The mid-July heat still lingered in town, spreading the lazy waves of sweaty summer joys. It seeped into the mansard apartment, only to contribute to the already unbearable atmosphere, for the computer had been left running for two days straight, with its not so well understood heart of logic threading away at a constant pace. The inaudible march of calculations beyond imaginable. An inhumane work of the human mind. And what am I using it for? Games? What a waste of time and of everything else. On the chair there was a new towel – a must in such weather.
Click. The machine was awake. 50 degrees Celsius, 54. 33 in the room. Not too bad. Click. Finished DL – should close it; no lag. Click. What to do…forums.
A gentle breeze rose on the plush green hills that surrounded the grey, choking town. It crossed a dozen of dusty roads, rushed across a park that was nothing but a bay of an ancient sea of trees, carved in the shoreline of cracked and bulged asphalt. It rustled the leaves of a spreading lime tree, before it finally found its way into the gamer’s den, whisking his face. Like a lock of her hair. How much fun it could have been, could be, but never will be. Always too late. “Three years too late,” she said to me. “You should have grabbed me back then; you know that, don’t you?” “Back then...I only saw games back then!” he uttered aloud, knowing it was a lie. It didn’t really matter. He was alone.
The forums, an obscure old gaming community, were desolate at that hour. Gamers dwell only in the dark recesses of life. They -we- don’t come out until it is dark. But then again…why am I here, doing this now? What are –they- doing? He closed his eyes. And time flew forward into evening darkness. All of a sudden he could hear the world. People, clanking of cheap fake porcelain, laughter, children crying and running around. Couples uttering words of love, people arguing. A car with volume turned up puttering along in a nearby junction. And here I am, doing what? Watching porn? Playing same old games? What are –they- really doing? He felt bitterness rise in him, swirl around and darken his surroundings. Not knowingly he spun a knife, a good heavy knife. They’re having fun. Everyone! Getting drunk, doing…something! I’m doing nothing! Nothing! Nothing at all! And I’m not even a true no-lifer geek. Why? He was pacing his ugly room, from one wall to the other. Why fucking why? Does he who does not live this life even die? What is death? The absence of living? Then I’m not even alive, I’m dead. Just fucking dead. Will I live when I die? Duality, everything is in dual. White, black, hot, cold, loved, hated, cool not cool, charmless… Still he felt a warm welcoming blanket around him; despite such thoughts he was content. But it was a shallow sensation, an artificial replica he had embraced to make it through. No longer could he stand the whining sound of a GPU fan, he had to escape. His way downstairs was a blissful blur and at the end he could not remember the reason behind it. A sofa seemed all too inviting. If only…a flower that had shed its bright red petals the summer before, only to be assaulted by a blade right after. And such is our existence. Time flies past us. Always wanting to please, being kind. A quarter of my life or so is gone.. He turned back to look through the only normal window in the apartment. What did I get for being such? You try to please everyone – everyone ends up hating you. Pretending, that’s what I had been doing. Nothing more. And one should be hated for that, righteously hated. Pretending I’m interested in what you’re saying, pretending I care, pretending that I’m smart, pretending I’m not smart, just pretending. Always the same. Same old game everyone plays. His eyelids closed. I got nothing for my actions. Praise? Grades? Money? It’s all nothing. The meaner you are, the better, the more you’re liked. Why should one want to be liked? A town’s square bustling with tiny figures spread beneath. In between a double glazed, UV-repelling window. Fuckers. You, we, all should burn and rot away. Be roasted. We are all mad. Lunatics! Down below someone said, “I just want to lie down when I come home.” I can help you lie down. In your grave. He turned away, inwards, and slid down, his back against a wall. Minutes passed. As if by a command, the husk of a person jolted upright, its face tormented by lurid spasms, its lips forming expressions of the kind not yet seen. But its eyes blazed with fire and were still shrouded by gloom. He went back up. Into the room. He stopped at the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, exhaling slowly. After a minute or more, he deliberately reached for the knife. It felt awkwardly heavy. One, no matter how astute an observer, could not discern a single feeling on his face, apart from a pressing sense of despondency. His first step was uncertain – a drunkard’s plodding step. Just that he was not drunk, could not be. The closer he got the more steady his footing became, until he finally sprang forward and stabbed the machine. The blade cut in, for the casing had been removed. A surge of electricity went through his body, flinching his arms and legs, stopping his heart.
Once did he feel such joy before. Now I get to spend that one night with her again. Without my unbearable hesitation. A night stretched beyond time into perpetual bliss. Happiness in death. Finally.
And so it was, for a while at least. Then, from an unperceivable distance a shrill voice punched through the soft gloom, rattling him half awake. He could sense that his eyes were still open – and yet he had been asleep.
“Yeah, he’s totally lost it man, too bad we didn’t record it.”
“Record it? Record what? The oh-so-interesting slow breathing?”
Silence.
“Wake up man, what’s wrong with you? We have a raid to do!”
He could still feel the fuzzy sensation of warmth, like a daydreaming bee on a blossoming field, surrounded by countless flowers in all shades imaginable.
“Fuck him and his fedora-trilby thing, the emergency channel is going haywire!”
“It’s like we’ve been transported back to 4.85 again!”
Yeah? Then I can fix my mistakes. I’ll be what I was now. Was now? I was blind, now I can see and be a decisive version of me. Not too late, not afraid, not so…dumb. Once at least.
And he clicked again, just as he did back then. Being in-game, while opportunities lost never came past lust. We sleep and dream. And there is no time in-between. I just want to sleep a dreamless life, for all my dreams are better than my life - within.
Yeah, I know. This would have worked 4 years ago. Nowadays...not so much. But then again...this story of mine talks about that too. Perhaps we can get some creative writing going - writing that's not tied to the albeit limitless in its own right, but still constrictive FL setting.
![[Image: Lythrilux.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Lythrilux.gif)