2100 ft.

Walking. Walking. Walking… Walking… …Walking… I feel a twinge of pain in my side. Walking…  Walking… And more walking… I think I feel a headache coming on…

It's raining. It has been for a while now. The sky is lined with thick, dark clouds, and the sun isn't shining. It's cold and wet, and frankly, it makes me feel moldy. Just like one of those depressing rainy days from movies, isn't it?

You may be wondering what I am doing out here: all alone, out in the rain. Actually, I have to admit, I haven't been out here for too long. Just the past half hour or more. It's been enough to get me chilled to the ruffle, though. But not as long as some of the other times.

I sigh when I think of how I got here. First Captain Falcon beat me until my percentage was up in the hundreds, and then he hit me with that Home-run bat. After soaring through the air for what seemed like forever, I fell flat on my face in the mud. It didn't start raining until some time after I hit the ground, and yet I'm already soaked through.

I stare at the sky…then down the marked path I tread on. Usually Master Hand comes, picks me up, and puts me back at the beginning of the course, but I guess Player 1 decided that that was enough for today. Well, this just means I have to get back on my own. It's not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last.

Allow me to explain… I am a Sandbag. One that assumes a female gender, but I'm technically neither. And this is my job. My main job, but my job nonetheless. Those stupid playable characters have made a sport out of beating me up and hitting me with the Home-run bat once my percentage is high enough.

Life wasn't always this way. We grew up together, my brother and I, in a small home on the edge of a packaging plant. That's where dad said he met mom. Dad once said, "As that gravel bag laid eyes on that full-length body pillow, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her." And Dad's one to keep to his word. They married shortly after that, and to my knowledge, they still are. Though, I haven't had any contact with them recently. I wonder how they're doing right now.

It was obvious as we were growing up that my parents loved my brother and I. They wanted to give all life had to offer for their little sandbag and potato sack. They made that very clear when we were getting our education from them. My dad wanted me to grow up and be a doctor to look after the sick and weak. My mother pleaded that I become a news reporter so I could see and travel to far off mystical places. However, I didn't really want to be either of those. Personally, I always wanted to become a supermodel. To pose in front of a camera, with lights shining down on me…as I show off my glimmering white clothe… Ahhh… That would be the life.

But now look where I am. It's not my ideal occupation, but it's not the worst job in the world. How I'd hate to become a plumber; sure I'd travel through Warp Pipes, save princesses, and fight off Piranha Plants, but think about it…my fabric would get so stained and dirty! I shudder just thinking about it! At least my clothing doesn't get dirty with this job.

I look down at my decently soiled lower body. Well…not much…

I wriggle one edge of my torso forward. Then the other. It's a little muddy, I guess. Okay. I see mud all around me, including on the path I walk on. I look up at the marked trail in front of me. I have a long way to go. But if I'm lucky, I'll be able to make it back to the shed in a few hours.

Then it'll start all over again. Being hit with that Home-run bat…being dropping into battles at random intervals… The battlers always seem to beat me up until I drop my lunch. They don't even have the decency to take it somewhere else. They always eat it right in front of me. I was planning on eating that cake, thank you.

That has only been in more recent years, though. Back in Melee, the only time I saw the players was in this course—the Home-run Stadium. Even that wasn't too enjoyable, but at least the Master Hand didn't drop into battle at random, like it does now. Except this one time, the hand's mind must have been elsewhere since the hand dropped me into the battle arena.

It was in Final Destination. Three players were fighting against each other with a computer player, but since it was stock battle, the automated player had already been finished off. That's when I dropped in. I landed squarely in the middle of the course and watched a man with blue hair fight off a boy with red hair, and a man in green clothes.

They didn't seem to notice me. I thanked the powers that are. Whatever they may be. As the two men and the boy fought, I decided to pass the time by eavesdropping.

"Ha ha!" the boy with red hair grinned. "Almost got you there, Link!"

The man garbed in green said nothing, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him take a jab at the boy.

"Whoa!" the redhead exclaimed. "Now you almost got me! Nice one!"

"Roy, you're wasting your time," presumably the blue haired man spoke. "Link never talks. You know that."

"Are you sure you've never heard him speak? Not once?" the boy asked.

"Never," the blue haired man confirmed. "Well, not including those loud awkward noises he makes sometimes—"

"Dude, are you mute or something?" the boy asked.

I heard a loud 'hi-yah!' from a voice I hadn't heard before, so I assumed it was the man in green.

