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Fan Creations / Super Mario Subconscious
« on: May 11, 2008, 05:56:06 PM »
I was thinking the other day about Mario. He's explored the aquatics, and even space. What other frontier does he have to conquer? How about the frontier of the human mind?! I formulated a plot in which Mario suffers a head injury and during a coma, discovers the depths of his own subconscious and analytically questions his life and vitality. I present: Super Mario Subconscious!
I
It was those days, those warm yellow days, when nothing however burdensome could gnaw on the mind. Mario’s mind was usually a burdened mind, but not on those days; those days with the blue sky and the green grass and just about every other pleasantry you could imagine. He reclined onto a lawn chair next to Peach, sitting in front of her enormous castle. He exhaled and stretched out like a deflated balloon. Peach read a magazine and a lone toad mowed the picturesque lawn.
Peach, without moving her head from that glossy publication, frowned and said, “You know, you still haven’t repaired the royal bathroom.”
“Dang it, Peach. You’d think that the one day when I can sit down and free my mind from kart maintenance and tennis matches, and let’s say, SAVING YOU, you would at least give me the liberty of relaxation.”
“Well what do you suggest I do?”
“Have you ever heard of public service?”
“You’re telling me that I should pay money for a questionably professional plumber, when I have an all-star right next to me?”
Mario sighed and smirked at Peach, “You know just how to butter me up.”
He furrowed his brow and violently launched himself out of the lawn chair. He left Peach in a drizzle of guilt, which subsided when she thought of her soon-to-be-functioning bathroom. Mario cursed under his breath about the 50 other bathrooms in that cavernous castle. However, whether he was aware of it or not, he was her wind-up toy, scouting around and cleaning her messes, returning her world to “just-so.” He climbed flight after flight of velvet stairs, and eventually found himself standing on the slick marble floors of the royal bathroom. He spotted the problem.
A chrome pipe shook threateningly on the other side of the room, periodically spurting bursts of water. It appeared to have been connected to the sink. It looked like a dangerous and difficult job, but Mario, upset about his nice day interrupted, approached it incautiously. Reaching into his pocket for a wrench, he bent down and grabbed the shaking pipe. There was a swift solid movement, and then all was white.
Half an hour later, a whistling toad maid strolled into the bathroom with a mop and a bucket only to find Mario on the ground, unconscious, with a chrome pipe protruding from his skull.
I
It was those days, those warm yellow days, when nothing however burdensome could gnaw on the mind. Mario’s mind was usually a burdened mind, but not on those days; those days with the blue sky and the green grass and just about every other pleasantry you could imagine. He reclined onto a lawn chair next to Peach, sitting in front of her enormous castle. He exhaled and stretched out like a deflated balloon. Peach read a magazine and a lone toad mowed the picturesque lawn.
Peach, without moving her head from that glossy publication, frowned and said, “You know, you still haven’t repaired the royal bathroom.”
“Dang it, Peach. You’d think that the one day when I can sit down and free my mind from kart maintenance and tennis matches, and let’s say, SAVING YOU, you would at least give me the liberty of relaxation.”
“Well what do you suggest I do?”
“Have you ever heard of public service?”
“You’re telling me that I should pay money for a questionably professional plumber, when I have an all-star right next to me?”
Mario sighed and smirked at Peach, “You know just how to butter me up.”
He furrowed his brow and violently launched himself out of the lawn chair. He left Peach in a drizzle of guilt, which subsided when she thought of her soon-to-be-functioning bathroom. Mario cursed under his breath about the 50 other bathrooms in that cavernous castle. However, whether he was aware of it or not, he was her wind-up toy, scouting around and cleaning her messes, returning her world to “just-so.” He climbed flight after flight of velvet stairs, and eventually found himself standing on the slick marble floors of the royal bathroom. He spotted the problem.
A chrome pipe shook threateningly on the other side of the room, periodically spurting bursts of water. It appeared to have been connected to the sink. It looked like a dangerous and difficult job, but Mario, upset about his nice day interrupted, approached it incautiously. Reaching into his pocket for a wrench, he bent down and grabbed the shaking pipe. There was a swift solid movement, and then all was white.
Half an hour later, a whistling toad maid strolled into the bathroom with a mop and a bucket only to find Mario on the ground, unconscious, with a chrome pipe protruding from his skull.
