by Super Mario
Video Game Hero
I do not fear the cold hand of Death. Why not? Who the hell knows! It doesn't make sense! All should fear the Grim Reaper's swift scythe, which come for us all. "Fear death," I tell myself over and over again. Each time I say it, I wiggle the toothpick I've embedded under my toenail, but despite the pain, I still chuckle in the face of the Abyss. What's wrong with me? It's unnatural!
Truly, I am alone. All men and women and children fear the Beyond. A laboratory puppy will flee a mighty Mario stomp, even after it has been trapped in a corner and has no hope, for it knows that even a life of frequent electric shocks is better than death. It would not leap bottomless pits, nor hurdle a speeding tortoise shell. To do so would be to defy the fundamental instinct to survive, an instinct I alone don't have.
Why do you fear death? Please tell me. Are you afraid to go to hell? I would be at home there, I fear, with my terrible fireballs and wicked episodes of lovemaking with my once-pure Princess. Hell is where I belong, but I cannot say I fear it. Perhaps you fear accounting for your sins before Christ. Why do you fear Christ? He is a forgiving and caring God, who died for your sins. Christ did not fear death.
But I am not a God, and although we both smite our enemies with vengeful fire, and perish only to rise again, I have little in common with Christ. Christ exists to give man the gift of eternal life. I exist only to amuse unpopular teens with my blinking lights and smooth, 32-bit icons. Other icons forgive your sins -- I only beep, spin and scroll. Reset me! I fear it not!
I have practiced my fear of death, to no avail. I view funerals, and high-speed auto accidents. I sob, wail and gnash my teeth with grief, but never do I tremble with sweet terror. A visit to the dentist, or the hairdresser, inspires a deeper concern. A disastrous haircut I understand. Death I do not.
Perhaps I will never fear the End. You will End soon -- your flesh will fail and bones snap before the oncoming Bus of Time. Long before my durable plastic casing degrades into its component polymers, you will be dead. Perhaps your short span is the cause of your fear.
I long for release. My existence is a pointless arcade of repetitive actions which at first confound, then delight and with time, present no challenge at all. I have rescued my Princess many times, and discovered all the hidden coins. I shall have no higher score. Release me, for I long to die. Crush my cartridge with splitting mauls, and etch my microchips with acid. It is time for me to go. I cannot fear death! But I no longer wish to live, abandoned and trapped in my little-used home. Kill me. Kill me!
Kill Luigi too.