"Roy, if he was mute, then would he be able to make those grunting noises of his?" the blue haired man asked. "Link's clearly just being rude and refusing to speak to us."

"He's totally mute," the boy chuckled.

"Roy, what did I just say—" the blue-haired man sounded angry.

"A sandbag?!" a third voice exclaimed suddenly.

"GOTCHA!" the boy's voice yelled.

What followed was the prompt sound of a death by being sent flying.

"Huh, I guess he's not mute," the boy's voice said.

"That's what I've been telling you—wait…there really is a sandbag over there," the blue haired man paused.

Followed by the sound of footsteps, the red haired boy ran into my field of vision. I jumped. He sat down in front of me.

"Is that the sand bag from the Home-run Stadium?" the blue haired man sounded puzzled. "Why is it out here? Do you think there's been a glitch in the system?"

The boy with red hair grabbed me. He stared at me for quite a while, and I don't recall seeing him blink at all.

The man with blue hair called out to the redhead, "Roy, what are you doing?"

"You know," the redhead's gaze didn't waver, "it kinda looks like a big blob of tofu…"

The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow, "A big blob of tofu?"

The redhead spun around, "With eyes!"

A big blob of tofu?

I look down at my reflection in the puddle by my lowest seams. Huh. I guess I do look like a big blob of tofu… I sigh. That's a cute nickname, I suppose… Maybe I'd find it cuter, if that boy didn't send me shooting off the screen promptly afterward.

It was after that when Master Hand decided it would be amusing to drop me in on battles. And to encourage the Brawlers to get a kick out of hurting me, he told them that if you hit me hard enough, I'd drop food. And that's what I've been doing; frequently…I've been losing my lunch. Literally.

A few drops dribble down my furrows. I look at the illuminated sign down the road. It reads '2100 ft.' I guess only two thousand and one hundred feet to go…

Ever since my reappearance in Brawl, the Master Hand has been putting me in fights, right and left. I remember this one time Master Hand put me in a fight between that brightly coloured bird with a gun, and that man who only lives on the second dimension. When I looked to the front of the screen, I noticed that the birdman had a decent two hundred seventy three percent, and the two dimensional character had a measly eight percent. It wasn't until recently that Starfy told me that having a high percentage was a bad thing.

That would explain why the feathered man exclaimed, "The sand bag! What a stroke of luck!" when he saw me.

It was then our avian acquaintance grabbed the fan, and began beating the stuffing (and lunch) out of me until he pushed me off the edge. No! Not the parfait!

And if that wasn't enough, Master Hand thought it would be a good laugh to put me in the training loading stage for the Online Mode. I remember when that one player who often played as the white ninja (as opposed to the regular blue ninja) and went by the name of 'NAVI', had just come back from a fight. This time, the player had chosen a blue version of that toon man. I assumed he was rather peeved since there was a huge frown on his face, and the second he dropped down from the ceiling he began lashing out at me relentlessly.

"…Stupid Wario," he mumbling angrily. "Thinks he can just use me as a punching bag? Well let's see how good he is against my best character."

That sword of his was almost worse than the Home-run bat. Slash, after slash, after slash, after slash. Boy, he was really worked up about that one, wasn't he? I was glad when that time limit had finally gone up.

A drop almost hits my eye. I flinch. I wish this rain would let up. I can feel some of my sand clumping. And everyone hates the feeling of wet sand.

I continue to inch forward. The '2100 ft.' sign slowly passes behind me. Heh. Less than two thousand one hundred feet to go. This isn't so bad, I think.

A large fold acts like a smile on my face. This new feeling of upliftment reminds me of the one time I got my revenge. Once, Master Hand dropped me down along with some other items, as per usual. It was a Stock battle again, and all the players had one life left. Out of the four of them, it seemed that the tanned man with the hair curlers was winning. He had a rather high percentage too.

That's where I came in. As I was falling, I noticed that falling beside me was a Smart Bomb, and whaddya know it, the man in curlers was right below me. As soon as I got within range, I shot out my seam and kicked the Smart Bomb as hard as I could. It exploded. Sure, we both went up in flames, but from what I heard, the man in curlers got fourth place. Ha ha ha, sucker.

But, that was only one time. Since then, I haven't really been given an opportunity to get my revenge on the Smashers. And revenge only sprouts seeds of more revenge. So, I'm going go keep getting beaten up for the rest of my life, I guess…

Well, there's nothing I can do about it. This is just the way life is. You get knocked down, and with your lemons, you make lemonade. …I never understood how that saying worked. But never the less, when I find out what they are, those lemons are getting what's coming to them!

