A 16-year-old boy leaned across his mattress, clutching a plastic triceratops alien in one hand and a turtle with a red bandana in the other. This was the turtle shaped to do the best kicks. The triceratops was orange and angry-looking.
“You killed my brother! Now you’ll see what I’ve learned, you…”
But he knew he almost never finished those ones anymore.
Both toys and he were still.
When was the last time he had done the one about the coast guard avenging his wife? But that one didn’t even have a training sequence (and kind of felt thrown together).
Thoughts of yet another attempt at questing back to Dragon Lord’s castle atop containers, couches, and counters across the rumpus room bore vile reminders of what a ten-year-old had more than once used his merry band of adventurers to do with a castle’s worth of incumbents.
He felt tired.
There was another option, probably his only truly original left.
He reached his left hand down under the bed, feeling the pointy pile beneath for a twisted, scrawny body with plastic blades attached to limbs.
No luck.
Lowering himself, he allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment as he was greeted by the funk of old plastic and dried saliva.
Rustling through, he grabbed his chosen figure. Officially a ninja villain, it would now serve to don the role of reluctant good guy.
His overview: An out-of-shape martial arts expert who hasn’t trained in decades returns to rediscover his skills and love for the art. Though forced to fight, this one’s protagonist permitted transcending normal plotlines, eliminating the need for any clichéd final clashes to the death.
The boy liked hearing his character proclaim the ways of peace instead.
But he was sad this seemed the only one he could ever finish these days.
Unique, though, it did touch on so many other things.
I don't know anything 