Drowning in the bathroom wasn’t as much fun as watching their bladders explode when the toilet was removed. But, it was close.
O’Leon hated his avatars fractionally more than he hated his life, although admitedly it was a tight race – useless parasites that they were, always crying for happiness, fulfilment, and satisfaction. What right did they have, when his life was so deeply in the shitter? Where was his benefactor? Where was his protector? Where was his all-seeing overpower, watching out and providing for his every whim?
Like many, his life hadn’t quite turned out the way he’d thought. Much to his surprise, mediocre scores hadn’t gone on to convincingly demonstrate the failure of the public school system to grow innovative young minds like fresh flowers. Fights with his employers hadn’t been early signs of an entreprenural mind, desperate to break free from the shackles of wage-slavery. Being turned down at the pub was, surprisingly, not their loss. At the end of these innumerous challenges to his clear physical and intellectual superiority, O’Lean was left sitting here, in front of his computer on a Friday night, playing a game, furiously trying to ignore reality.
And so, Leon did what he did best – control. He tried to exert the control that he felt was lacking in his life. He tried to direct his ennui into these tiny digital characters, punishing them for the ease of their existence. He tortured them, he mutilated them, and he projected his life’s futility into their very souls. And, deep down, he envied them.
It must be made clear, this wasn’t any minor envy; this was envy the strength of which is rarely seen, a deep, dark, channel from which great and terrible things emerge. He envied them for their lack of free will, he envied them for their numerical definition, and he envied them for, quite simply, being them. In a world where every decision of his had turned out to be the wrong one, the attractiveness of subsuming oneself to divine intervention couldn’t be denied.
And so, he played. And, in playing, he dreamed of a life as easy as his avatars, one where his choices were directed by a grander being, one who would take the burden of choice away and leave O’Leon with the pure simplicity of following orders, good or bad. One where free will was a meaningless construct and where pain and pleasure were deistically determined.
“Simon.”
With a sinking heart, he paused.
“Make a choice.”
His hesitation was all she needed. Shoulders quietly crumpling, she opened the door to step into the great unknown.
He turned back to his monitor, the distraction over. On some level, he knew that he may have missed out on the single biggest event in his life but, in the absence of a higher power or grander direction, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
And so, he played.
——————–
Baird woke up, keys leaving an impression on his cheek; for a brief moment there was a blissful void. Then, reality came flooding back, reminding him of his damaged relationship and his dead-end job. Looking up, he saw his simolean sitting at a computer, talking to himself, happiness meter falling.
With a sigh, Baird saved and turned off his computer.
Drowning in the bathroom wasn’t as much fun as watching their bladders explode when the toilet was removed. But, it was a close one.
O’Leon hated his avatars fractionally more than he hated his life although, admittedly, it was a tight race. Useless parasites that they were, always crying for happiness, fulfilment, and satisfaction; what right did they have, when his life was so deeply in the shitter? Where was his benefactor? Where was his protector? Where was his all-seeing overpower, watching out and providing for his every whim?
Like many, his life hadn’t quite turned out the way he’d have wanted. Much to his surprise, mediocre scores hadn’t gone on to convincingly demonstrate the failure of the public school system to grow innovative young minds like fresh flowers. Fights with his employers hadn’t been early signs of an entrepreneurial mind, desperate to break free from the shackles of wage-slavery. Being turned down at the pub was, surprisingly, not their loss. At the end of these countless challenges to his clear physical and intellectual superiority, O’Lean was left sitting here, in front of his computer on a Friday night, playing a game, furiously trying to ignore reality.
And so, Leon did what he did best – control. He tried to exert the control that he felt was lacking in his life. He tried to direct his ennui into these tiny digital characters, punishing them for the ease of their existence. He tortured them, he mutilated them, and he projected his life’s futility into their very souls. And, deep down, he envied them.
It must be made clear, this wasn’t any minor envy; this was envy the strength of which is rarely seen, a deep, dark, channel from which great and terrible things emerge. He envied them for their lack of free will, he envied them for their numerical constraints, and he envied them for, quite simply, being them. In a world where every decision of his had turned out to be the wrong one, the attractiveness of subsuming oneself to divine intervention couldn’t be denied.
And so, he played. And, in playing, he dreamed of a life as easy as his avatars, one where his choices were directed by a grander being, one who would take the burden of choice away and leave O’Leon with the pure simplicity of following orders, good or bad. One where free will was a meaningless construct and where pain and pleasure were deistically determined.
“Simon.”
With a sinking heart, he paused.
“Make a choice.”
His hesitation was all she needed. Shoulders quietly folding, she opened the door to step into the great unknown.
He turned back to his monitor, the distraction over. On some level, he knew that he may have missed out on the single biggest event in his life but, in the absence of a higher power or grander direction, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
And so, he played.
…
Baird woke up, keys leaving an impression on his cheek; for a brief moment there was a blissful void. Then, reality came flooding in, reminding him of his damaged relationship and his dead-end job. Looking up, he saw his simoleon sitting at a computer, talking to himself, happiness meter falling.
With a sigh, Baird saved and turned off his computer.
Related posts:
- RKD on… 2010: Part 5 – Dealing with death
- The significance of choice
- This is Week – Back to Reality and Away Again Edition
Tags: Ennui, Escapism
Evan Stubbs
Evan spends far too much time creating work for himself. In between being a co-founder of RedKingsDream, contributing to a variety of gaming and non-gaming-related publications, running his photography business TindrumFire, and spending time with his family, he somehow manages to fit in the occasional game, normally closer to midnight than is healthy. You can follow him on Twitter if you'd like, although he strongly recommends against it.
This entry was posted on Monday, October 19th, 2009 at 6:22 PM and is filed under Experience, Game Design.
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The Sims: Will Wright’s grand propaganda campaign for/against the idea of free will. The game shows us how we are/aren’t in control of our own fates, subject to/free from the will of a higher controlling power. It sure is good to be/not to be free!
Free will’s a funny one – I really had the paradox of escaping into a virtual world that mirrors our own stuck in my head last night. I wonder how much of our absorption into games like WoW and The Sims is simply a manifest fear of the uncontrollable.
It is ironic, isn’t it? The stereotype of the videogame player is the one told in this story – obsession with the game and neglect of the self – the exact opposite of the behaviour The Sims requires the player to model in their avatar.
If games were pure escapism with no remedial benefits, it would be a sad but inevitable irony. Games are a form of play, though, and play is practice for life. We are attracted to the forms of play that our biology or culture tells us will help us survive and prosper, from basics like body movement to chasing, fighting, collecting useful items and social engagement. The lessons taught in a game of The Sims are the skills we need in modern life: self-improvement, cleanliness, money management, working for career advancement, forming and maintaining relationships and so on. Whether the flat-screen representations of those things really become ingrained in the actions of the player is unknown – doubtful. But if the game’s themes represent the things we fear we cannot control, then they must appeal to our innate instinct to learn how to control and overcome those things.