They were walking outside, in the frigid darkness. Bowser had offered his 
coat for her, but she had refused, liking better the sheer number she had on. 
They reached the pier before long, and sat on a bench, staring out into the 
ocean. The fishing boats were just beginning to leave. There were no stars, the 
sky was completely blocked by the clouds.
	Sara spent her time gazing at the sky, apparently searching for the moon. 
Bowser kept his eyes on the ground, his full, round stomach preventing him from 
seeing his thighs.
	"You are laeving tomorrow, aren't you?" Sara asked, not looking at him.
	"Yes."
	She sighed, seeming a bit saddened. Her squirrel's nose twitched a bit, 
and she nervously smoothed her hair down. After what seemed like hours, she 
turned to him.
	"Bowser . . ."
	"What is it?" he replied, his pudgy fingers carressing hers.
	"I don't want to, but I think it is best if we part here. We are from 
different worlds. You are a kind, gentle soul, and I wish we could meet in 
another time and another place. But I am not ready for this."
	Bowser nodded solemnly. He knew it, the had been on three dates so far, 
and he had known that this would be a short-lived relationship. "You're right." 
He said as his scarlet eyes affized their gaze on the ground once again.
	She reached up and lifted his chin so that he was facing her. "I wish you 
well in life, Bowser Koopa. You deserve someone truly special." She leaned for 
ward and kissed him full on the lips. And then she rose, eztending her hand to 
be kissed. "Goodbye."
	He complied, and sat watching her as she walked away. He expected her to 
turn around any second, run over to him and madly kiss him like there was no 
tomorrow. She didn't even turn back around, just faded to a tiny speck of blue 
silk in the distance.
	He sat for hours in self pity; all the boats had left. He listened to the 
silent lap of the rippled against the wood. He watched the jellyfish surface, 
tiny gobs of bright color in a sea of dispair.

	Mouser greeted him at the door. It was a bright day for dark world, but it 
wouldn't have mattered. He had seen the farmers struggle to ocax crops out of 
the dark, poorly drained soil. He had seen them gaze longly at the not-so-
distant fertile lands of the mushroom kingdom. They kept their depressing stares 
on the rich soil sitting unused by its owners. They returned their gazes to him, 
too, wanting to know why their king had failed them.
	His trusted servant grabbed his bag, snapping him back to the present. 
Mouser was the one person outside of the Koopa clan that new of his arrangment 
with Princess Toadstool. He remeberd the days before he had any children, before 
he had met his wife, when he was just a young turtle-dragon with a father to 
mourn and a crown thrust on his head. Mouser had helped him survive those first 
years. 
	"How was your trip, my friend." Bowser had no love of titles. Mouser was 
one person who understood that.
	"Very relaxing. Are the children still here?"
	"I am not sure. Your ex cancelled their plans yesterday. I don't know if 
they are still at home."
	"Anything else?"
	"Sadly, yes. The Princess is here, she arrived very early this morning, 
demanding to see you at once. I put her in a guest room and bid her to wait. She 
was dressed very oddly, no jewelry, just a very plain dress and a cloak. I don't 
think she wants to be recognized."
	The tubby reptilian monarch nodded. He had expected as much. He immidiatly 
went to her borrowed chambers, she was there with a look of pure murder in her 
eyes.
	"You want to tell me what the fuck that little phone call was?"
	"There's nothing to explain. I hate you. You are a lying manipulative 
power hungry  bitch. You will never be a great ruler. You don't know how to 
think for your people, you oly want to expand your own legacy. And all deals we 
ever made aare through. I can run my kingdom without your shit. I will have a 
servant see you out."
	"How dare you. Think about your people. Think about your people. What if I 
were to let my people try to get their hands on your land. How long do you think 
your subjects will hold out."
	"Longer than you might think. I will no longer let you steal thin slivers 
of what little land belongs to this nation that is actually worth something. If 
your people want our land, let them try. I will mobilize every tribe that is 
loyal to me, every crofter, every farmer with a pitchfork. You don't know what 
my people are capable of when defending their home."
	"And your children, what of them? Will you leave them a country torn by 
war? Or would you rather see them killed along with you?"
	Bowser's hand moved with speed he did not know he was capable of. He heard 
the loud WHACK as his hand came in contact with her face. She recoiled, bringing 
her own hand up to her cheek. His sharp claws had drawn blood.
	He glared at her. "Threaten my children again, and I will personally see 
to it that parts of your body are raining down on this city for the next three 
weeks."
	She kept her gaze on him, not wanting to appear weak. It didn't work. "YOu 
have not heard the end of this." She said as she gritted her teeth.
	"Yes I have. Be gone."
	"You worthless, fat . . ."
	"GUARDS!" Two koopa troopa appeared immidiatly. "Escort this lady out of 
the castle at once."
	As she left the room, she never took her eyes off of him.

