One of my favorite things about twitter are the strange sort of half-conversations that occur over a period of hours between people. This is one such example.
pfhobia: This is the part where you fall down.
zepfhyr: Those were $500 sunglasses, asshole!
christykay: Are you two quoting f*cking Mortal Kombat!?! How am I friends with you!?!?!
pfhobia: Mortal Kombat is the greatest movie ever made about a video game about a death sport tournament on the snes and genesis.
This story, like any other, is about a girl. All my stories are. It’s not that I have a one-track mind, or that I’m so desperate that I can’t think about anything but girls. Nothing like that. No, this story, and all others, are about girls for one very important reason. That’s what the audience likes to hear.
One very bright and sunny spring day, I was wandering home from school. I say wandering because I had decided, for the first time of many, that heading straight home was altogether boring. I saw the same buildings, the same cars, the same people, the same rocks. I wanted to see something new. So I wandered.
In my hometown, it’s easy to wander. In small towns it always is. Backyards are rarely off-limits, and when they are, it becomes a challenge to sneak through, anyway. Front yards are just as passable, and if you cross the right yards, you just might find a tree worth climbing. Wandering, however, is not just a rambling and a shuffling in any old direction you choose. Oh, no. There’s a science to it. If you ever catch yourself heading in the direction of home for too long, you have to immediately change directions. Sometimes this can put you in a bit of a pickle, what with thorn bushes, fences, and the occasional guard dog. But once you’ve decided to wander, you’ve got to stick to your guns. You can’t change your mind just because of an obstacle.
On this particular day, I was wandering exceptionally well. I’d managed to cross an enormous mud puddle and only got my sneaker a little wet. My hand was muddy, but that’s what jeans are for. Mother would probably have something to say about me coming home late, anyway, so I didn’t care too much about the jeans.
I was about half-way home and still had at least 15 minutes of wandering left when I stumbled through a backyard that had changed abruptly since my last wandering through it. The house had once belonged to an old woman, but I heard rumors at church that she’d died and the house was for sale. Whispering old ladies loved to talk about other old ladies. I never usually paid them much attention, but I’d pick up the pieces here and there. The backyard was full of wonders I’d never seen there before. There was a brand new swing set and an old tricycle. There was even the beginnings of a new sandbox.
Now, normally I’m not one for playing with toys. I’ve been the man of the house ever since dad went away, and men don’t have time to play. But the sight of those toys still filled me with awe. I heard a screen door open and I quickly hid in the bushes at the edge of the backyard. I heard a woman’s voice from inside the house say, “Don’t get too dirty. We have company coming tonight.”
“Okay, mom,” came the reply. My heart sank in my chest. It was a girl. I realized then that I would not be coming over to play here. Girls and boys don’t play together, so men and girls certainly don’t play together.
She came around the corner of the house and plopped herself down into one of the swings. She was wearing a pink dress. I know you’d like a better description, but that is the best I can give you, as boys don’t usually pay much attention to girls’ dresses. Men pay even less.
She sat on the swing and looked pretty sad. A strange tingle went down the base of my spine and she quickly looked up at the bushes where I was hiding. No, not at the bushes. Directly at me. Somehow she could see exactly where I was. More than that, she could feel it.
“You can come out, now. I know you’re there,” she said, and turned her head away from the bushes. She sat that way for several seconds and I knew that she would stay that way until I stepped out of the bushes myself.
So I did.
Slowly I walked toward her and when I was about three arm-lengths away, I stopped. Three arm-lengths is the safe distance to avoid cooties from girls. Jimmy taught me that. Jimmy was my best friend before I became a man. We’re still friends, but men and boys don’t play together. Men don’t play at all.
“I’m Kira,” said the girl. “What’s your name?”
I’d never heard the name Kira before.
“John,” I replied. I’d heard the name John a lot.
The girl didn’t say anything. She just sat there on her swing.
“You have mud on your jeans,” she said. I looked down at the mud on my jeans and for the first time felt as though jeans weren’t meant to be dirty. I didn’t know what to say. “Would you like to push me?” she asked.
Boys don’t play with girls. Men don’t play at all. But men push girls in swings all the time. That’s not playing. That’s helping. Men help.
“Sure,” I said.
I started pushing her, softly at first, but slowly picking up speed. She didn’t say anything, but she closed her eyes and smiled as the wind blew her curly, blond hair back. When I started to push her really fast, she began to giggle.
“Higher, John!” she cried out. I pushed as hard as I can. I pushed harder than I’d ever pushed before.
When I thought she couldn’t go any higher, she suddenly jumped out of the swing. The smile that had crept across my face as I was pushing her quickly vanished as I watched her soar through the air. I’d never seen anyone jump out of a swing at that height before. It was dangerous.
She landed on the ground and crumpled into a ball. She didn’t move.
I waited.
She still didn’t move.