Once I stood up for myself. Once I decided enough was enough! There are laws against harassment of employees! Heck, in some countries, employers are supposed to give employees at least a one-hour lunch break! Some companies even provide insurance! And what do I get? I knit my brow just thinking about it. I've always had to eat my lunch whenever I found the given opportunity, bringing it along when I had to. And what kind of insurance has the Master Hand given me? Nothing! …Granted, I'm a sandbag, and I can't really break any limbs, or grow old, but at the time I figured that I should at least get some compensation!

So I went to court.

It was rather exciting, actually. Getting a lawyer and all. I feel my sand grains jitter with excitement from the memory. I got to sit in my very own chair, and sat in front of a large crowd of people. Most of the attendants were the fighters themselves, but some of them I had never seen before, assumedly friends and family the Smashers had brought with them.

It was a large and regal room, split symmetrically down the center. The jury sat off by the far wall, and the Smash Brothers and others sat in pews behind my chair. I sat in a few stand-alone chairs in front of the several pews. It was like a typical courtroom, with the prosecuting attorney on one side, and the defense attorney on the other.

Before I knew it, the Judge banged his mallet, and the room fell silent.

"The court is now in session," the Judge called out, "for the trial against all of the Super Smash Brothers Playable Characters."

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honour," a man in a suit said.

"The defense is ready, Your Honour," a funny looking man in glasses said.

"Very well then," the Judge said. "Please give your opening statement."

"It seems that each and every one of the Super Smash Bros fighters have beaten and abused the Sandbag with both the Home-run bat, and their own weapons of choice," said the man in the suit.

"Mr. Rochester, the prosecution may call its first witness," the Judge nodded.

"The prosecution calls the Sandbag herself to the stand," the man in the suit turned to me.

"Your Honour," the man in the glasses paused, "is that permissible?"

The Judge looked a bit puzzled, "Uhh… If that is what the prosecution wishes, then I suppose we can allow it…"

"Thank you, Your Honour," the man in the suit said. "May the Sandbag take her place at the stand?"

I hopped over to the stand, and the room fell into an awkward silence. I straightened up proudly, and tried to appear as honest and dignified as I could. In retrospect, though, I don't think it really made a difference.

"Do you…uhh…what name do you go by?" a man in a suit asked me.

I was determined to get on with my testimony, "The boy with red hair called me a big blob of tofu, so lets go with that."

I glared at the boy with red hair in the crowd. He was rocking back and forth in his chair on two legs. A thud ensued.

"I see…" the man in the suit paused. "So, Tofu, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"Actually, on second thought, maybe Tofu-chan sounds nicer…" I said without thinking.

"Will you please answer the question, ma'am?" the man in the suit said.

"Oh, sorry. The answer is yes," I nodded. "Yes, of course."

The man bowed slightly.

"…Tofu-chan," the man in the suit paused. "Is it true that each and every one of the Smash Brothers characters have struck you with this baseball bat, labeled as the 'Home-run Bat'?"

The man in the suit raised the Home-run bat for all to see.

"It is very, very true, sir!" I swiftly nodded. "Each and every one of them. More than once, and for the Player's own amusement!"

"I see, Tofu-chan," the man in suit said. "You do realize that the Home-run Stadium is a form of combatant training, in which the farther you fly, the higher the record becomes, and the closer the Player is to one hundred percent completion of the game, correct?"

"That still does not excuse their actions," I huffed.

"Is that a yes, Tofu-chan?" the man in the suit asked.

I nodded.

"Next question," the man in the suit straightened up. "Is it true that on Januarary 31st of 2008, and on March 9th of 2008 for North America, the random items generator started dropping you among the items used in battle?"

"It is!" I said loudly. "And ever since then I've been given endless torment from everyone—even more than before! And I'm sure each and every one of them can recount the tales!"

"Mr. Rochester, the prosecution may call its second witness," the Judge said.

"Yes, Your Honour," the man in the suit nodded. "Please bring Mr. Roy of Pherae to the stand."

The red haired boy walked to the stand as I took my seat. I glared at him. He didn't have a snowball's chance in a field of fire flowers on winning this case.

"Do you, Roy of Pherae swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" the man in the suit asked.

"Well, I'd get in big trouble if I didn't, so yeah, I will," the boy with red hair said.

