A/N: Originally written for IrishPanther as a prize for the 2013 Reviews Lounge, Too Reviewathon. Figured I'd upload it to my main account. I'm not terribly versed in the fandom, so do forgive me if I've gotten it all wrong.

Death by Stomp

You wake up to the blinding light of pearly gates irritated at the inaccuracy of it all. They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but that's not quite true; for you, all you really see before your untimely death is a pair of black suede shoes looming closer and closer.

stomp stamp stomp

And to think, just this morning you'd bragged to your wife and kids that management was finally promoting you to a boot, your very own green boot. Their delighted faces sent you off to work with a whistle on your lips and a skip in your shuffle. Now lazy Bob from W-3 will get that promotion, and you'll never get to experience the joy of hopping about in your own giant footwear.

maybe they'll bury you in your was-to-be boot; maybe they won't bury you at all.

Death by stomp wasn't what you pictured when you signed up for that whole "new world order" thing; you weren't political – hell, you thought the King was doing a pretty good job – but when the whole neighborhood started rallying for democracy, you figured it was better to go with the crowd than to stand out as the dissenter.

really then it's death by malcontent.

So you left your job at the plant and took over sector L-2 W-5, marveling at the beauty of your rounds. Sure, sometimes the koopas would tease you when they got bored, and yeah, eating lunch was a bit of a hassle, but you enjoyed your time thinking of simple things, of a time before green and spikes and plumbers. Now you're six feet under and heavens above and who will take care of your family and what happens next and all thanks to a pair of well-shined shoes.

stomped stamped stomped