No Love

"I don't have a love. It's sad," weeped Marshfellow.

Me neither, but my handsome looks will change that soon.

A random lady, looks like the same one from last chapter, said, "Well, I have news for you: you still do not, but at least you have a new challenger."

"Okay!" Marshfellow hyped himself. "Let's go!"

"Goodness! I did not say it was me!" she gasped. "It is my boyfriend. Newsflash..."

News flash: what? What is with all you characters not finishing statements?!

"My boyfriend's name is Newsflash; the blue ash," she stated in a way that now makes it seem like it's the writer's fault for all confusion regarding this circumstance. "He is the result of ash being painted blue. Some potter named Tug or something like that put him in an oven, then painted him blue. I do not know what his name was prior to that."

Marshfellow joyously commanded, "Bring him and tell him I told you to tell him 'bring it'!"

"Alright! Kick his ash!" she yelled excitedly.

Marshfellow, reasonably confused, questioned, "Why arncha cheering for your boyfriend?"

"News flash: I hate Newsflash!" she screamed.

We paused before asking the next, super obvious question: "Why is he the one with whom you choose to be then?"

"Ugh! Just do not even ask, alright?" she said with attitude. "Just beat him, will you?"

Marshfellow bellowed, "I can beat anybody like I'm scrambling eggs; non-anthropomorphic kinds only, though."

"Cool!" she beamed. "Who knows? If you win and he is on the losing cloud, breaking news: I will be single again."

"Okay! I'm gonna win me a girlfriend!" Marshfellow exclaimed.

Why cannot I have it that easy? Can I narrate myself a girlfriend?

"See you later, future dater!" she chimed as she left the arena. Oh, yeah, we are still at the arena.

Marshfellow went home and then came back to the arena the next day.

"There she is!" Marshfellow said happily.

The lady said, "Crush him, sweetie! News flash, Newsflash: he is just a marshmallow. You got this!"

"What?!" outbursted Marshfellow. "You said you hate him and want me to beat him!"

She said with a straight-face, "I would never go against my man! That is just silly and preposterous. Breaking news: the marshmallow is trying to become a comedian!"

Marshfellow sighed, then returned to his side of the arena, fully dejected. A few minutes later, but still before the match, the lady showed herself again, cheering, "Come on, Marshfellow! You can do it!"

"You just said yo-" Marshfellow complained before she interrupted. Not more interruptions...

"I know, I know, but he was right in front of us!" she explained. "Headline: Guys go crazy over their girlfriends!"

"Not me," disagreed Marshfellow. Pretty sure the readers have noticed by now.

"Whatever," she switched the subject, "the point is that if you want to be on the byline of my life story, you need to win."

Marshfellow proudly announced, "Well, I am undefeated. I don't think that'll be a problem!"

"Most of your wins are based on factors not within your control, so that does not mean much," she debated. "Breaking news: you could not make yourself win if your name was Winslow and you asked people to abbreviate it!"

"Dang!" hooted Marshfellow. "What happened to beating this guy?"

"You should," she stated, "but do not give yourself false credit."

Marshfellow advocated, "But I really am undefeated!"

"Whatever," she said dismissively. "Just win. Otherwise, you do not get a lady like me."

"Do I want a lady like her?" Marshfellow internally pondered.

Psh! I, with my handsomeness, could do better.

Marshfellow, despite the uneasiness that came with this lady's underhanded request, knew he had to win to get what he wanted. He began psyching himself into his collision state of mind.

"Springs... Pinball. Taut ropes... Diving boards," he continued to meditate; until he heard shouting across the distance.

"He is called a marshmallow for a reason! He has no passion; no heart; no intensity! He is a harshmellow!" the lady belted.

The crowd began to chant, "Harshmellow! Harshmellow! Harshmellow!"

Marshfellow responded, "What? What do y'all want?"

I, very amused, asked, "Are you really not insulted by what they are saying?"

"Well, those first parts were legitimate smack talk," reasoned Marshfellow, "but I am a marshmallow. There's nothing wrong with them saying 'marshmallow' over and over again. And I'm not going to make fun of people's lisps, although it is strange to hear such a large group all have the same one. Maybe there's a convention nearby."

"Read what they are saying, moron!" I yelled, sick of his incompetence all book.

Marshfellow read it and said in response, "So they can't spell. So what?"

"What are y-" I angrily shouted before cut off by Marshpello- I mean, Marshfellow.

"Hahaha! I was kidding! But now I'm mad!" he exclaimed.

I announced, "Now we have a fight to behold! No love! No mercy!"

"Except the love of my darling boyfriend! Right, dear?" squealed the lady.

Marshfellow rolled his eyes; within their sockets, of course.

Newsflash and Marshfellow journeyed to the center of the arena while the crowd cheered; the lady being the loudest among them.