"Mr. Roy, you may proceed with your testimony," the Judge said. "Please tell the court how you treated the Sandbag back in Super Smash Bros Melee."

"Oh come on!" the red haired boy yelled. "It's a sandbag! You're supposed to hit it, and get with your life. I can't believe that I'm in court for this!"

The man in the suit paused, "Why did you hit the Sandbag in the first place?"

"It's a mini game!" the red haired boy yelled. "You play them, and win small irrelevant prizes! Can I really be called 'guilty' for that?"

I heard all the other abusers behind me murmur with agreement.

"So you do admit you performed these atrocities?" the man in the suit asked.

"Very well then," the Judge said. "The defense may begin his cross-examination."

"Yes, Your Honour," the man with funny glasses nodded. "Mr. Roy of Pherae, was this mini game already preprogrammed into the game?"

I quivered a little bit. Dang, he had us there!

"Well, yeah!" the redhead smiled. "Otherwise we wouldn't be able to play the game."

"But Mr. Roy," the man in the suit paused, "you do, then, admit that it is true that you hit the Sandbag."

"Yes…?" the boy blinked.

"And you knew that you hurt the Sandbag, correct?" the man in the suit asked.

"Well, duh, the percentage would keep going up on the screen…" the boy huffed.

"And that you also hurt the Sandbag's feelings?" the man in the suit raised an eyebrow.

"What? No! I had no idea that a sandbag even had feelings!"

"Because you do realize that abuse from co-workers, emotionally or physically, is a legal offense in our country—" the man in the suit pointed out.

"Objection," the man in the funny glasses spoke up. "Your Honour, the Smash Brothers had no idea whether or not the Sandbag actually did have feelings…"

I huffed. I thought I made it clear that I wanted to be called Tofu-chan.

The man adjusted his glasses, "…then it seems that the person at fault here is the game designers themselves, for giving a Sandbag eyes and personality, rather than the Smashers."

"Yes, that does seem to be a valid argument," the Judge nodded.

The pews behind me made woops and cheers.

The Judge slammed his mallet, "Order! Order in the court!"

Many of the people behind me didn't seem to hear the Judge or the mallet for that matter, for they seemed to be too busy cheering. The Judge only sighed, and signaled to one of the people behind me. A fat penguin in royal garb waddled on up to the Judge's seat, and handed the Judge the penguin's larger mallet.

"Ahem," the Judge coughed. "Let's try that again, shall we? Order! Order in the court I say!"

The impact of the new mallet hitting the podium somehow made it explode. A fold sagged over my one eye. Was that exploding property built into the mallet itself or something? Oh, these Smashers were crafty!

Either way, the audience immediately shut up, and turned to the podium, or rather, what shambles of it remained. When the smoke cleared, we finally saw that the Judge was relatively unharmed.

"Ah ha!" the Judge exclaimed. "Slapstick!"

There was an awkward pause.

"Ahem," the Judge blushed, "let us continue the trial."

"Your Honour," the man in funny glasses bowed. "I see no reason to shove the blame on the Smash Brothers Playable Characters if Masahiro Sakurai intended the Home-run Stadium purposefully to abuse this animate object with eyes. And even when Sakurai programmed the game to drop the Sandbag into random battles."

Another thing I didn't understand. It was the Master Hand who dropped me into the battles, and put me into the Home-run Stadium. Sure he was off-screen, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. So why did they keep mentioning programming?

"Yes, but they had the option to choose not to play the mini game, and therefore, not abuse the Sandbag," the man in the suit pointed out. "However, each and every one of the Smash Brothers Playable Characters gathered here today is guilty."

"Here, here!" if I could clap, I would have right then.

"May I go now?" the redheaded boy asked. "I'm getting kinda tired of standing…"

"No. We still have questions to ask you."

"Aw, man!"

"Mr. Roy tell us about this mini game held at the Home-run Stadium…" the man in the suit said. "Were the prizes you won…worth it?"

"Actually, I don't remember getting any prize at the Home-run Stadium…" the boy with red hair paused. "Then again, I don't remember breaking the record either…"

"So therefore," the man in the suit pondered, "by putting the Home-run Stadium as an option on both Wii and Gamecube was a source of needless temptation. The only reason the player would click on it is to find out what said 'Home-run Stadium' feature is. Upon arrival, one would see the Sandbag, and would hit it out of sheer temptation to see if one could and would continue abusing it for their own amusement, and thus there was no need to design any prizes."

