Luigi’s Fresh Start

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.

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In Memory of What Could Have Been

Dear Mommy,

They say that there is no bond stronger then that between a mother and her children. How I wish that were true. I would love to be one of those people who proudly declare their mother as their best friend. I wish I could run into your arms and cry my heart out. I wish that I looked to you for inspiration and hope. Oh how I wish so many things.

But unfortunately none of them are meant to be.

I love you. That I can’t deny. But I want, I need more.

As a child I thought you were mean and unkind. As an adult I know better. The burden you carried, the problems you faced and loneliness you lived through. I now know that it wasn’t entirely your fault. But it doesn’t change anything, the damage is done. The hole inside me is too big to fill and too deep to ignore.

I want to be a different mother to my children but I’m afraid I don’t know how. After all, I am the product of what you made. Oh how I wish you could teach me another way.

You’re far away and I miss you. I miss the concept of family, the physical support and presence in my life, but nothing more. And maybe this is what’s keeping me up. Keeping me going.

You’ve helped me. Not to depend on anyone. Not to look for comfort and emotions. Be practical. Don’t lean, don’t look for support. And it’s keep me strong. But it’s keeping me hollow.

Mommy, I miss you, I love you. But more importantly I miss and ache for what could have been.

Love forever,

Your daughter

Written in response to the Daily Prompt: Dear Mom

Nothing Else Matters

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On the outside the world is crashing past me. But I’m not there. I don’t know if I ever was. I’ve distanced myself and become disenchanted and dissociated from life.

This is my sanctuary; the deep dark box hidden inside my soul. The hole where I throw my worries and thoughts and drown them with indifference. Welcome to my world.

Where alienation and detachment rule with a heavy hand and caring too much may mean a an instant descent into madness and pain.

My oasis is constantly shrouded in night, shadows fighting to be set free. It’s deep and encompassing, with it’s swirls of shadowy carelessness reaching into the bitter corners of my soul and killing the last kernels of involvement.

This sanctuary may be filled with trapped demons and dark secrets but it’s mine my place. Where I go to recover and lick my wounds. And from where I emerge stronger, better and ready to take on the world even if I’m not really a part of that world.

Written in response to the Daily Prompt: Oasis.

 

The People We Never Knew

I looked at her across the school playground. She had glowing brown eyes and an infectious smile. Her hair was covered in a bright head scarf that reminded me of my friends back home. She was smiling at her little girl as the bright summer sun beat down and girl danced around on the green grass. Suddenly a fresh wave of home-sickness hit me. I miss my friends, I miss connecting to somebody, anybody.

I look again at the cheerful woman as I hoist Jo from one hip to another. A breeze carries her words to me and I hear the familiar whisper of an exotic language. My exotic language, and in a very similar dialect to where I come from. Too many signs are nudging me, telling me ‘Go, get to know her.’ Still I hesitate, characteristically shy, waiting for a better opportunity.  In a burst the school doors fly open and excited, happy kids shoot out in every direction. Adam is late, as usual. But I see her walking up to slight, handsome boy.There is a frail look about him but he seems to be only a year or two older than Adam. He’s probably in Grade 3. She hugs him and their heads gather together with shared love. As she looks up, she catches my eye and offers a tentative smile. I smile back and turn to Adam, who has just arrived. It’s time to go home.

Over the weeks, we cross paths and share smiles, but nothing more. I keep on trying to muster up the courage to go say hi. I worry about rejection. Or disinterest. And I never make a move. I keep looking for her every day, thinking that this will be the day I connect. But I stop seeing her. Maybe the cold and snow make she her wait in the car. Or maybe I’m not looking hard enough. Either way I can see her no more.

Today I got a letter from Adam’s school. They informed us that one of the Grade 3 boys who had been previously diagnosed with brain cancer has been getting weaker and weaker an is now terminal. His family all flew East where he can spend his remaining days near loved ones.

It has to be her. And the boy. The handsome smiling frail boy that I saw is dying. Physical pain grabs at my heart. I can picture her happy eyes full of tears and sorrow as she sits by the bed of her dying son. I can see the little girl playing in the other room. Scared and anxious but not knowing why. I can see the father sitting in a dark, dark room trying to compose himself so he’ll smile and laugh in front of their son.

I don’t know what I regret more. The fact that I was too scared to reach out and never got to know this family before they broke apart. Or that I could have been of any help to her when she needed it most. Or that I will never see that happy boy again or watch him play and laugh with my son.

I don’t know her. I lost that opportunity. And I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance. But if I could, I would go back to that warm summer afternoon, walk up to her and say,

“Hi. I just moved here and I’m trying to get to know people. Want to get together sometime?”

 

Written in response to the Daily Prompt: Set It Right.

It’s The Dark You’re Hating

I see you looking at me, worried, tense. I know you look at me and see night. You see an unfathomable canyon with no end in site. But deep down below a garden grows; pure lush greenery and majestic mountains. A deep blue ocean that has weathered the fiercest of storms. Yet it struggles to push through the dark that you hate, and on the twilight dreamf-lled days I know it can.

