The voice of the mute

Journal Entry #1

When most people open their mouth, words come out. There's one million, nine thousand six hundred and fourteen official words in the English language, and that's not counting slang, names and all that stuff. Think about it- there's twenty six letters, said so many ways, that there's countless ways to mix them, enunciate them, and so many different ways we can make them sound. There's millions, no, billions, no, trillions of ways we can talk!

And I can't do one of them.

The only sound I have ever been able to make is an ungodly, abnormal beep. Ever since I was created in that lab by Nintendo, the forsaken, flawed experiment that I was, created only to entertain children who simply laugh at my appearance like the freak I am, ever since I can remember. Only beep.

Not entirely true, I suppose. Every step I take makes a clicking sound. Not that much better, though, it just annoys everyone, myself included.

I have never communicated a word of my soul to anyone before. If this wasn't enough of a clue, I can type well enough, but that's only because Nintendo just had a typewriter created to support my thick, half-assed fingers. This will be the only way I will ever be able to talk about who I am, and, let's face it, my audience is slim to none. Actually, just none.

Others say that they must keep their emotions bottled up, but they have options. Options that they are too scared of pursuing. Oftentimes they lock themselves up; they are too scared of what others think and it's their personal demons they must fight in order to be heard. I'm different from them- I want to tell other people about who I am, what I do, or even how my day was. But I can't. I can't get anyone to even pay attention to me, let alone type out my thoughts to them.

I am literally alone in the midst of thousands of people.

And now you know why I'm here, why I'm typing this. This will be the first time I ever talk. These are the first words I have ever said.

I am Mister Game and Watch.

And these are my words.

Mr. Game and Watch looked at the paper somberly. It was in an unkempt pile with hundreds of others. Two hundred and thirty-two to be exact. He set it down when he saw the time on the clock and left the room, the farthest room of the mansion in the most depressing corner. He tried to leave quietly, but when there was a clicking sound every step he took, that wasn't too much an option.

Click, click, click, click. Game and Watch would have had a headache only he could not feel much of anything since he was never created with nerves. He continued to walk down the hall and past everyone; through the greenhouse, The Champion's Shrine, another hallway, through the game room, past the children's play room, through another hallway, through the large living room, through the study, through another hallway and into the room of his destination-the dining room.

He was thirty minutes late for dinner, but that was just how he liked it.

He had long since given up on trying to be around other people or fighters. Often times he was mocked for his outlandish, freaky looks, and usually had been made to bear the punishment of this misfortune. He had been kicked around, called names, and had once fallen victim to an ambush by some of the preteen fighters horsing around and thought it was funny.

Game and Watch didn't feel physical pain, but he knew the message they were sending. He is a mistake. Worthless. Ugly. A failure by design.

Most of the time, though, no one thought it worth the trouble to bully the 2-D figure and he was left alone. This was just as bad, because it still sent the same message, and added that he wasn't even worth their time to be near.