AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
Yuna vs. Roll (Points: 11/12 Matches: 11/12)
"Well?"
The devil that is fear stalks the corridors of your mind and of your heart. His pointy ears, his hellish laughs, his confident smile send fire into every vessel, every neuron, every muscle. He taunts you, a calming voice of logic that somehow curls your heartstrings. "You cannot defeat her, unless..."
A dramatic pause for effect, dampened only slightly by the fact that you do not speak English.
".. unless," he continues dramatically, "You sell me YOUR SOUL."
You shrug, trying to conceal from the devil your total desperation, but you know the truth of his words.
"Well!?"
You remain quiet, listening to the agitated rise in his voice.
"Damn it!" yells the devil, "I'll help you out just this once, all right!?"
In a hugely unnecessary gesture, you shove your hand upon your rear and withdraw a familiar instrument of destruction - and of music.
"Hello?" calls the little voice behind you, and finally, you turn to meet it. It is a ten-year-old girl dressed in abominable cuteness. She is smiling at you at just the wrong angle. Her eyebrows have that lilting, tilting quality, and in general, she is simply too dangerously adorable. She radiates a sort of venomous huggable feeling about her.
"I'm glad you finally turned around!" she giggles. "I'm Roll!"
It is then, as she flashes that incredibly smile at you, that you thank God for letting the devil steal your soul, for if you have your soul, you will most definitely scoop her up into your arms and cuddle her. With your mind firmly set, you lay hands to bongos.
The din is fantastic. Earth, fire, wind, water, and heart tremble before mother****ing Donkey Kong and the traditional beats that you bust out. You throw your head back to enjoy the music as your hands apply The Awesome (TM) all over your drums. But as you turn back to stare into the face of victory, an icy hand breaks unscathed through the fire of the devil and clutches your heart. The symphonic lacings of your music begin to die down. Roll has not been defeated by your song.
No, she has more than survived the attack... she is swinging her cute little tush back and forth in what is, you realize with growing horror, clearly a dance.
She is enjoying it.
"La la la," she sings, to herself, still dancing, as your music fades away. "Aww, you stopped already? Big bad Donkey Kong doesn't want to play anymore?"
The fire freezes over. The devil lets out a cry of despair, but you shove it to the side. You stretch out the behemoth arms, and Roll runs unabashedly into them. Unadulterated joy is etched across each of the juvenile lines in her eyes. You cannot explain the emotions and sensations within you; you are so unused to this absence of animosity or sexual intent... perhaps it is the same feeling, you muse, as that of a father beholding a daughter, or of a child hugging his dog.
You dance with her, tossing her up in the air, listening to her uplifting cheers as she bounces up and down in your arms. You have a foot race with her when you poke her; you patronize and condescend, allowing her the opportunity to touch you but always shying away at just the last moment. You clear valleys and hills and mountains and lakes in simple love.
When she exhausts herself, you take her meager hand between two of your fingers and begin to walk back toward the beach. The setting sun flies unbroken into your eyes, and the burbling seas shatter its light in thousands of different directions. Gently, with an overwhelmed feeling, you ease Roll's tired form into the tides and allow them to carry her away.
There is a burning sensation in your eyes. You and feel wetness, but you are sure that it is because of the ocean.
Then, from behind you: "Don't move."
(A) Interlock your fingers behind your head. Kneel down. Place your forehead to the ground. And then kick some ass.
(B) Pull out the Coconut Gun that can Fire In Spurts.
(C) Do absolutely nothing. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. There ain't nothing you can't handle.
(D) Put it in.
SD
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
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