Disclaimer: All characters and locations belong to Shigeru Miyamoto and Nintendo, ©1984-2008.
A/N: Nothing to say, really, though I wonder if this should be expanded in any way.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this small angsty bit of literature. Constructive criticism is welcomed and reviews are appreciated.
What Was Never There
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
-- Samuel Butler
What was never there for Bowser King of Koopas throughout the years were his feelings for Princess Peach Toadstool.
He'd watched her from afar so many times, often shirking his duties as (then) Prince in favor of sneaking into the Mushroom Kingdom. There in the bushes of the luxurious garden he would sit and take in the sights and smells of colorful flowers, the melody of birdsong and the damp touch of mildew beneath his claws. He would wait for her then to come out and it didn't matter if it was one hour or one day or one week. He'd wait forever if it was warranted.
He just had to see her.
And when she stepped out the door into the light of the golden Sun above, the world would vanish. Nothing would matter. Nothing would exist: not time or space or nature or the sense of wrongness that would oft plague him. It would be him, her and the gardens.
She was (and still is) beautiful in every sense of the word, and each time he beheld her his breath would catch in his throat; his heart would quicken to the beat of bass drums; and his eyes would fixate upon the epitome of beauty. Her long, amber mane would flutter in shining strands lifted by gentle winds like a banner of peace. Her cherry blossom pink dress would trail along sure and measured steps punctuated by pure royal blood. Her azure irises would take in their surroundings and sparkle like diamond dust.
She was so lovely. He would capture that essence and put it in a frame of sterling silver, and it would be the best way to remember it. He would give her the Moon and the Stars and it would be the best gift he would ever give her. He would compose music or write a song of all that she meant to him and it would be the best decision he would ever make. He would hold her small, delicate hand in his large, powerful claw and profess the meaning of his love for her. And it would be his most favorite memory.
Until reality came crashing down in the form of a round, red plumber.
Mario.
He was always foiling his plans, always stealing from him the Princess he so desired to hold in his arms. He could come up with the most devious and fool-proof scheme a villain could imagine, but the man would tear it apart. He could amass the greatest army ever seen in the galaxy, but the man would crumble their foundations. He could dream an infinite number of scenarios of being alone with his fair lady, but the man would and always (always Always ALWAYS) shatter the mirror that was hope.
How he hated that man.
That man, who had a loving circle of family and friends.
That man, who had a home and people who adored him for saving their kingdom.
That man, who had the Princess at his side.
That MAN, who had thwarted the King of Koopas and got a kiss of heartfelt thanks in return!
Mario. That thief! That bastard!
How dare he have everything! How dare he have the Princess's heart and favor! How dare he!
HOW DARE HE!
'I hate you so much!'
He wanted to hurt him, kill him, anything to have the fat fool out of his life!
He wanted to punch the mirror with all his rage, frustration, loneliness and sorrow released in that one blow.
Only there is nothing left of the mirror. Just broken, jagged shards of the past and bloody droplets of a painful future.
He traces a finger along the edge of one until he draws a bead of red (disgusting, cheerful, carefree red) and taps the bit of glass off the frame and it falls to the cool stone floor.
It breaks into a million and one pieces.
A deep, heavy sigh escapes him.
She would never know.
And it would be as if they were never there.