Mario Walks in on Peach and Bowser
Tonight, he’s stuffed himself so full of mushrooms that he sheds his plumber’s belt somewhere behind the spotted carcass of a Venus flytrap when he stops to take a piss. It’s been a while since he plumbed something. His lips are wet as he stumbles from the house with Princess Peach on his mind. She’s always been his favorite: a damsel in distress in a lipstick pink dress. For the first time in a long time, he has the night off. Peach hasn’t called him, begging to be saved.
He is waiting for his phone to ring, to hear Bowser say he’s got her locked away in his castle and hear Peach’s glass-breaking shrills in the background. Mario only saves her because he loves her. She’s his ultimate prize and one day, he will wake up with his face in her thick blonde hair and know she feels the same. They’ll move in together. No more kidnappings.
The white M on the bumper is fading and Mario has to hold the key forward for a few seconds for the engine to fully start. He probably shouldn’t be driving. The phone sits in the passenger seat silent, so he’s going to the castle just to peek – just to make sure she hasn’t forgotten to call. Maybe his phone isn’t receiving messages. Swerving up the road, the wheels grind on the stone path and fireballs shoot up in the corners of his eyes: Bowser’s castle. Without thinking, he makes his way through the walled-in gardens and past rivers of slow-moving lava; always a flair for the dramatic.
He wonders if this is right, if he should have just waited for the call at home instead of rushing over. Behind the door he hears Peach scream, the air spilling from her lungs, followed by a growl. Mario doesn’t think, just rushes the door, the wood splintering where his body makes impact. Pink dress ripped with a slash, lying on the floor. The two of them frozen in the bed: Peach’s small frame in Bowser’s giant shadow. I was going to call you, she whispers.
It hits him all at once, woozy. She wasn’t screaming for her life, but for pleasure. Bowser’s never been her captor, but a lover. Mario hasn’t been her savior, but nothing more than a cab service. He clenches a fist; he wants to punch the wall, punch Bowser, or maybe Peach herself. All these years, she’s been fucking Bowser: coming willingly, letting him rip off her clothes and throw her on the bed. A single finger uncurls itself from the middle of Mario’s fist and he looks at the two of them, exposed and silent. Pointing at Peach, Mario chuckles before turning his back on her for the first time.
Mario goes home and sinks into the cracked leather seat of his couch and the image of Peach’s bare shoulders and the shadow below her clavicle, infiltrates his thoughts. She was the love of his life – the prize at the end. What does Bowser have that he doesn’t? A castle. The Koopa Troop. Brawn. Minions. Size. He imagines Bowser’s thick fingers in her hair and begins to tremble. Mario clenches a gloved fist. That was his last trip up the mountain.
He deletes her number. Unfriends her on Facebook, but can’t figure out which lyrics will make the best status. Mario logs off. Swallows a few mushrooms. He’ll go find his belt in the morning.
Negesti Kaudo is a 22 year-old Midwestern writer currently in Chicago, IL. She is working towards an MFA in Nonfiction at Columbia College Chicago. Her essays have been published on NailedMagazine.com and Vagabond City Literary Journal. In case you're wondering, her go-to melee character is Zelda/Sheik. Feel free to follow her on Twitter @kaudonegesti.