I mash the buttons in desperation. Stringing together a random combination of X’s, circles, squares, and triangles. My dad scorns me for doing this. Being cheesy. My fighter locked in a repetition of low kicks trapping my opponent in an endless state of falling until death.
I tried to practice more. Improve my skills as a warrior. I wanted to beat my dad. Honorably.
Although I strived to attain the same prowess Dad showed with Sub-Zero, I often switched between the characters. Never perfecting any of them. Rather I lost focus, more intrigued by their appearances and back stories. No longer merely fighters to me. So many imaginative adventures to be had. Femme fatales. Mutants. Ninjas. Supernatural forces.
Becoming part of their world. I was inspired by their powers. Their effortless motion. A brutal dance. The blood and gore did not disturb me. I marveled at the spectacle with child-like wonder.
So enthralled by this, I attempted to emulate their every move. Bringing it to life in my living room. My sister and I kick at one another. Karate chop and tackle each other.
I sigh. Dad continues his merciless assault. There is no other option. I button-mash with all my might. To no avail.
Medium: India Ink and Bristol Board.
Programs: Madefire, iMovie, and Photoshop