An Open Letter from the first Goomba

This open letter is both a means to connect with those out there who feel they have been stepped on by others, and to cast the public eye towards a situation that has been left widely unnoticed for far too long.

Dear Man with the Moustache,

To me, the most critical thing in life is to be happy with what one has. About two feet tall, soft and brown, with a thick unibrow; I didn't have much to work with. Not to mention I suffer from a hereditary deficiency of sorts that leaves me with two unsightly fangs sticking over my upper lip. No dentist dares touch them, as they are impacted into the base of my brainstem. I live a quiet life, not entirely alone, but I often wander by myself, shuffling and side-stepping leisurely. I enjoy looking up at the clouds. They all look like big white bushes to me. I stay out of the politics of the world around me; I know a tyrannical turtle-dinosaur thing has been raking in a lot of votes. Most of my neighbors hail his name, I can hear them on the other side of the pipes clamoring on about how great this new revolution will be. I suppose my civic pride is not as strong, but the fact that these folks are spoon-fed Koopa propaganda from birth is a little unnerving. Frankly, I don't care what castle the princess is in, but I'd gladly let the next guy to walk through know if it would mean a little piece and quiet around here. I'm rambling again, I'll get to the point.

I've got a nice plot of land, living at the edge of 1-1 Mushroom Way. I've got a few coins stashed away for a rainy day (or if I find an orthodontist who thinks he can help me with my fangs). I've got some neighbors to my right, but nothing but a vast beautiful expanse to my left. I hear nobody has even traveled that far down the path; I've been told for some reason that it's simply impossible. I was feeling courageous.

I woke up early one morning, did my stretches, completed a crossword puzzle, and packed a sandwich. I was going to get the nerve to do what no Goomba has done before. I was going to shuffle to the left until the stage flagpole was hardly a dot on the horizon. It was time I made a name for myself. That's when I met… him.

My attacker was eyeing me. Normally I would have nodded a kind 'good morning' to any stranger, but I felt very uncomfortable with his dastardly stare. I kept going, not knowing how to react otherwise. The path was narrow, and he was standing with his legs gated. Just the way he looked at me, I knew he hated me. You could see this immense anger in his eyes. It didn't matter who I was, there was nothing I would have ever been able to do to change his baseless opinion about me. Why did he hate me? Was I different? Has he never seen a Goomba before? Did I say or do something that could be translated into something that sour? I kept trotting, slowly, tapping my feet on the solid brick. That's when he started to run.

I could see him clearly, as if time were slow and the air thick like tar. He ran at me, his red overalls (or were they blue? Goombas are very colorblind) kicking the air as he dashed in my direction. I could see his gritted teeth showing under his moustache. His intentions were ungodly.

Tell me, what would drive someone to hate someone else so much without any provoking? Why does this exist in nature? Why can't we all be in this together? Life is hard enough with disease, carnivorous plants, and bottomless pits to be at war with one another, especially as individuals. I could hardly react to his swift and unexpected actions. He leaped in the air from nearly thirty feet away, and an instant later was plummeting down from the sky towards my head. He came at me with such an angle that his knee impacted the side of my soft, malleable head. Fortunately, Goombas are built to bump into things; a direct concussion from above or a hot flame can do us in without any hesitation, but we can take plenty of abuse from any other angle. The moment he made contact, he flew into a madman's rage. His red (or was it green?) hat flipped off his head as he waved his arms and legs in the air, and he propelled himself off the path down into the great unknown. I stood there, safe, but broken.

Perplexed? Confused? Suffering from shock? For some reason or another, I drove that man into a blood-lusting rage. While his actions were unexplainable as much as they were incoherent, I still felt like I was at fault. Somehow, I made him that way. I should have done something different, I should have been something different. It has been tearing me up from the inside ever since. I've felt… incapable. I don't even feel like a Goomba anymore, as if I were just some object or soulless sprite. I just want to connect to other Goombas, or anyone for that matter, who understands, but I'm not sure if anyone does. Why would you shatter someone's life like this?