Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled

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People with goals

"They're coming for me," Mario whispered under his breath. Far below, he could see the koopas moving, a mottling of colours as their impossible numbers undulated. A bead of sweat rode icily down Mario's fleshy cheek.

He turned to look at Princess, and tried to reassure her with his eyes. But he was too weak for that. And he knew that he was too weak.

He bowed his head. After a moment, there was a peal of thunder.

Princess's face was expressionless, the dried trails of tears upon her fair cheek glistening in the light cast by the luminous clouds outside the window.

"Mario I . . ." her voice caught as there came a tremendous pounding upon the heavy oak door.

Mushroom retainers rushed to brace the door but it was too late--

As if with another peal of thunder, this one from within the chamber, the doors erupted into splinters with a viscous clap.

Mario glimpsed the bloodied corpses of the little mushroom men fly past to collapse and slide against the floor like dolls--Mario shut it out. He put his fleshy arms around the rigid Princess, tightly. Squeezing his eyes shut just as tightly.

"Let's just stay like this," he tried to whisper in her ear. But his voice was a mess. He wasn't sure she could hear him anyway.

He tried to think about how sweet her lithe form felt against him, how soft her cheek against him, how fragrant her hair . . . how she was everything . . .

The koopas tore them to pieces.

The teacher for my Shakespeare class is a fucking moron. And I wish to say nothing further on the subject.

trisa wore the most adorable pigtails this evening, so we went to Tower Records in the hopes of finding the new Tori Amos album, only to find we were six days too soon.

Not to be discouraged, we made our way to Denny’s where I snapped a few photos of trisa making a sort of love to her strawberry milkshake.

I was also preoccupied by becoming very upset about the terrorists holding hostages in a movie theatre in Russia. They’ve already killed at least one hostage--a woman in her twenties. They apparently broke her fingers first.

Maybe it’s callous of me, but the heinousness of this act strikes me sharply for it having taken place in a movie theatre, while these people were in the middle of watching a movie. A musical, no less. The very kind of movie where one goes to escape from the asphalt reality into a world of sweet magic . . .

I hate terrorists. I hate them with a passion. To me, they exemplify everything that is wrong with human nature--unquestioning dedication to an abstract Thing, inability to appreciate imagination, and a failure to grasp the very simple and self-evident concept of true self fulfilment.

Terrorists may be clever about some things, but fundamentally they’re terribly stupid.
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