Super Smash Bros. Psychosis

I guess I’m supposed to start this by bragging about my obsession with a game or something. That’s how most of these start. I mean, I certainly liked Super Smash Bros. Brawl. Not as much as my brother, unfortunately, but more on that later.

…Actually, does it really have to be later? He’s kind of the main part of this and I’d rather like to get this off my chest. I mean, I could just immediately dump the fact that SSBB ruined my life, but that’s hardly a good story. Right? I guess I just don’t really know how I should do this. I'm not used to confessions.

I guess start with my family. My brother, Devon, and I were fraternal twins. So, we were born at the same time, but we don’t necessarily look alike and all that junk. My family isn’t really super rich; we make enough to scrape by, but we don’t have a lot of money for the stuff most of you guys have. That’s why we were kind of surprised when, for our 17th birthday last year, our parents got us a Wii. Not a Wii U, that’s too much for us; a used Wii. It was probably like a hundred bucks max at GameStop, but that’s still way more than we were used to for a present, so there were no complaints from us. Our parents also got us a (used) game each, Twilight Princess and the aforementioned Smash Bros.

So, considering we’re brothers and had to share the system, we figured, the moment the Wii was plugged in and whatnot, we’d start with Smash Bros. The game started up normally with no problems or ghosts or anything, because this is a story that actually, well, happened. Because I’d rather not bore you with unnecessary nonsense, here’s the short story to our first playing: We played for a bunch of hours and had a bunch of fun and Devon quickly got used to Donkey Kong and found I was decent at Pikachu.

So, a quick thing I ought to mention is that Devon was always a bit less social than I am; though he had friends at school, he was usually more of a loner. I think my Psychology teacher would refer to him as “introverted”.

Anyway, we had school the day after (our birthday’s in February), and that went mostly normal, though Devon, whenever he saw me, told me he couldn’t wait ‘til we got home for more Smash Bros. At the time, I found no reason to see anything weird about it; we had a new toy and he was always way more into that kind of thing than me, you know? Anyway, because high school is kind of a joke, we just jumped right in front of the couch and played more Brawl.

The more often we played, the more I realized that Devon is, well, way better at this game than me. He always destroyed me and found new ways to destroy me. That night, I had a dream about the game. Nothing too surprising, I suppose. In it, I sucked just about as much as I do in real life. Donkey Kong, 18, Pikachu 0.

You’re probably wondering why I’ve been complaining this long when it doesn’t sound too bad. The problem is, this wasn’t some instantaneous thing. That weekend, we played Brawl as often as possible. I don’t remember sleeping, but I must have, since I remember my dream: Generic losing for a while until, at the very end, Devon’s DK grabbed my Pikachu by the head and crushed him into the ground, slamming down as hard as he could as Pikachu cried out in pain. Donkey Kong, 29, Pikachu, 0.

I woke with a start (I know, I’m a wimp), but didn’t really think anything of it. The next night, after another full day of Brawl (to this day, I have no clue why our parents never made us go outside), I must have fallen asleep eventually again:

This dream seemed to begin right where the last one left off, as Pikachu looked horrible. He was covered in bruises and limped, only using one of his hind legs. His ears were sort of pointing down and he had two massive black eyes. Despite his condition, Devon’s DK didn’t hold back. In fact, he got worse: He picked up Pikachu and threw him against a wall, with all his might. He punched and kicked him against the wall. DK then picked up a sword and started cutting Pikachu. Just when it seemed like it would never end, he threw Pikachu on the ground, grabbed his tail and head with his two massive, brutish hands and stomped on Pikachu’s back. A thousand tiny cracks were heard. Donkey Kong, 30, Pikachu, X.

I woke up with a start. I decided to take a break from Brawl for a bit. Besides, Devon mentioned he was interested in the single player. That was my justification in my head, at least. In my defense, I wasn’t about to admit I was quitting because I was having nightmares about a video game.

After about two weeks of a break, I figured I could try another game of Brawl. I knew that I was going to lose, but that wasn’t much of a change. After getting my little work and crap done, I went over to the couch, which Devon had ran to the moment we got home from school.

“Hey, man, want to do some more multiplayer?”

Silence.

“Devon?”

More silence. I tapped his shoulder. He jumped and stared at me. “What? Whaddaya want?”

<p class="MsoNormal">I smirked. “Someone’s getting lost in this. Feel like more multiplayer?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Silence for a couple seconds. Finally, he grunted a yes.

