For II and all following chapters, I will be dividing them into two parts: the mind and the matter. The mind deals with Mario's subconscious adventures while the matter deals with how things are for Peach and other characters in the real world.
II
THE MIND
All was still white. Everything beneath him, above him, around him, was a piercing white. He had an unquestioning mind; he felt he should be here, sort of like a dream. Taking a few steps forward, he noticed the ground (if there was one) was very malleable. His feet would always sink just a tiny bit. He explored his environment for a couple more minutes (for there wasn’t much to see), and then he dropped to the ground.
A second Mario materialized in front of him.
Their eyes locked, and the new Mario said, “Let me show you around.”
THE MATTER
“Don’t you hate that hospital smell?”
Peach never tried to avoid the hospital smell. It was all around you and when you left the building, it still had itself planted snuggly into your clothes.
“I try to ignore it,” sobbed a teary-eyed Peach.
“Oh,” puffed the toad maid, “look, you, uh, got some eyeliner seeping down your cheek. Let me get it.”
The tiny toad stood on her tippy toes and smudged the eyeliner onto a tissue. Peach was indifferent. She sat pigeon-toed on an uncomfortable waiting room chair, which at least didn’t outdate the magazines. A fluorescent bulb flickered in the ceiling. The koopa paramedics had told Peach that this would be a very difficult procedure. This would be a procedure consisting of improvisation. This would be a procedure beyond the books. One koopa even recommended a funeral home. “They have great deals on cremation,” he said.
“I bet Mario will be just fine,” exclaimed the unaware toad.
“I hope,” Peach mumbled, hardly squeezing those two words out.
Dr. Koopinski hobbled into the room. He was a piece of work, with his synthetic stagger and the melodrama seeping from his every pore. The hospital was not a hospital, but an award-winning movie, to him. With a goofy overbite and an equally goofy hot pink stethoscope, he approached Peach and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Now, Ms. Peach,” he whispered in a buttermilk voice, “I want you to forget about the accident, and just remember that your Mr. Mario is under very, very good care.”
Peach looked up menacingly, “Get your hand off of my shoulder.”
“Patient knows best,” he chuckled as he yanked his chubby hand away, “now I just wanted you both to know that we have our top surgeons currently working on removing…what was it?”
“A pipe,” Peach growled.
“Oh yes, that’s right. Well, that pipe’ll be out of that old noggin soon. Why don’t you ladies follow me? I’ve prepared some cots for you to sleep in overnight. Tomorrow, however, I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own means of sleep.”
Peach and the toad maid followed Dr. Koopinski down a series of wide, brightly-lit corridors. Moans and snores would occasionally seep out of a passed room. When they reached their cot room, they both situated themselves in one. Dr. K bid them a rather goofy farewell and immediately after he shut the heavy oak door, the toad maid sunk directly into sleep. Peach did not.
“Oh goodness,” she muttered.
She could deal with that hospital smell, but not those uncomfortable cots.