"Newsflash, I have good news for you!" she called to him. "I love you! You are so soft, blue, and ashy! I could never love something so rough, pale, and sugary like that marshmallow!"

Marshfellow rationalized, "I need more wins anyway. Might as well win for me. And those cinnamon pretzels. Ohhh, yeahhh!"

Oh, Zairpag! Ah, right. Thank goodness, but now I cannot... Drat.

"Colliders," I boomed, "are you teddy to tumblllle?! Collide!" as the crowd rallied with their "harshmellow" cheer.

"Well," Marshfellow stated optimistically, "here goes!"

Marshfellow dashed toward his opponent like they were in a fighting video game: was it double tap or hard press though? Either way, Newsflash stayed put. When Marshfellow tried to slide under him, Newsflash jumped and landed to the side; this sequence of events repeated three more times.

"This is pointless! Is he trying to win a battle of attrition?!" Marshfellow questioned while huffing (air). "That landing quickness is nearly unbeatable."

"You can do it, dear!" mentioned the lady for all to hear.

"Thanks, baby!" said Marshfellow, to which was replied, "Not you!" by the lady.

"Ugh, this is annoying," Marshfellow muttered to himself. I still heard him though. He rolled his eyes, within their sockets, of course; then sat to think of a plan to win. "Should I take his body apart, piece of ash by piece of ash? No, that'd take too long... Do I ask him to forfeit? No, he doesn't talk..."

I starkly stated, "These are dumb ideas."

"No, they are really dumb ideas! News flash: he is got mush for brains, so what do you expect?" mocked the lady for the audience's entertainment.

"Marshmallow racism again? Starting to think I should have been born corn. At least then, they'd buy my cereal," mentioned Marshfellow depressingly. "They'd love somebody harder than marble harder than me... That's it!"

Marshfellow dove for Newsflash again right as the lady started another insult. "What do you get when you cross a harshmellow with a newspaper? Nothing, because newspapers cannot stand harshmellows! Guffaw!"

Marshfellow rolled his eyes; out of their sockets, of course; and under Newsflash's landing area. Suddenly, the blue ash could not control his trajectory due to the slippery texture all marshmallow eyeballs have and Marshfellow took advantage of the opening. Marshfellow finally successfully dove beneath Newsflash, using the tiny gap created under him by Marshfellow's painlessly and reattachable detachable eyes to squeeze himself directly under the center of the bag holding Newsflash. By the way, Newsflash is in a bag. Marshfellow, possessing the greater weight of the two competitors, shoved Newsflash into the air as soft as he could; by pushing him up, then letting him fall back down to bounce off his marshmallowy body like a spring. Marshfellow jumped into the air after his opponent and swung his body like the flipper of a pinball machine toward the cloud. Newsflash did his best to fall down again, but Marshfellow went into his Mushmallow state; stretching into, instead of a trampoline as usual, a taut rope; and flung Newsflash into the air again, even higher than before. Newsflash refused to concede, however, and, once again, tried to drop downward with all of his magnetic ashes' might. By the way, Newsflash has magnetic ashes. Marshfellow, once more, accurately predicted the landing zone Newsflash had picked, this time turning himself into about half a trampoline and half an elevation post; basically a diving board. Newsflash sprung off of it against his will, flying through the air right towards the cloud. A last ditch effort was made to attract his ashes back to the arena, but it was to no avail; a speck of ash had fallen out of the bag and touched the cloud; the rest of his body came rolling in after it; within its bag, of course.

Newsflash, any last words? Ooh, I heard that! It sounded like he said, "[rustle, rustle]." What? Sue me. I wanted a little bit of drama. This guy was more boring than Halloon.

Also, do not sue narrators, kids.

As Marshfellow left the arena and that long paragraph behind to go find some cinnamon pretzels, the lady intentionally walked into his path.

"Whoo! You did it, Marshfellow!" the lady cheered.

"Yeah... not for you, though," spoke callously the victor.

The lady challenged, "But you won me! You should be proud!"

"I am proud," solemnly stated Marahfellow, "to be a marshmallow. Our detachable eyes may have been the only reason I won today."

Do not detach your eyeballs, kids. Unless you are a marshmallow. Then it might be an invaluable skill.

"Besides, marshmallows and newspapers don't mix," Marshfellow the marshmallow mocked Sue Hater the newspaper. "Newspapers can't stand marshmallows. Or, 'harshmellows,' was it?"

Sue said, "Alright, alright! I am sorry! I was just trying to make it look good."

Guess I should give her my headshot then.

"Headline: I'm a marshmallow. I don't have eyes," said Marshfellow. Pretty sure none of us are falling for that, again. Anthropomorphs...

Sue guffawed and gently mentioned, "I knew you would understand. News flash: you have the softest heart of them all."

"Yep!" Marshfellow brimmed with pride. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to visit the cinnamon pretzel ladies!"