"Hey, just because I've never broken the record, doesn't mean that there aren't any prizes," the boy spoke up.

"That is irrelevant," the man in the suit said. "Whether or not a prize was given, does not ignore the facts that you all have abused the Sandbag at one point or another. Ergo, you have all broken the law."

I relaxed in my chair. I knew we clearly had that case in the bag. I was so glad that I had hired that man in the suit.

The playable characters behind me didn't sound impressed. Many of them booed, and shouted insults at the man in the suit. I didn't pay their childish behaviour much notice until the big monkey in the first row behind me threw a banana peel over me. It landed on the man with suit's head.

"Order! Order in the court!" the Judge yelled.

"Uh, Your Honour?" the man in the suit pointed to the peel. "Is this…legal?"

The Judge nodded, "Yes it is. The Smasher who threw it was none the primate Donkey Kong, and a court case last month determined that it would go against his primitive nature if he was not permitted to throw the banana peel."

"I see…" the man in the suit bit his lip. "Is it illegal, then, to remove the banana peel from my forehead?"

"No, I do not believe that to be the case," the Judge said. "I permit the prosecution to discard the banana peel."

"Thank you, Your Honour," the man in the suit said.

The man in the suit quickly excused himself, and walked out of my view.

"…Also, I have an objection I would like to add," the funny glasses man piped up.

Fabric furrowed over my eyes. Whenever the opposite side spoke, it was never good.

"Very well then," the Judge nodded. "Proceed as soon as the prosecution disposes of the banana peel."

The funny glasses man bowed, and the man in the suit shortly returned.

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honour," the man in the suit said.

"Very well," the Judge nodded. "The defense may continue."

"As the prosecution said earlier," the man in the funny glasses said, "when adding the Home-run Stadium as an option in Melee, it was a needless temptation, correct?"

"Yes, that seems to be the case," the Judge nodded.

"However, it was Masahiro Sakurai, the game designer, who added that function to the game itself, so therefore, if anyone is actually to blame, then it is Sakurai, not the Smash Brothers themselves!" the man in the glasses pointed at the man in the suit.

Many members in the court began whispering among themselves.

"So what is it that you suggest?" the man in the suit asked. "We phone up Masahiro Sakurai, fly him from Japan to this purposefully ambiguous country, and arrest him? Surely you jest, for it was not Sakurai himself who committed the many assaults upon the Sandbag, but the Smashers' senses of curiosity!"

I knitted my brow. This was seriously starting to annoy me, I thought. Call me Tofu-chan, dang it!

"Seriously guys," the red haired boy spoke up, "my feet are really starting to hurt, here…"

"The witness will stand at the podium until they are dismissed," the Judge responded.

The man in the glasses didn't seem to hear, "However, it was Sakurai who programmed the Home-run Stadium as a viable option!"

"It was the Smashers' destructive nature that made them choose to choose that option!" the man in the glasses retorted.

"That is enough," the Judge spoke up. "I see no reason to continue this trial."

"But Your Honour," the man in funny glasses spoke up, "we have yet to hear the testimonies from all the witnesses yet!"

"That is true," the Judge held his breath, "and normally, I would consider continuing to the next witness. However, I believe that all thirty five of the current Smash Brothers, and the five Smash Brothers from Melee's testimonies would be identical: they all took part in the Home-run Stadium mini game, and they all hit Ms. Tofu."

Ms. Tofu? I told them I wanted it to be Tofu-chan! Well, at least the Judge was closer than the other two guys.

"Is that correct?" the Judge turned to the Smashers behind me.

The Smash Brothers did not sound impressed, but I did hear murmurs of "well…yeah, but…" Ha ha ha. We had that case in the bag.

"In that case," the Judge paused, "this court finds the Super Smash Brothers…"

I was beaming. Here it was. I was going to win. For the first time since I began this career, I was going to win something. I straightened up, proud and tall. Sure, they hadn't been very nice toward me, but I was willing to forgive—

"…Not Guilty."

Those words shot through me like bullets.

"Not…guilty?" I muttered.

"W-w-wait!" the boy with the red hair spoke up. "All of the us just said that we did it. Doesn't that make us guilty?"

"Mr. Roy," the Judge said. "You will acquiesce to our verdict or I will charge you with Contempt of Court."

The boy with the red hair seemed just as dazed as I was, "Wait, what?"

"Your Honor, I do not see a problem with the Witness's opinion," the man in the suit added. "I, too, find the Court's verdict rather curious."

The Judge fell silent for a moment.