	He was standing in the great hall, looking at his throne. It was a pure 
work of art, expensive forgeign wood stained almost black, the seat was padded 
nicely. It had been years since he had sat on it. It had been even longer since 
he actually felt like a king. HE sat in the chair, and felt his stomach settle 
into his lap. He looked at the great paintings on the walls between the pillars, 
beautiful paintings of his children, sometimes playing, sometimes posing, always 
looking their best. There was Morton and Roy having a snowball fight, Wendy in 
her favorite dress, the twins buildng a sand castle on the beach. It warmed his 
heart greatly.
	Mouser enetered the great hall for one of the many servant entrances. 
Bowser noticed him, and suddenly felt miserable again. He slumped in his chair, 
making his round tummy seem even bigger. He stared at it while mouser 
approached.
	"Are you alright, Bowser?"
	"No. Is this what history will remember me as? The fat, evil tyrant who 
kidnapped that bitch so many times? Am I destined to be the bad guy in movies?" 
As he spoke, he thrust his clawed hands deep into his gigantic belly. The orange 
scales spilled over his pudgy fingers, his yellow-plated undrebelly gave easily 
as he pressed into his soft fat.
	Mouser shook his head. "She will try to spin it that way. But your people 
will remember what you have done for them. The fungus may not sing any songs in 
praise of you, but songs do not need to be sung to be heard. As for your weight. 
. ." Mouser looked as his hnads realesed his fat flesh, his gut bouncing back to 
its normal curvature. ". . .You are a king, after all. I don't think a few extra 
pounds is what will earn your place in history."
	"You are a true friend, Mouser."
	"I came to inform you that your evening meal is prepared."
	"Will my children be joining me?"
	"I'm sorry, no. Wendy has gone to a friends house and will not return 
until later. Ludwig is in the music room and refuses to leave until he is 
through working on his latest piece. And the other boys went to swim in the 
river."
	"Fine, I will dine alone."

