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Or Maybe just a waste of my time.
I stood at the edge of the town, looking in. I sat on the edge of my seat as I moved closer towards the screen, unsure, my instincts worried, telling me to walk away, "There's a road that goes around the outside", I heard them say, but I stood fast, knowing I needed all the scrap I could find. "There's going to be a lot in there!" my mind argued but the scales still weighed heavily towards my instincts. Looking even closer to the screen, searching even harder for a hint of danger, the quiet began to haunted me more, but maybe, just maybe though, this derelict place was meant for a derelict mind? I fought against the fear deep within as I begin to walk, my eyes scanning the roofs, doors, corners, searching, fearing, my heart nothing more than a wild drum, as my mind reassured me - "There will always be a second chance!".
I felt a sense of pride as I picked this difficult lock in record time, the smug look had become an infectious disease, a self-gratification of how my skills had increased, I was a harden warrior, fearless, untouchable, detached, accurate, “Not one broken lockpick this time” my mind commended me. My journey continued, a somewhat zig zag adventure, detoured through sight as I saw a rickety old cabin in the distance, no door, no lock and maybe no pride to boost my over-inflated, yet rightfully self-imposed ego, still, maybe some small morsels to acquire. The door was an entrance that broke the thin cord which held my heart in place, as I bearded witness to the skeleton of a small figure curled in a torn and tattered blue dress on a mattress, the colours, the fragments, told a story of a lonely girl that both people and time had forgotten. I heard her as I played the holotape, her voice, so afraid, so alone, what if, what if that was my daughter? what if I have survived knowing that I had let her go, let her die like that? No shame could warrant that kind of punishment, if it was punishment at all or just wrongfully placed pride. A tear and those thoughts changed me forever, I was no longer a hardened warrior, I grew into something different, I had to be something more.
Renewed, standing back, I could never have imagined the immense pleasure I felt at my creation, every possibility thought of, protected and secure, every necessity catered for, a paradise built in hell, a safe haven for body and soul. I never could have dreamed I could be like this, my minds lack of creativity was overtaken with a wealth of ideas, the dam had been broken as I lay witness to how they had flooded the area, but this wasn’t genius or a moment of inspiration, this was nothing less than a miracle of creation, ready by a throw of a single switch.
Now though I saw it, something I had tried to avoid, the small screen only housed something much larger, maybe something more powerful than the universe itself. It reminded, hounded, disturbed my thoughts, sometimes silent and sometimes announcing its presence but always constantly moving. Sometimes I wish that it had never existed and others I wished, dreamed, needed to pause or rewind, but there would never be a win, there isn’t a Tardis, only a guarantee to an end that you cannot predict till it happens. It’s like a ninja, waiting patiently, fearlessly, till your eyes are caught by its face, then with an undeniable force and perfect precision, you are defeated in an instant, a battle, a lose, an answer we all are forced to face as we retreat to our beds.
Sometimes I find it difficult to sleep, but not for a desperate worry or hate and certainly not for a lack of love, there is just something missing inside of me, something I can’t explain and yet constantly feel. I think about my vault, my own design, each detail, a brief number of moments, peaced together in darkness, weeks of careful process joined in a long-integrated plan, a place I feel comfortable and protected. It helps me fade, beginning my journey to a fresh start with the same content.
A cup of tea to my right, a paper in front of me, the smile fades with the fragments of a dream, sad that I could only remember some fleeting moments, but knowing that my family and I survived, reassured that my skills would have helped us on our journey in the ruined land.
I wonder what they would think of me, my family, if they could see beyond the hidden? a headline boldly visible for all to see with my eyes firmly fixed is clear, but more is the smile so bold, that my hand struggles to conceal.
“He will be out in 3”, I thought.
I do not hide my smile from anyone because of shame, or because I feel have some kind of sick and twisted pleasure embedded within, I hide it only from a lack of understanding. My inside is no more than a collection of thousands of thoughts and words, the outside a static reflection of nothing more than view and movement, a simple gesture reflecting multiple possibilities, changed only by shape, providing, if not adding even more limitations over time.
Was my second thought, still with such a bold smile.
That smile was a reflection of my justice, just a single bullet, a chance for him to witness his own death as he stared at my barrel, a long-time waiting will persuade his mind to understand, understand their horrors, to feel some of their pain, because understanding can only truly be gained by experience. He may not understand the full brutality but he will understand the uncertainty to a conclusion of guarantee which time has no control, where justice is long, yet delicate, without satisfaction but truly deserving. The length maybe unknown to him and maybe to me, but when the flame finally signifies the brief beginning of his end then the end with truly justify the beginning of this journey.
Here, maybe I would be no more than a monster like him but there I would be no more than a hero.
So, I ask, am I a true gamer or am I just an insaner?