You think I’ve been dead for such a long time. At least inside where it counts. And if I let this darkness sink me, then death would be the least of my concerns. But someday the right breeze will come along and carry the blanket of darkness away and maybe you’ll face your hate and climb down the canyon to where I will be waiting, hoping you’ll see me for who I am and not what I can’t be.

Yes I know I missed this Daily Prompt. But I love it so much that I’m gonna do it anyway. Besides who sets the rules here? Me of course!

Anyway, I always felt that there is a soundtrack playing the background to my life. With appropriate music playing at the right times; heavy metal when I’m angry, swelling instrumentals in touching moments and a funky rock beat for the uplifting moments. And that is mainly why I write about so many song lyrics. A well-written song has the power to move me like nothing else can. They are like poetry to music.

If I had to choose one song to say who I am I would definately go for ‘Unwell’ by Matchbox 20, especially the chorus, which goes something like this:

But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be

And ‘Unwell’ is me to the T. But since I already talked about this song here. I’m gonna go for my second favorite song; ‘Not What You See’ by Savatage. Does saying I like Savatage give away the fact that I was a total 90s girl? Well, who cares, after all you’re only as young as you feel or some other crap.

In case you are not aware of the lyrics, I’ve included my favorite passage from it:

Can you live your life in a day
Putting every moment in play
Never hear a word that they say
As you watch the wheels go around
Tell me if you win would it show
In a thousand years who would know
As a million lives come and go
On this same piece of ground
I’ve been waiting
I don’t understand what you want me to be
It’s the dark you’re hating
It’s not who I am
But I know that it’s all that you see

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Further proof that I’m just a little (or a lot) crazy

Calling All Bad Mothers

I’ve been sitting here for the past hour trying to find something, anything to write – yet I’m pulling up a big fat blank. I then looked at the Daily Prompt, hoping for a lifesaver, or a polo or any kind of candy that will save me (excuse the very badly phrased pun) and I found this:

You have three hundred words to justify the existence of your favorite person, place, or thing. Failure to convince will result in it vanishing without a trace. Go!

Really! Seriously guys, that’s all you can think of? I’m one of those people that have the mentality ‘If I need to justify anything then to hell with it! I really can’t think of anything that I need to stop from vanishing. Wait, should I reconsider my boys and husband. You know, something, nah, it’s just not worth the effort.

Anyway, post-less I’m still trying to search for something, anything to babble (or type) aimlessly about for the next 500 words or so. After all if I have any hopes of every being a writer someday (which thanks to the crap put forth by 50 Shades of Gray – I’m now convinced is very doable), I need to get writing. So there I am, scouring the internet and looking at my craft pictures and all that, when up comes my youngest; Jo. He’s wanders to where I’m sitting, looks at me and then starts screaming at the top of his lungs. Hoping by piercing my ears with his annoying screeches I will give in and finally pick him up. Jo is like a benign growth on my hip. A talking screaming big lump. He’s big, he’s annoying and he just hangs there and does nothing. Yet if I try to remove him, I’m in for a nasty procedure.

So there he is begging and crying and just asking me to pick him. I take a look at him, pull out my phone, snap this picture:

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And then go on writing this post. My husband finally gets a hint from all the screaming, or removes the ear-plugs he somehow magically has on whenever our kids are being annoying and comes to pick him up. 5 minutes later, Jo wanders over and we repeat the same scenario.

Yes, I’m a bad mom. But I did get some cute pictures. And on top of that I am now at officially 396 words, wait now it’s 401, 402, 403…. And there is my post for today!

Anyone out there have any ‘bad mom’ moments they would like to share. Make me feel less bad about myself? Not that I feel that bad, but you know; sharing is caring.

Greetings From Planet Krango

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When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely? For me it depends, are we talking physically? Or you know, cyber-space like?

Why am I asking? Because you can be physically, heart-wrenchingly alone. No one for miles to tell you bless you if you sneezed, yet you feel warm, soft and loved. Surrounded by people who care. Or you can be seeing people day-in and day-out, talking frivolous chit-chat with people on the train, with your husband at dinner or with your kids on the walk home from school, but deep-down inside you feel like you’re caught on a barren planet (let’s call it Krango) where there is no-one else in solar system but you. And that sense of utter and chilling loneliness is slowly suffocating you much like the oxygen-less system you inhibit.

So which one am I? Actually neither and both. I feel blessed to be still connected to my friends and family through technology. Ahhh, Facebook, Instagram, Whatsapp, Viber, Skype …. what would I have done without you? I can still remember our parents taping radio cassettes with their voices and mailing them back to our grandparents so they could stay in touch.

But no matter how much the internet has kept me in touch with my near and dear, it also acts like a stinging ulcer; every time I see them, I’m constantly reminded of the pain of not actually being with them.

On the plus side though, I finally got through to the counseling helpline today and have an appointment tomorrow morning. Although I’m a little skeptical about how much help it will be if I lack the ability to open my heart and talk freely to anyone (this of course doesn’t include you guys reading, because I know that you don’t exist and I’m in essence just talking to myself).

So cheers and peace out.