Fighting Back…

The majority of people that write on here (me included) write practically everything BUT anything on Mr. Game & Watch. I kinda felt sorry for the poor guy, so I decided to post up a one-shot on him. Where it will go? Nobody knows…

This is written in GAW's Point of View

Every time us Smashers go to parties to publicize tournaments and such, I see people fawning over their favorite Smashers, asking about their social lives, looking for photo-signatures and other souvenirs.

I hate going to these Publicity Parties.

I never had a fan in my life. People would come to me and be polite… but there was none of that, "I love how you fight…! You are so awesome… etc." There was a question or two about how I could cope with being the only 2-D alive… but then they would spot their own favorite Smashers and excuse themselves.

I wish I never signed for Super Smash Bros. Melee.

I had my share of friends who lived in the Super Smash Brothers HQ… but they were friends not fans. Everybody had their own handful of fame, and it was especially depressing to know that celebrities surrounded me, and I should be one, but I'm not. Even Master Hand, doesn't think that I'm fit to be a Smasher…

I wish I had my share fame and glory…

He told me I was the worst Smasher, and that if I wasn't boosting approval ratings of SSBM… he would kick me out.

I wish I were already out.

And now, here I am in a Publicity Party, watching Link, Marth, and Roy smile his "Crest-White" smile to his wild fan girls who gasp when they touch him. I see kids crowding around the Ice Climbers, Ness, Young Link, Kirby, Pikachu, Pichu, and the rest of their gang, awestruck when Ness used one of his psychic abilities. I see boys flirting with Peach, Samus, and Zelda who giggle at their attempts.

And yet, it is as lonely as a ghost town where I'm standing. Luckily, my face cannot portray the feelings of loneliness that grip me. I'm just a wimpy 2-D nobody cares about.

"Hey look! It's that freak!" I heard a kid in baggy black pants, and a black T-shirt yell at me. He had a green Mohawk, and his face was pierced in several places. He was surrounded by many of the same type of punk people. And I was surprised he was pointing at me. Not past me, but at me.

"What a loser…" I heard him mutter, as he strode toward me in an arrogant way. "So Mr. Game & Loser… how are you enjoying your life, you dimwit? Think it's lonely enough?" He smirked, as his gang laughed.

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't exactly prepared for this.

"What, a fker like you can't talk?" He jeered.

People were now staring, and were circling around us. I couldn't say anything. It hurts when somebody insults you for a reason you can't possibly know.

The punk teen jabbed his finger into my chest, throwing me a little off balance. There were titters from the crowd, as they watched me. There were catcalls from the crowd.

"Fight… Fight… Fight… Fight…Fight…" they chanted. Was a Publicity Party, supposed to go this wrong?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ness's face contort with fury as he tried to step in, to tell the teenager to mind his own business. But I heard Master Hand stop him. "Let's see what he can do. Let's see if he actually has some worth in his life."

Even Master Hand thought I was a worthless pile of crap! I faced the teen that was now confident that I wouldn't do anything to stop him. He saw me for exactly who I was: a person who always got kicked around. And I truly wished I wasn't but in actuality… I was.

"Fight… Fight… Fight… Fight!" The chant became faster, as the panic doubled up inside me. It wasn't like I didn't want to hurt this guy; it was more of the fact that I was afraid that I'd embarrass myself.

"Not much of a goddamn fighter, now are you, fking bastard?" He said. He aimed a kick at my legs. The target was hit. I stumbled over on my feet and fell on the floor. People were mocking me, making faces. It hurt to look.

I tried to stand up again, but he kicked me down again. The cheer for the teen rose again. I fell to the floor. By now, I felt like bawling, and it was getting harder to keep back the tears.

The teenager used all of his four letter words on me, some made up and some not, but every dirty word he said, made everybody laugh. "C'mon fight!" He roared, jabbing his knee into my side. Pain exploded in my side.

I looked up at the crowd. The faces were blurry, except for my friends. They stood out. Their faces were the look of horror.

Sympathy.

Dread.

Embarrassment.

I couldn't stand the pitied looks they were giving me. Each look I saw made something inside of me click into place. Even Ganondorf's, Bowser's, and Mewtwo's faces were twisted into something that looked like pity.

A flame ignited inside me, flaring my insides. Vaguely, I wondered how this had started in the first place, and whether I would embarrass myself further than what I was doing now. But now wasn't the time to think. The flame that was in my body turned into a bonfire.

I shot up and knocked the teen over, using my head. People gasped, as the punk fell down. They stopped jeering and chanting. They were now looking at the punk.

"There you go. I fought. Happy?" I quietly asked. The punk was looking at me, astonished and ashamed. His pulled his face into an angry look. He tried to tackled me down, but I knew from then that this kid was no Smasher. He had no experience, whatsoever. I grabbed his outstretched hands and juggled him (my trademark, throwing technique) throwing him high into the air.

He screamed.

People pointed.

I smiled.

I barely even hurt him, but I could tell he was scared as hell. He was white-faced, and all of a sudden he spewed something on the floor.

Vomit.

My smile turned into a grimace, as the rancid aroma filled my nose. I turned away. I was greeted with 25 faces (Remember, Nana was included), beaming at me. I grinned back.

I had fought back. And the feeling of victory was overwhelming for some reason. After all, he was only a wimpy kid, so why was I feeling so happy?

The applause.

This was the first time I'd gotten enthusiastic applause. If I won a match, it would be polite clapping. But this applause was for real. And I felt I'd earned it.

THREE DAYS LATER

I sat in Master Hand's office, feeling extremely nervous. Once again, I was happy that my face wouldn't be able to show it.

"Approval ratings have gone higher, because of that little incident." Master Hand said. If he had a face, I was sure he would've smiled.

"Really?"

"Yes, they have. And you've also got your own group of fans." He said.

"Really?"

"Yes, in fact there's a person waiting for you right now. He claims to be your biggest fan." Master Hand said in an amused tone.

"Really?"

"Damn it, is that all you can say!" Master Hand said in an annoyed voice.

"Sorry." I squeaked.

"Are you going to talk to your fan or what?" Master Hand asked.

"Ah… sure."

"Okay, good. I'll send him in on my way out." He went outside and a teen came in. I stared at the ashamed teen.

Had I really deserved the respect from him?

It was the punk teenager who'd fought me.

Since this is a one-shot, I know I put a cliffie, but one-shots do have them. So tell me what you think about this GAW fiction? Flames are accepted, but I want your honest opinion here…