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Dirk Strider is a man of purpose. He moves with intent and strikes with reason. He does not act carelessly, and he knows what he must do. What point is there to living in a reality with no meaning? A reality that has no use to existence is one that he cannot see a use to living it, but Christ is it hard for him to get his neck through the noose. He’s known how to tie one for as long as he can remember, it’s not like the thought of ending his own life is foreign to him, he’s done it before. He supposes it’s because he knew that he would be back, and because she was dead next to him. His greatest battle has always been against his instincts, and his inborn human desire to live is the next opponent in his long series of bouts. Why can’t he work himself up to it, why can’t he just pull the trigger already, and get this pointless jest over with? Why can’t he just do what he must?
Tomorrow night, he will do what he must.
Light beams in through the window shades not closed tightly enough, how careless of him. Sweat weights down the clothes on his body, sticking them to his skin. His position in bed is nearly eldritch in nature, lying horizontally across the bed, tangled in a web of blankets and soft puppets, and of course his beloved Rainbow Dash. As is natural in this day and age, he immediately checks his phone out of habit. 11:31 am, quite late for him, though not that strange in general. He mindlessly swipes away the vast swathes of meaningless notifications, almost swiping away a text from her.
“Hey Dirky, wanna shoot the shit today? I’ve got 10 bags of chips and a controller with your name on it, unless you don’t want to get revenge upon me for the way I whooped your ass last time we played.”
Fuck, she knows him too well, you can’t back down from such a bold challenge. He smiles and races over to his car, he could make the drive to her place with his eyes closed. For a second, he forgets what he must do tonight, but time marches on. He sees the shore, the shore he once lived above; the shore he always managed to stop himself from jumping into. He’s falling into it, the splash of the water muted by the pure silence of the ocean, how can something so large and full of life be so silent, how can something so raging suddenly become --- still?
The deafening quiet is broken by a loud blare, is this the sign of the end? That’s a car horn. That light was red. He just wishes that he could go back to the deep, back to its strange comfort, he forgets what comfort feels like, it’s been such a long time since he’s felt safe, has he ever felt safe? The road goes on, so he keeps driving, until suddenly, he’s there.
He has to loop around to park the correct way on the road, the traffic officer uses that time as a coffee break. He closes his door quietly as not to alert any neighbors to his presence. The ringing in his head clashes with the sound of the doorbell he just rung.
“There you are ya goof, I knew you couldn’t resist my challenge, they call me the master-baiter for a reason!” She bursts out laughing, Dirk cracks a smile. His hand ruffles the hair on her head, though with how messy it already was, one could barely tell.
“Rox, how many times have I told you that perfume isn’t a replacement for a shower?” he lets out an exaggerated sigh, accompanied by another small grin. “What would you ever do without me?” He feels a twinge of pain as he says it, knowing she soon will be without him. She’ll be fine, he knows she’ll be fine, he’s the one who needs her.
“At least I smell like pumpkins, right?” she giggles, “That’s better than soap anyways” she pridefully crosses her arms and holds her head high.
He scrunches his eyes “Do pumpkins even have a smell?”
She remains steadfast in her stance “They do, and its positively wonderful”.
They head in side, and plop themselves down on the couch. Roxy’s place is an eternal warzone of empty soda cans and old pizza boxes. Their conflict makes the Israel-Palestine conflict look like child’s play.
“I’ve already got it all planned out --- every cup --- every game” Her face twists into a wide grin, with the competitive spirit burning in her eyes, the blazing fire flaring through her soul. “Whoever wins the most cups in each game wins the game, and whoever wins the most games is the true victor; the master of the kart.”
God she’s cute when she’s excited (though she’s always cute). He smirks at her “You got Giuseppe’s on speed dial?”
She gives him a smooth thumbs up “I always have them on speed dial.” Her smile beams down upon him like sun above, she brings forth light and brightens the deep abyss of his soul. The sun shines through the almost-shut blinds, her bright pink eyes glow, illuminating all around her.
“Let’s do this shit"
Three games in, the score is 2-1; Roxy holding the two. The competition has scarcely even begun, with 10 more games to go. Roxy aims to grab a lead and hold onto it --- Dirk prefers the new Mario Kart titles. Their sweaty gamer butts have already made a significant abscess in the couch, if it continues to increase at a constant rate, by the end he suspects they’ll be on the floor. They dread the moment when one of them will have to suffer the great pain of getting up to grab the pizza.
