WARNING: this fic contains violence and really depressing stuff. Who's it about? Lets see if you can figure it out. I don't think I've ever seen a fic about this character before and I think it's a very tragic character...
It has been another harrowing long day. The player didn't win a single game, and finally gave up in disgust as I watched from the upper right of the field. He left the computer. I am alone again.
There's Mr. Smiley of course, but he was making that X_X face and he never liked me or paid any attention to me anyway. Neither do the bombs, flags, or question marks. No one ever notices my existance until the high scores screen popped up, and the player never seemed to beat his old scores anymore, so that was futile. For all my prominent placing, I might as well be invisible.
I am alone. Utterly and completely alone.
Being alone is the hardest thing in the world. It makes me feel as though I don't exist at all.
But I've learned how to prove it to myself.
I go to my room, away from Mr. Smiley and the bombs and flags which are so oblivious to my pain - to my very existance! Slowly I slide the sword I stole from the King of Spades in the Solitaire game out from beneath my bed.
I do not tremble as I slice the blade deep into my flesh. It doesn't hurt so much any more. Or maybe I've just gotten used to it.
Mr. Smiley would be angry with me if he ever found out. But he's too busy with the others to ever come and see what I'm doing, so I'm safe.
I watch in a haze of pain and bliss as the red numbers seeped from my veins, the very force of my existance leaking out to prove that I am still here.
After awhile, my lust for the pain and the proof of life subsides and I let the flow cease. I am still alive, even if no one knows it but me - at least for now.
Someday maybe I'll make a mistake, and cut too deep. Maybe it won't be a mistake. I wonder if they'll even notice I'm gone. Probably not, I serve no purpose to them anymore.
I wipe the red numbers away before returning to my usual place on the battlefield. Just as I thought, Mr. Smiley didn't even know I was gone. One of the question marks looks at me curiously, but even though they all always look at me like that, they never ask where I've been or if something's wrong. They never can see beyond the dot below them.
The player has returned, and again he turns his attention to the bombs and the flags and the question marks. He never sees the faint traces of the red numbers as they drain from my body...
A/N: Well did you guess who this story is about? It's about the timer! No one ever seems to pay attention to the timer when they're playing, at least that's what it seems like to me, and I thought it probably would be very lonely and upset over the fact that no one pays attention to it. If you liked this story please R/R and maybe I will write more!!