Snippet #2265904

Mario hopped from platform to platform, using his mystical Italian powers to control the flow of gravity. Though he couldn’t reverse it completely, the manipulation of weight was an easy concept on one as large as him. With a sickening crunch, another mushroom creature crumpled under the plumber’s increased weight. The small boy controlling him laughed. “Stupid Goomba’s, you cannot escape me!” The flag had come into view, a dark black figure against the blue pixel sky. Suddenly, Mario yelped in pain as he was struck by a green blur, falling into the ground.

GAME OVER.

“Awww c’mon! I was almost at the end!” Zeal frowned, he had been stuck on the same level for an hour now and the frustration was beginning to get to him. His six year old brain couldn’t comprehend the hidden block needed to reach the flag and end the level. Quite bored of the game, Zeal made his way to the balcony of the apartment. The breeze was soft, just light enough to ruffle his already dishevelled hair. They lived on the third floor of a six floor apartment building or, more specifically, apartment 306. His dad worked a lot to make sure they could stay here but Zeal didn’t mind, his imaginary friends kept him company.

Larry the purple dragon who shot candy instead of fire, Gorotaki, the happy-go-lucky gorilla who always carried around a large barrel, a gift from his brother Donkey, and Sir Peasley, prince of the bean-bean kingdom. These were the only friends Zeal needed. When the other kids ran away or called him names, the three of them were always there to console him. They would play games like Simon Says or Mind Reader but Zeal always suspected they would let him win. Even now, Larry was telling him to run inside. The balcony was a dangerous place for kids so little. With his innocent smile, the small boy followed his friends advice and went back inside.

Then, the earthquake came.

At first, it was barely noticeable, just a slight feeling of dizziness and a loss of balance. Over the course of three seconds, that all changed. The ground shook in a violent spasm, knocking over the weaker buildings easily. Zeal, scared and confused, hid in the bathroom. The building began to tip as the shakes grew worse, knocking huge chunks of ceiling on a journey through the floors, only stopping if they break in half or splatter a family’s brains across the floor. Covering his head with his hands, Zeal began to cry. With a screeching hiss, the piping burst from the roof of the bathroom and swung down directly into the face of a young, black haired boy. Darkness clouded his vision. He was going to die.

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White, that was all Zeal saw. The world around him was empty, devoid of existence unless he counted himself, which he didn’t. Barely audible whispers filled the space around him, mentioning fights, angels and danger. ‘I must really be dead.’ Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence, a voice he recognized all too well.

"Wake up, Pretty Boy.” Azalea’s voice echoed. Small lines began to spread throughout the world like thin ice crackling under weight. From the lines sprouted bright pink flowers, each giving off their own pleasant aroma. Plucking one of the flowers from its crack, Zeal pressed the plant to his nose and took a deep whiff. ‘These are…. Azalea’s…’ The universe shattered around him, shards of memories once thought forgotten. Flashes of his life appeared in the reflective glass. The hospital, the therapist, coming to Yamaku, it was all there. When the last of the memories faded away, Zeal fell.

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With a groan of pain, Zeal’s eyes fluttered open. The room was foreign to the young teenager. Where was he? How did he get here? Images of Azalea, pinned against the wall, popped into his mind. “Is Azalea alright?” he asked shakily, still taking in his surroundings. Sure enough, there she was, looking a little worse for wear, sitting next to a beautiful burgundy haired girl at the foot of his bed. Another girl lie in the bed beside him, accompanied by a large dog. The blind boy was nowhere to be seen and was replaced by a black haired boy with a notepad. He looked nice, though Zeal thought everybody without tattoo’s and piercings looked nice. A blonde boy stood by the doorway, a sly smile on his face. Only one word could be used to describe this boy. Handsome, and he didn't even like boys!

“How did I get here?” He asked quietly, the failure of his rescue sinking in to his skull. Small tears began to form beside amber eyes. ‘How can I protect people if I can’t even take one hoodlum? I’m a useless friend.’ The worried expressions on everyone’s faces unsettled him. It was a face he’d only seen a few times in his life. It meant people cared about a pathetic waste of space like himself. The very thought made Zeal sadder than before, there concern could be put to much better uses.

To assure them of his wellbeing, Zeal tried to sit up. Waves of pain crashed into his body and sent him straight back to lying down. With a heavy heart, Zeal turned to look at his new acquisition. His hand was mangled. Knuckle bones stuck out through pasty white skin and his fingers were coated in dried blood. Any small movement induced a little gasp of pain from his lips, something he wish no one was around to hear. The tears had begun to flow freely now, small streams of emotions that soiled his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Zeal mumbled.