<p class="MsoNormal">Looking back, I’m not sure why I wasn’t worried about this. Though awkward, Devon wasn’t usually like this. His hair had been unkempt lately and his face was greasy. His jumpiness was also pretty new. Of course, this is all in retrospect.

<p class="MsoNormal">First game, the first thing he did was slam me into a corner and spam his ground-slap…thing. In my defense, I never paid a lot of attention to his strategies in the game, but I did notice he was a lot more violent and aggressive than usual. Again, didn’t say anything, because I’m an idiot in retrospect, but yeah. I remember a lot of grabs and smashes, basically anything to make sure I was to do nothing but see my Pikachu get hurt.

<p class="MsoNormal">That night, I had yet another one of those dreams. Pikachu was practically dead; he lay flat on his stomach, his ears broken off and his tail bent almost completely downward. His lags barely moved, his face was one big bruise. And then there’s his back. His spine was completely broken, partially revealed at points, and his ribs had completely burst through his skin in places. He could only barely move, and each time he tried, he let out a loud groan. Not the cute “Pikaaa!” you hear in the game. It was almost human. It sounded like he was trying to scream, but was in too much pain to even muster that much. DK glared at what had become of Pikachu, arms crossed. He let out a growl, one that seemed to say, “Where the hell were you?” He walked up and attacked mercilessly. He stomped Pikachu’s head, back, legs, whatever he could. Anything for the screams. When Pikachu’s screams got quieter, he became more brutal. In the end, Pikachu lay on his back, bruised and bleeding all over, barely (if at all) breathing. The scoreboard in the dream read: Devon, 31, Pikachu, X. Before I woke up, DK growled again. Because it was a dream, I could tell he was telling me that I can’t escape him.

<p class="MsoNormal">After that, I swore off the game for some more time. No matter what, I couldn’t shake it from my head. “Devon, 31”? Not Donkey Kong, like before. Devon.

<p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately (or not, as it turned out), not long after that, though, was spring break. Our parents said we were going to visit our grandmother for the break, because we couldn’t afford a “real” vacation. Devon, to my surprise, pleaded to stay home. After days of arguing back and forth, they eventually gave up and said he could. I liked an excuse to get out of the house, so I decided to go on the trip. My parents left out food for him and told him to call if anything happened. Before we left, I joked to him to try to get some sleep. I kind of wish he’d listened.

<p class="MsoNormal">We were gone the full week. When we got back, we were treated to a…surprise.

<p class="MsoNormal">The house smelled horrible. The ground beef they’d left out was covered in maggots. There were flies everywhere. The living room was only worse.

<p class="MsoNormal">Devon clearly hadn’t bathed or slept the whole week. Seeing him from the back initially, his hair was horribly unkempt and he smelled like death. Flies buzzed around him. He didn’t seem to notice.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Devon! What the hell happened here?!”

<p class="MsoNormal">No response. The only sounds were my parents scrambling to clean and the sound of flies.

<p class="MsoNormal">“DEVON!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Still nothing. I groaned slightly and grabbed his shoulder.

<p class="MsoNormal">He jumped and reflexively punched me.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Jesus, Devon, it’s just me!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Then I got a better look at him. One of his eyes was covered by his hair. The other was bloodshot. Dark circles underneath. His face was pale and covered in acne and had tired lines all over it. His clothes were disgusting, covered in grime and flies. That wasn’t what was unsettling, though.

<p class="MsoNormal">He had this horrid grin on his face.

<p class="MsoNormal">The need for a toothbrush aside, he just had this creepy, toothy grin covering a good half of his face.

<p class="MsoNormal">He finally spoke.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Sorry about that.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Something about his voice was wrong. Other than sounding like he was holding back laughter, it just sounded…off.

<p class="MsoNormal">Angry. Like my very existence was really annoying him.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Devon, what happened here?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Silence again. He was shaky. He kept looking back to the TV every few seconds, as if it was interrupting his thinking.

<p class="MsoNormal">“…I dunno.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I think you do. Did you—“

<p class="MsoNormal">“Wanna play some Brawl?”

<p class="MsoNormal">He asked this…weirdly. Kind of a combination of menacing and bored with the conversation, which he almost certainly was.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What? No, we have more important th—“

<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, whatever.” And he sat back down.

<p class="MsoNormal">At this point my parents saw what was going on.