"You seem to forget that it is not an issue with the Smash Brothers that we have…" the Judge paused.

The Judge pointed at me.

"…but with the Sandbag itself," the Judge proclaimed.

The court broke out in chatter. Things barely even settled down when the Judge banged his mallet on the remains of the podium.

"Order! I will have order!" the Judge yelled.

"B-But Your Honour!" I hopped out of my seat. "How can you say that they…? That I…?"

"Perhaps it hasn't been made clear to you," the Judge sighed impatiently, "but you are a Sandbag. You are made from tough fabric, and filled with sand. And for some little joke, you have been given a pair of eyes. That is all you are, and all you ever will be."

"Your Honour, I do not understand—"

"Look around you. You are trying to sue the Super Smash Brothers themselves. You are trying to prove to us that the Smash Brothers should not hit a Sandbag. Your case is impossible!" the Judge yelled. "It's as impossible as Sheik getting together with Luigi, or Mewtwo getting together with Samus!"

I…I couldn't speak. I slowly turned around, and stared right back into the glaring faces of all the Smash Brothers… It really was that impossible…wasn't it?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Luigi and Sheik blush, and pretend that they weren't holding hands a few seconds prior. I also noticed that Mewtwo and Samus had promptly stopped making out.

"But dude! Mr. Judge!" I heard the boy with red hair yell.

"One more outburst like that, and you're out of the court, boy!" was the Judge's swift reply.

I gulped some clumped sand down lower into my torso. I looked at my lower seams—I was shaking.

"Y-Y-Y-Your…Hon-nour…" even my voice was shaking. "I…"

"What more do you have to say?" the Judge sounded annoyed.

I turned to the Judge once more. The wrinkles of his face only accentuated his irritation.

"I…I…I demand justice!" I looked the Judge in the eye. "Each and every one of the Smash Brothers have hit me! With that baseball bat… And hurt me! To get my lunch from me… They even recorded some of it! W-We have all the evidence… And…and I…I demand justice as a citizen of this country!"

"Let me ask you this," the Judge huffed. "How do you expect to win this case in any Court of Law? Why is it that you expect any Judge and Jury to be mad enough to take your side and declare the Smash Brothers as 'Guilty'?"

A silence fell over the courtroom.

"I…I…I……I…"

Then the Judge let out a dry, hearty laugh. Each 'ha' echoed through my mind over…and over…and over. The whole courtroom exploded in his roars of laughter. I felt every thread and grain in my body quake.

"What is this?" the Judge chuckled. "Do you honestly believe that you are equal to the breathing man? To beings with arms and legs? Surely you jest, for surely no object is superior to a being made of organs and cells."

Any attempts I made to speak came out as stifled squeaks.

"You are nothing but a tool to aid the gladiators of our age in gain of strength and skill!" the Judge yelled.

As soon as those words bounced off the walls, our spectators erupted into conversation. I…I couldn't move. The Judge banged his mallet loudly on the side of the charred podium.

"Court adjourned!"

Everything that happened after that…was a blur. We all went back to our homes—the Smashers went back to the apartment they live in—and everything fell back into place. Within a month or two, it was like the court case never happened.

Sometimes I wonder what it's like to live in the apartment the Smash Bros have… To have a bed to sleep on, and have a roof over my head that doesn't leak. The little shack on the edge of the course isn't too bad. A little cramped and cold, maybe, but…it's cozy. I wouldn't like it in the Smash Apartment anyway. I'd feel out of place. I don't belong there. I will never belong there.

Besides…who am I to compare myself to the Smashers? They're a lot stronger than I am, and many of them are really famous too, from what I heard from Master Hand. I…I'm honoured to even be in the same game as them.

Y-Yeah. Honoured.

I turn to see the '2100' ft. sign many feet behind me. I've made good progress, I think. I'll be back in no time.

I feel heavy. I guess the rain is starting to take its effect on me. Maybe some wet sand has clumped together. Maybe that's what is weighing me down like a brick…

I guess I will never be considered equal to them…or even worth their time. After all, I am just one piece of Smash Equipment out of many others. And you never hear the Soccer Ball complaining. I nod. Therefore, I should be happy too.

Should.

As I inch myself back to the Home-run base, I feel the wrinkles under my eyes well up with raindrops. L-Less than two thousand one hundred feet to go. The sh-shack will pop out over the horizon at any minute now. Not much farther. I've just got to keep walking.

Walking. Walking. Walking… Walking… …And walking…