	An hour later, her stood in his chambers, looking at his reflection. He 
had once again gorged himself, as was his habit when he was feeling under the 
weather. He rather enjoyed the pressure in his stomach, and he was quite sure he 
had put on another ten pounds in the course of the meal. He was starting to 
accept Karl's advice. He had tried diets before, to no avail. The best course of 
action was simply to accept that he was a rotund individual and leave it at 
that. It was hard, though. The world did not readily accept those who did not 
strive for a thin and muscualr body.
	As he turned from the mirror, he noticed a vase of black roses on is 
dresser. An envelope was sitting beneath it. He waddled over and sniffed them, 
reaching down and grabbing the envelope as he did so. He looked down at it, and 
his spirits dropped. It wasn't from Sara. Sheila had sent it. She probably 
wanted money. He shook his head and dropped the card in the wastebasket. The 
roses he threw out of his window. How dare she? HE knew that sending a gift was 
not below her when she needed a favor.
	He left his chambers after that, and from somewhere in the distance he 
heard a piano. Ludwig. Queitly he made his way to the music room, careful to 
open the door without making any noise. Ludwig was very quickly punching away at 
the keys. He was also singing, something he did not do very often. Although he 
had a very rough, deep voice, he could produce a beautiful falsetto tt defied 
explantion. He sang in a language Bowser did not recognize. Ludwig had his back 
to him, but it wouldn't have mattered. Ludwig performed with his eyes closed.
	Bowser stood in the doorframe for a while, letting his son's music 
overtake him. He did not want to know what the lyrics meant, it made it easier 
for him to imagine that it was something so spectacular that it could not be 
expressed in words. For nearly fifteen minutes he stood there, waiting for his 
son's masterpiece to end, dreading every second of it. The end was abrupt, 
though. He opened his eyes, only to find Ludwig staring at him over his 
shoulder.
	"Dad, how long have you been there?"
	"Not long enough. Please, continue. That was absolutely magnificent." 
Bowser walked over to the piano, putting his hand on Ludwig's shoulder.
	"I can't, dad. NOt with someone watching. It ruins my concentration."
	"Then how about you teach me a thing or two?"
	"I'm not sure. Can you still reach the keyboard?" Ludwig teasingly patted 
his father's monstrous middle."
	Bowser smiled. "I'll manage. We will have to pul the bench back."
	They did so, Bowser sitting on the right. His fat tummy still pressed 
against the piano, but it wasn't overly uncomfortable. He was still growing used 
to the weight of his balloned gut on his lap. Ludwig walked him through a few 
scales, and Bowser practiced them. The memory of the last time they had done 
this came back with ease.
	
	They were sitting on the piano bench that faced the window in the small 
cottage. He could see his other children playing in the snow outside. Ludwig was 
teaching him very simple piano notes, and Bowser lacked any musical talent 
whatsoever. Ludwig was patient, and eventually he produced a sound worthy of 
being remembered. He wanted to stay here forever, simly turn over the throne to 
one of his many extended family members and retire here, with his family, 
enjoying life to the fullest. He could go camping with his sons and teach his 
daughter to go mountain climbing. LIfe would be simple.
	The door opened, and in came Sheila, heavily pregnant with the twins. . .
	Sheila. The one thing that had changed his plans. He didn't know when he 
figured it out. She had been sleeping with others for many years. It took all 
the courage he had to confront her about it, and she hadn't even lied to spare 
his feelings. She had been completely up front about it, and now he wished he 
had never suspected. If he didn't know, he could go on believing they were a 
happy family.

	A loud cracking sound jarred him back to reality. He knew the sound. He 
heard Ludwig shout something, but Bowser's fat body prevented him from standing 
up in time. The bench gave way beneath him, and he landed badly on his thick 
tail.
	Ludwig knelt down. "Pop, are you okay?"
	"Yes, just took a nasty spill." He tried unsuccessfully to right himself. 
Ludwig had to lend a hand.
	When he finally stood again, he could tell Ludwig was fighting the urge to 
laugh. "Go ahaed, son," he said, shaking his head so that his thick orange bangs 
waved from side to side. "Laugh about it."
	Ludwig covered his mouth and chuckled. Bowser managed a slight smile. 
"I'll leave you alone to keep working on your piece. But you must promise to let 
me hear t when your done."
	"Sure thing, dad." He grabbed a nearby chair and sat down at the piano. 
Bowser turned to leave.
	"Da?"
	He turned back around.
	"Let's try again later."
	"I'd like that. I'll bring a stronger chair next time." With those words, 
he put both hands on either side of his stomach. Ludwig smiled.