<p class="MsoNormal">For about ten minutes, my dad yelled at Devon. Said ten minute mark was when he realized he wasn’t listening. He hit the power button on the Wii.

<p class="MsoNormal">I had never seen Devon that angry. I thought he was about to strangle our dad. Be he refrained. He just sat there, glaring at him as he spoke.

<p class="MsoNormal">As this was going on, I quietly ejected the game, figuring that, between my nightmares and Devon’s obsession, there wouldn’t a lot of play in it.

<p class="MsoNormal">After what seemed like hours, the lecture was over. Devon was grounded, no games, the works, and we did our best to clean the house. I figured everything would be normal. I hid the Brawl disc in the dresser in my room.

<p class="MsoNormal">That night, I had another nightmare. I dreamed I was at school, everything normal enough. Then Devon showed up. His hair completely covered his ghostly white face. He was shaky and was being swarmed by flies. The problem here, though, was how he was walking: He was hunched over, his fists hitting the ground with his legs, effectively going on all fours. Like Donkey Kong. In the dream, the moment he saw me, he bellowed and tackled me. He screamed obscenities and started punching and shaking me. The background shifted. Final Destination, in Brawl. He kept punching and screaming. Attempts to fight back were met with bites and harder punches. He finally grabbed my neck and started choking me. As I died, it switched to the score. But it was slightly different. Devon’s side was “Devon, 3002”. But my side didn’t have a number. It just said “Save yourself.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I woke up in a cold sweat. I looked around uneasily and heard a sound. I wasn’t alone in my room.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hello?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Before I knew it, someone was on top of me. Their hand covered my mouth before I could muster a scream.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Shut up!” they hissed. It was Devon’s voice.

<p class="MsoNormal">I couldn’t say anything meaningful, just muffled sounds. He punched me in my stomach.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Just tell me where the damn game is. Okay?” he whispered. He sounded serious.

<p class="MsoNormal">I had no choice. I pointed to the dresser. He jumped off and quickly and silently ran to it.

<p class="MsoNormal">To this day, I’m not certain why everything happened like it did. I don’t know why I did what I did and I definitely don’t know why Devon did what he did.

<p class="MsoNormal">As he searched my dresser, I slowly crept up on him. The moment he found it, I grabbed him and tried to wrestle it out of his hands.

<p class="MsoNormal">He lashed out at me, punching and kicking. I hit back as best as I could. We fought for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

<p class="MsoNormal">Then, a disaster of sorts happened.

<p class="MsoNormal">We pulled the disc from opposite ends, punching and pushing and kicking the whole way through. Suddenly, the disc snapped.

<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not quite sure how, but, well, it did.

<p class="MsoNormal">And with it, I think so did Devon.

<p class="MsoNormal">Seeing his beloved game in two pieces, he just lost it. He screamed and grabbed me, pushing me into walls and kicking my face and neck. Then, he stopped. He looked at the broken disc. His grin returned.

<p class="MsoNormal">I was in too much pain to get up. I could only scream. As loud as I could, I yelled. I yelled for him to stop and I yelled for help.

<p class="MsoNormal">He dashed for a shard of the disc and immediately tackled me, the sharp end inches from my throat. I used all my remaining force to stop him.

<p class="MsoNormal">As my parents slammed open the door, he wrapped one hand around my throat as he turned to see my door.

<p class="MsoNormal">He yelled at them to stay away. They ran toward him. Time slowed down. I was blinded by my parents turning on the light. My eyes were shut, stinging from the pain. I only heard a scream.

<p class="MsoNormal">My eyesight returned just in time for the worst of it. Devon, the brother I grew up with, saw as a best friend and, up until very recently, would have trusted with my life, had cut his own throat. He stabbed his throat with the disc shard, deep as he could, and cut his way across. Blood poured out rapidly and he already started to collapse. I could only hear screams as I passed out.

<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t remember dreaming. I only remember waking up in the hospital, later that day. They told me my right arm and several of my ribs were broken. I didn’t ask them, they just told me. They told me everything they could, going into extreme detail. Anything to avoid my question. Anything to avoid telling me about Devon.

<p class="MsoNormal">It’s been a couple of months since that happened. Police questioned us plenty, but decided Devon was clearly just a suicidal maniac.

<p class="MsoNormal">So, here I am. An only child. Brutally attacked by my now-dead twin. Surprisingly, I haven’t thought about replacing Brawl. I haven’t really talked to anyone since. I’m too haunted by my dreams. Devon, X.