2-2, He takes the win in Mario Kart DS.
“Fuck! I was so goddamn close too!” She playfully rages at Dirk, lightly banging her fists on him. “How could you take away my rightful win, you bastard!” Her facetious anger quickly shifts to uncontrollable laughing. Her body twists and turns with delight as she is overcome by the joy; Its been so long since her and Dirk have spent time like this.  They used to be together so much, until one day Dirk, seemingly arbitrarily, started cutting himself off from the world. He gets like that sometimes, gets so in his own head that he can’t even manage to get up. She’s always scared of it being her fault -- scared of being a creep; of being like she used to be. That weird, perverted drunk who only thinks with her pussy, can’t take no for an answer, just another hopeless freak in a line of hopeless freaks. The only freak more hopeless than her is Dirk Strider. She doesn’t think he is of course, nor does he of her; but that won’t stop them from thinking the other is absolutely sure of their utter failure to live as they should.
But they won’t say any of that. They’ll play some more Mario Kart. They both have a bit of a habit of getting lost in their thoughts, it’s quite easy to when you’re running from everything outside of yourself. The only person you can hurt inside your own head is yourself. Mario Kart Wii is one of Roxy’s favorites, it is the objectively best in the series --- with no nostalgic bias of course. She remembers playing it as a kid, she always played as Funky Kong. She would race for hours on end, trying to beat the ghosts of those she never met, and one day she did; she had conquered all those who stood in her way --- the specter of the past could not hold her. To this, she held a toast – clinking two wine glasses together.
Dirk was handily picked apart by Roxy, she’s been training for this moment since birth. Approaching the end of the last cup, Roxy has managed to grasp 1 st place on every track, a truly astonishing performance. He waits until he comes into last place, to avoid being targeted by items. He waits patiently to find a bullet bill, saving it until the final lap; it can allow him to rocket to first in an instant. Drops of sweat – a scrunched brow; ready, aim, fire. He annihilates the path around him, cutting down all who abide within his path. Fourth place, and he’s gaining --- and in his item slot, a blue shell. The blue shell allows the wielder to unleash its divine might and smite down the sorry soul who leads the race. He’s in fourth --- he throws the shell. Roxy is struck by its great power and falls behind as dirk speeds by for the first-place spot. Her perfect streak is over, and she wins the cup.
Dirk won a single race. He lost the cup, and of course the game. In the end he gained nothing. What does he have to show for his path of death --- of destruction. The game is over now, but he’s still a prince; always will be. The prince was woken, and their shit will forever be wrecked. No matter how much he struggles, he will always be a harbinger of pain, his footprints marking death. Never can he be the knight in shining armor, or the daring rouge --- he isn’t the hero of the story. The narrative is a fickle mistress, and it always gets what it wants. Dirk Strider is a man who always gets what he deserves.
The sun is setting over Rainbow Falls, nights always seemed to come early there. The muffled hum of the streetlights harmonizes with the blaring crickets, who always seem to be around --- despite nobody ever seeing them. The warm lights of the modernist home which was no longer modernist glow dimly. Within this home is a man and woman, sitting silently on a couch. Mouths stained red with tomato, tangled and frizzy hair. A pair of stupid looking glasses adorned the man’s face, and the woman’s lips tinted with pink.
She speaks with her head high “You fought well my dear Di-Stri”, but I shall remain atop my throne.” She takes a bite out of another slice of pizza, smacking her lips as crumbs fly out of her mouth. Dirk shudders, her pride grows too strong --- then again, he supposes she deserves to be quite prideful over her domination.
“Was fun Dirky, wasn’t it?” She tilts her head to the right, and unveils a wide, toothy smile, raising her cheeks until she’s forced to squint. The shades of the smile recipient manage to somewhat mask his flustered state, but the crimson still pours through his cheeks; a dam only does so much to stop a flood. Her large, cute kitten earrings perfectly complement her puffy, voluminous hair; her lipstick somehow hanging on through the rigorous abuse it has suffered --- stains of rose. He doesn’t know if he can bear to leave her behind. He doesn't deserve her; she doesn't deserve to have to be tied to him ---yet she is. The threads of fate have been intertwined in gordian fashion, he must do what he’s good for, and destroy the seal.
“Hey Dirky, could we…” she turns red in the face, shaking slightly “cuddle for a bit?”
He nods his head, maybe his inevitable end can wait another night.