Luigi looked up at the fluffy cotton clouds and the powder blue sky. “Is this all there is to life?” A despodancy was filling him, maybe helped on by the sound of a bubbly Princess Peach and Mario, who he had rescued, again. He could hear their voices coming closer, Peach with her annyoingly sweet sugary attitude and her charactersitically appreciative and ledwdly suggestive flirtations and Mario with the heavily accented Italian slurs..
He looked up at the sky one last time and jumped down off the tree-high mushroom he was standing on. As they came closer he wiped off the distaste and pasted on a fake smile.
“Hey Luigi, my man” boomed Mario twitching his mustache “How ya doing? Me and Peachy here, well, we’re gonna go grab a few beers before I go help her with her plumbing. Wanna join? For the beer of course.” Mario laughed and his big beer belly rolled with each snort and snorkel.
Luigi cringed as Mario gave him a suggestive wink. He didn’t know which was more repulsive; Mario’s idea of fun, which involved getting shit-faced drunk, or what he and Peach would be doing back home. Which was as close to plumbing as stomping kompaa’s was.
“Uh, no thanks” he hurriedly back-tracked “I have a number of things to get done.” And then he practically ran in the other direction before Mario could suggest anything more disgusting.
“Hey Luigi!” It was too late. Luigi slowed down and turned to look at Mario just as he and Peach were getting on the back of Yoshi.
“Can you finish all those actual plumbing jobs for us? That’s great. You’re awesome, man.” And off they went.
That was it. Anger was rushing like a hurricane through Luigi. He was sick and tired of all of this. Helping rescue Peach every week, single-handedly handling their plumbing business, running errands for Mario and what for? Nothing! No acknowledgement, no rewards, no fancy castle on a hill. While Mario had all the glory and the fun. Well, that’s it! He was done playing second fiddle.
He knew a deserted, forgotten pipe on the outskirts of the Mushroom Kingdom that flushed him straight out of this world. He had never told anyone about it because that was the responsible, brotherly thing to do. But now he was going to use this pipe to transport himself to somewhere, far, far away from here. Somewhere where there was no Mario, Peach, Bowser or anyone else who he would play have to answer to. Somewhere we he could start over and be the one and only hero. A place that would sing his praises and construct statues of him. Creatures that would appreciate his intelligence, jumping skills. muscular body and thick must ache.
Luigi was decided. He hurried excitedly to the pipe, wondering why he had never taken this chance at a new beginning before. Practically skipping, he reached a rusty, leaning pipe hidden behind acres of thorny bush and started hacking his way through, oblivious to the scratches and cuts on his arms.
He could almost smell the freedom, the success as he climbed to the top of the pipe, grinning from ear to ear. Standing on top, he took a deep breath, crouched down and got sucked through the vortex.
This was his time. He was on his way to greatness. The whooshing and spinning stopped. He had arrived. What was this new world like? Endless beaches and azure oceans? Forests of lush berries? Or unimaginable wonders? He opened his eyes to the colour metal. Gadgets, steel and a dreary towering structure and realised he was probably in a transport vehicle of some sort. Not only that, someone else was with him, slowly circling the perimeter. He looked at the huge, muscularly built man in combat greens, space helmet and a large, futuristic looking machine gun and slowly swallowed.
Right above his head he could see a small plaque with the words ‘Forward Unto Dawn’. Luigi looked over at the solider/space man and tentatively smiled as he tried to quell the rising fear and bile and came to the conclusion that new beginnings were over-rated.
Written in response to Writing Challenge: Starting Over
Making a new start is never as simple as it seems on paper. It’s easy to talk about losing a few pounds or giving up the job you hate to weave animal-shaped baskets on a tropical island, but less so to make it happen, and keep at it.
In this week’s writing challenge, we’re asking you to write a short piece of creative writing (fiction/poetry/prose poetry/freeform mindjazz/whatever floats your boat) on the theme of Starting Over.