there, if only he would look up from his problems?
Luigi had guided him here. But Luigi would also guide him away.
He clenched his fists in determination - the black mist had cleared at last. The minute he got home, he would tell one of his friends exactly how he felt, keeping back nothing. And then, he would get the help he so desperately needed.
He'd survived long dangerous adventures and sleepless nights. He'd saved princesses and his brother and a number of Toads.
The journey towards the light wouldn't be easy, of course it wouldn't; and he may never go back to being his old, joyful, innocent self. His scars would last a lifetime; he would never forget the love he had for the Princess, the pain of losing his brother.
But he would survive this, and he would save his own life.
He realised, then, that his fear was, in fact, bravery. That he wasn't a coward for wanting to die; he would be if he'd taken the jump. That he wasn't brave for thinking of throwing himself from so great a height.
He was brave for choosing to live, knowing it was the hardest thing he would ever have to do.
Killing himself wasn't going to make Peach love him more, or bring Luigi back to life. It would solve nothing - he'd be lying to himself if he said otherwise. One day, he would look back on this mad, crazy moment and wonder what on earth had he been about to do.
There were two paths in life, the easy one and the hard one. He was taking the second, the most difficult, but the most worthwhile once he reached the end.
He turned away from the edge and slowly made his way home, feeling no happier than before, but more determined, more willing.
More like Super Mario.
First off, I'd like to say that because of Mario's courageous personality, I thought he would be very focused on cowardice vs bravery. I also thought he would regard suicide as cowardly, which doesn't represent what I think (no, I am not saying suicide is brave either and I strongly urge everyone not to do it). Second, my theory for this particular story is that all of the times you lose a life in a Mario game are not canon - only the times when you win. Therefore, Luigi wouldn't have been able to be revived.
And please, please, if you are depressed or having suicidal thoughts, as hard as this may feel, get help. Suicide is not the answer and there is always light at the end of the tunnel - even if it isn't obvious at the moment.
I apologise again for any possible errors. I may also publish a short epilogue some time soon. Please review!