His Fatal Mistake
Disc.: Not mine, don't own. Nintendo and Intelligent Systems owns Marth and Roy, not me. Oh, and Nintendo also owns Ganondorf. And Melee in general.
He was mine. He was mine to hold, mine to kiss, mine to love. It's a shame he's not around anymore.
He'll never know how much I truly loved him. I'd say "I love you" to him all the time, and he'd always respond back with an "I love you, too." I loved him enough to want to have him mine forever, and I never told him. Now I suppose I'll never have the chance to. I loved everything about him, his silky, red hair, blue eyes that held a fire that could never die, or so I thought. The fire was extinguished, doused too early by his fatal mistake.
He was only seventeen, almost eighteen in a week. How stupid was he? I told him he didn't stand a chance against that evil man—what was his name? Ganondorf? Whatever, it's not important—but he wanted to prove me wrong. He always proved me wrong, and always told me to not worry about him, that he turned out to be fine.
But not this time. He made such a careless mistake, a mistake with a cost not so pretty. As you may (or may not) know, in battles, we wear these bands (they look more like bracelets) Master Hand gave us and makes us wear, so when we get hurt, it wouldn't affect us much. We could not bleed, we could not die.
His fatal mistake was that he forgot his, and he refused to take mine, stating that he had handled men twice his size and ten times stronger. That was a year ago, and he had a whole army to help him. Now he was by himself, and he wouldn't let me help him. Before the battle started, he kissed me, passionately, and I returned the favour.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be fine."
He wasn't fine. In fact, he didn't survive the battle. He lasted for about fifteen minutes. The end result? A bloody mess that was barely recognisable as my red headed boyfriend. The image will forever be etched into my mind. I can still hear the screams haunting my nightmares, the screams of bloody murder as he was ripped into two; the tears that I shed, and the screaming I did; and the whole Mansion shocked into silence when I told them that man had ripped my beloved apart. Not once did he stop. He should have stopped when he realised that, no, he wasn't wearing his Bracelet, that he should stop and forfeit the match (or at the very least postpone it so he could have a chance to get his Bracelet). That man did nothing. I hold him responsible for his death, and I shall always.
He was mine. But he's in a better place now. Roy will be just fine. At least I know he'll forever be happy among the clouds, watching over me.