I stood at the edge of the town, looking in. I sat on the edge of my seat as I moved closer towards the screen, unsure, my instincts worried, telling me to walk away, "There's a road that goes around the outside", I heard them say, but I stood fast, knowing I needed all the scrap I could find. "There's going to be a lot in there!" my mind argued but the scales still weighed heavily towards my instincts. Looking even closer to the screen, searching even harder for a hint of danger, the quiet began to haunted me more, but maybe, just maybe though, this derelict place was meant for a derelict mind? I fought against the fear deep within as I begin to walk, my eyes scanning the roofs, doors, corners, searching, fearing, my heart nothing more than a wild drum, as my mind reassured me - "There will always be a second chance!".
I felt a sense of pride as I picked this difficult lock in record time, the smug look had become an infectious disease, a self-gratification of how my skills had increased, I was a harden warrior, fearless, untouchable, detached, accurate, “Not one broken lockpick this time” my mind commended me. My journey continued, a somewhat zig zag adventure, detoured through sight as I saw a rickety old cabin in the distance, no door, no lock and maybe no pride to boost my over-inflated, yet rightfully self-imposed ego, still, maybe some small morsels to acquire. The door was an entrance that broke the thin cord which held my heart in place, as I bearded witness to the skeleton of a small figure curled in a torn and tattered blue dress on a mattress, the colours, the fragments, told a story of a lonely girl that both people and time had forgotten. I heard her as I played the holotape, her voice, so afraid, so alone, what if, what if that was my daughter? what if I have survived knowing that I had let her go, let her die like that? No shame could warrant that kind of punishment, if it was punishment at all or just wrongfully placed pride. A tear and those thoughts changed me forever, I was no longer a hardened warrior, I grew into something different, I had to be something more.
Renewed, standing back, I could never have imagined the immense pleasure I felt at my creation, every possibility thought of, protected and secure, every necessity catered for, a paradise built in hell, a safe haven for body and soul. I never could have dreamed I could be like this, my minds lack of creativity was overtaken with a wealth of ideas, the dam had been broken as I lay witness to how they had flooded the area, but this wasn’t genius or a moment of inspiration, this was nothing less than a miracle of creation, ready by a throw of a single switch.
Now though I saw it, something I had tried to avoid, the small screen only housed something much larger, maybe something more powerful than the universe itself. It reminded, hounded, disturbed my thoughts, sometimes silent and sometimes announcing its presence but always constantly moving. Sometimes I wish that it had never existed and others I wished, dreamed, needed to pause or rewind, but there would never be a win, there isn’t a Tardis, only a guarantee to an end that you cannot predict till it happens. It’s like a ninja, waiting patiently, fearlessly, till your eyes are caught by its face, then with an undeniable force and perfect precision, you are defeated in an instant, a battle, a lose, an answer we all are forced to face as we retreat to our beds.
Sometimes I find it difficult to sleep, but not for a desperate worry or hate and certainly not for a lack of love, there is just something missing inside of me, something I can’t explain and yet constantly feel. I think about my vault, my own design, each detail, a brief number of moments, peaced together in darkness, weeks of careful process joined in a long-integrated plan, a place I feel comfortable and protected. It helps me fade, beginning my journey to a fresh start with the same content.
A cup of tea to my right, a paper in front of me, the smile fades with the fragments of a dream, sad that I could only remember some fleeting moments, but knowing that my family and I survived, reassured that my skills would have helped us on our journey in the ruined land.
I wonder what they would think of me, my family, if they could see beyond the hidden? a headline boldly visible for all to see with my eyes firmly fixed is clear, but more is the smile so bold, that my hand struggles to conceal.
“Boyfriend kills Girlfriend and Her Baby - Gets 6 Years”
“He will be out in 3”, I thought.
I do not hide my smile from anyone because of shame, or because I feel have some kind of sick and twisted pleasure embedded within, I hide it only from a lack of understanding. My inside is no more than a collection of thousands of thoughts and words, the outside a static reflection of nothing more than view and movement, a simple gesture reflecting multiple possibilities, changed only by shape, providing, if not adding even more limitations over time.
“He will be out but his girlfriend and child will never!!”
Was my second thought, still with such a bold smile.
That smile was a reflection of my justice, just a single bullet, a chance for him to witness his own death as he stared at my barrel, a long-time waiting will persuade his mind to understand, understand their horrors, to feel some of their pain, because understanding can only truly be gained by experience. He may not understand the full brutality but he will understand the uncertainty to a conclusion of guarantee which time has no control, where justice is long, yet delicate, without satisfaction but truly deserving. The length maybe unknown to him and maybe to me, but when the flame finally signifies the brief beginning of his end then the end with truly justify the beginning of this journey.
Here, maybe I would be no more than a monster like him but there I would be no more than a hero.
I don’t live to play the games, I play to live the games
So, I ask, am I a true gamer or am I just an insaner?
</pedanticjoke>