I ran to her side and knelt by her and shook her shoulder. “Kira! Kira, are you okay?” I asked, frantically. She rolled over and looked at me with one eye, the other squeezed tightly shut. She was grinning.
“That was fun,” she said. I felt a grin break out across my face, my fear forgotten now that I knew she was alright. “You should come over and play again tomorrow.”
She got up, brushed herself off and ran inside. The swing was still swaying from being pushed so hard. I turned to it and stopped its movement. Men don’t play at all. But boys do play with girls. Maybe I could still be a boy sometimes.
I ran all the way home, without wandering. From that day on, whenever I could wander, I always made sure to wander into that backyard.
So I’m out browsing around the Interweb, and I come across a strange advertisement (seen above). Now, I’m what you would call a video game enthusiast. I’ve played a few rounds of Halo in my life. Not once have I ever seen it available on any Sony device, let alone the Playstation 3.
Does anyone aside from me think that this ad was put together by someone knowing absolute dick about video games? I think they missed the perfect opportunity to put an ad next to it of Mario stomping on Goombas that says “Help Mario jump on all these little brown things and win a free trip to Guatemala”?
“Help the Playstation buttons find their way through the Forest of Lost Atari Games and pick up some GTA hookers while simultaneously driving a go kart through the Mushroom Kingdom and Dance Dance Revolution-ing your way to the top of the Mortal Kombat tournament to face off against Solid Snake in a one-on-one game of Wii Boxing and win a free* assload of spam direct to your inbox and no hope of ever actually winning one of our illustrious prizes.”
Wow. That one got away from me, a bit.
Okay, so I was going to post about some games, but got lost in there somewhere, and the therapy is going to take the rest of the day. So, instead, I’m gonna hit you with a list of great games I’m going to be talking about soon: Kid Icarus, Paper Mario, Clash at Demonhead.
It is safe to pick up and play any of these games without fear of irreparable mental anguish. Again, I remind you that my purpose here is to dissuade you from playing shit (i.e. Moto Roader).
So… go enjoy your day. I’m gonna get back to my “research”.
They came on very quickly. Even with his superior reflexes, he nearly didn’t react soon enough. The first one fell on him from above. Rising as quickly as he could, Zephyr rolled out of the way, directly into the second one. It was waiting.
And that was the only way to describe them. “It.” They were clearly not human. Zephyr chuckled inwardly at the thought. He knew that humans were a lot less common than they realized. Many even believed themselves to be human and were not. Some, of course, knew what they were. The Anemoi had known for millennia. That knowledge had allowed them to protect the planet for some time.
But these things didn’t even appear to be human. They were quite clearly something different. Something new.
Someone had been busy.
Nearby, a scream split Zephyr’s thoughts in two, and his reflexes faltered.
Iris. Zephyr’s instincts had caused him to forget her briefly, and a third one had appeared and grabbed hold of her from behind. He turned toward the scream, prepared to rush to her aid, when the second one took advantage of the opportunity.
Lights blossomed behind Zephyr’s eyes. These guys hit hard, he thought to himself as he crumpled to the ground, a feint. The second one stepped in, eagerly. With his eyes still closed, Zephyr kicked out and up, snapping the thing’s head back with a sickening crack. His third eye, the one that could see everything, was satisfied that it would not stand back up.
One down.
“Zeph, help!”
Zephyr’s eyes fluttered open. The first one was missing, but the third was busy dragging Iris away. Zephyr rushed toward her, but was snagged from behind. The first one had slipped around behind him and it’s grip was deathly tight. Zephyr twisted and heaved, trying to break free, but found no way out.
“Sweetie, no…”
Iris’s voice had changed. It was softer, calming. She was no longer panicked. Zephyr looked up to see that the third had let her go and was standing idly by. Zephyr’s confusion radiated and Iris seemed to bask in it momentarily, a sad smile breaking out on her face. She approached him and placed a hand upon his cheek. Zephyr looked into her eyes and his heart shattered. There was no welcoming glance, no loving look from one who had claimed to love him. Only betrayal. For a brief moment a look of regret flickered across her face and vanished, to that place where suppressed emotions go, never to return. But it was in his head. It stayed there, and he treasured it for the rest of his life, knowing that a part of her still truly loved him.
Iris leaned in and kissed him on the lips, her tongue probing. His lips parted without thinking and his tongue suddenly felt a pinprick. He jerked back, the taste of blood in his mouth. The thing holding him shoved him to the ground at a nod from his love.
Zephyr struggled to his feet. The drug was working quickly. Too quickly.
What did she hit me with?
His mind reeled and his body faltered. He was strong, always had been, but even this drug was more powerful than he was prepared for.
“Iris…”
She appeared before him. His lover and betrayer.
“I forgive you.”
The world went away for a long time, and Zephyr found rest for the first time in months. A longer look of regret crossed her face, but Zephyr did not see it to take with him, and the two with her didn’t live long enough to inform their master that it ever occurred.
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