	He ran into Wendy in the hallway outside. She had just returned from her 
friend's house, and she carried her overnight bag. Her shell was still as 
scarlet as Bowser's eyes, but she had long since abandoned the frilly pink 
accessories she was famous for. Her pink hair was died a jet black, a half dozen 
silver rings pierced her face in various places.
	"Hello, princess."
	"Hi daddy." He was the only one who could bring out the soft side of her. 
She gave him a big hug and a sisterly peck on the cheek. As he held her, he 
noticed something sticking out of her bag. 
	"What are those?" he said, pointing.
	"She casually glanced down to her overnight bag. "Someone threw away six 
perfectly good black roses. They're your favorites, aren't they? Here." She 
retrieved one from her bag and handed it to him. "I have some studying to do. 
good night, daddy." She smiled sweetly.
	He went back to his chambers, turning the rose in his hand. He couldn't 
discard something from his daughter. Everything his children ever gave to him, 
from ugly macaroni and glitter sculptures to clothes that didn't fit was kept 
lovingly in his chambers, somewhere.
	As he entered, the phone rang. He set the rose down on the dresser and 
answered. "Bowser?" said a familiar voice on the other end.
	"Sara?"
	"Look, Bowser, I wanted to talk to you. I think I made a mistake last 
night."
	"Concerning what?"
	"Well, us. I didn't tell you I was seeing someone. We had a fight they day 
before you and I met, and I assumed it was over. Then yesterday morning he 
called me, saying he was wrong for being so stubborn, and he felt terrible."
	"Do you love him?"
	"I think I do. I just didn't feel right leaving you like that. YOu are 
such a sweet being and I feel absolutely wretched leading you on like that. I am 
hoping we can still be friends."
	"Of course we can." BOwser's heart was breaking. Is that what he was? Just 
someone you could settle for if there was no one better around? A petty revenge? 
	"Do you think people can change, Bowser?"
	Bowser fought to hide the lump in his throat. "Yes, I think it is 
perfectly possible."

	He knocked on the door loudly. It was a gorgeous night, lightning bugs 
were out. She answered on the thrid knock.
	She looked much older than the last time they had spoken. Her green scales 
glistened in the moonlight, her purple underbelly seemed nearly black. Her black 
hair was cut much shorter. She rubbed her eyes. "Bowser? Shit, it's late."
	"What is this?" He said, holding up the letter he had discarded earlier. 
	"Oh, I'm sorry. I knew that thing was a mistake." She grabbed the letter 
and tried to close the door. He thrust his hand out and caught the door.
	"Why did you write that?"
	She regarded him for a minute. "Come inside. Its hot out here."
	Sheila led him into her modest living room. She shifted her black shell 
nervously. They sat on the couch. "I cancelled my plans with the kids today 
because I realized something. My kids can't stand. And they are right. You are 
such a wonderful father, they adore you so much, though they would never admit 
it. They look at me like a whore because of what I did to you, and they're 
right. There is no excuse for what I did. And I realized that I never did 
apologze for it. Today was our anniversary, I thought you deserved that much."
	Bowser said nothing, just stared at the floor.
	"I'm thinking of moving away. If my kids don't want me around, I don't 
really need to be here, do I?"
	"I miss you." BOwser said, his voice cracking. No one still living had 
ever seen Bowser Koopa cry. His father had been the only one. Yet there he was, 
looking at Sheila and sobbing like a baby. With each son his huge gut bounced a 
bit.
	"Our marraige was a nightmare, Bowser." She said. Placing her hand on top 
of his, she rubbed it slightly.
	"Only the end of it." He replied between sobs.
	She closed her eyes. "Yes. You are right."
	"I'll go now." Bowser rose to leave.
	"Wait." Sheila said, rising to meet him. She gazed into his red eyes, now 
bloodsot from the tears. "Stay."
	Bowser sniffed. "No, I need to. . ."
	Sheila placed a hand over his lips. "I miss you too." Her arms encircled 
two thirds of his massive tummy. "I've used up all of my free passes with you."
	"Its hard, but I think I can forgive you."
	"You already have, haven't you? I don't deserve it, Bowser."
	He didn't speak after that, just continued holding her. The crickets 
chirped away in the night. The stood in the moonlight from the window. Both of 
them wanting their old life back.
	"Do you really think we could try again?"
	He sniffled, a tear falling from his nose, and nodded.