Short Story: Toro’s mom is the real MVP

Yep. That’s the working title as written in my Scrivener, and since this was just a little writing exercise to break through my block over the holidays, that’s what I’m keeping it.

Can you guess what I’ve been doing over the break?
This one doesn’t get its own process post, because the process was literally this: me standing at work, staring into the distance, and thinking word for word: ‘I’m gonna write a story about a kid with a broken leg.’ And then I did. Simple.

 

Toro’s mom is the real MVP
by Indigo Haunt

After three days of laying in bed with his leg propped up, Toro was getting antsy.

“Why don’t you play your Switch?” asked his mother, setting a bowl of vegetable soup in his bedside table and pausing to fluff his pillows. Toro’s face fell at the very mention of it, and he looked away, chagrined.

“The joycons are dead,” he only half-lied, motioning to their final resting place on the nightstand, next to the soup. It was only half of a lie because they’d died long after he had already stopped playing, too angry at himself after dropping a large metal box on himself and dying, or getting stung by bees ten times and dying, or, more recently, watching as Link’s body was destroyed by lasers after venturing into an area he had no business being in yet. And dying. Now that he thought about it, he suppose he could always fast travel away, but he was just a bit too proud for that.

“Mmhmm,” was all his mother said, highly skeptical; Toro was positive she couldn’t hear him through the door, loudly ‘cursing’ (‘Oh, cheeses murphy!’) with every subsequent death. She most definitely could. Instead of rubbing it in (she already had seven hearts on her own file), she stroked his hair soothingly.

“My leg hurts,” he complained in between sips of far too hot soup, making every effort to pretend he hadn’t burnt his tongue.

“I’m not surprised,” his mother laughed, somewhat sadly. “How did you manage to break it? Weren’t you just taking out the trash? Your father was…” She searched for the right word, her husband’s hysterical laughter still ringing in her ears. “Vague.”

Toro dipped his head in shame again, alerting her another half truth was coming.

“I just fell,” he mumbled quietly. He failed to mention how he had forgotten the key to the rubbish area, and how he hadn’t felt like going back inside to get it, thinking he could just toss the trash bag over the fence. He neglected to add that it was significantly heavier than he had anticipated, and that the act of throwing it had been enough to throw him off balance, and above all he definitely didn’t relate how, for all that, the bag hadn’t even cleared the fence, and hence came crashing back down on him when he was already down. She got all of these details out of his father later, of course, when he finally managed to stop laughing.

“Mmhmm.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead and left him to rest, and once he fell asleep she cooked and sold enough simmered fruit to buy him a nice set of armor, so maybe a day would come when he could make it on his own.

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