In Which I Fail to Sleep and Fail to Draw Vultures, but Win a Computer Game

Computer games. I don't like to win computer games. My favourite part of a computer game is the beginning, when anything could still happen. It's like being an explorer, back in the days of Here there be Dragons. I saw an old map of Canada once, in an Edinburgh antique shop. Three thousand quid, it was, and worth every penny. It was a magnificent thing, if somewhat fanciful. It had a dragon on, right about where Alberta is now. The rat-free province and points west were just waiting there, unimagined.

Playing a new computer game is like having that map back when it was brand spanking new, and following it off into dragonland. You don't know what's there, or what you're going to find. For all you know, there will be dragons, and you'll get eaten. It's all terribly exciting.

This month has been an unusual one for me, in that I've had a newish game to play, one from the late '90s. I ordered it off eBay last month, for a friend who's not got a credit card. When he failed to cough up the cash for it, the game became mine--Final Fantasy VIII, the PC version. I've been playing it all month, an hour here, a sleepless night there, and this evening, I won. And now, I'm left with an empty sort of feeling--loss, disappointment, all that sort of thing. I suppose I could play it again, pick up a few items I missed on the first go round, but it wouldn't be the same. The exciting part is over now, and it won't be back for at least five years. (It takes me about that long to forget the storyline enough to make it worth repeating. Really brilliant games, like ADOM, or like Final Fantasy VI, I can play any ol' time, but this one wasn't that great.)

As the end of the game approaches, the fun starts to go out of it. Once the path to the final confrontation becomes clear, it's sheer agony. Do I futz around a few hours longer, trying to get every single item, pursue every last side-quest, or do I put myself out of my misery now? It's not as if anything new or interesting is going to happen while I'm searching forests for monkeys or digging in the sand for hidden potions. The exploring, the plot twists, the mystery, all that stuff is over. The only thing left to look forward to is the big finale. And once that's over, well, it's anyone's guess as to when I'll be able to afford a new game. Once this game is gone, it's weeks, months, even years of replays for me. Alas!

I could've finished Final Fantasy VIII two weeks ago. I spun it out as long as possible, but there wasn't much there to spin out. The story was pretty straightforward, and all the puzzles were easy to solve. My appetite's barely whetted, with a game like that. I want more, more, more! Ah, why isn't there more? There ought to be more.

I wish I could get out more. I hate to complain about my life, since it really isn't all that bad, but if I could make one wish and have it granted, that's what it would be. I'd ask for my health back, so I could go out any time I wanted. I'd rather explore the real world than any pixel realm. There were those underground toilets I wanted to check out, and I bet they've added dozens of new shops at Metrotown since I was there last. How I used to love shopping, and playing games at the arcade! There were bright lights, and people, and shiny things everywhere. Yes, shiny things. That's how it was on the outside: shining. I was always half-blinded by something, by the sun, by the strip-lighting in the mall, by flashing traffic-lights, blinking fireflies, sodium lamps on night streets, blazing sunsets, the white glare of the moon. My memories are indistinct and chaotic, involving blurs and sparkles of light, a confusing whirl of movement with faces hoving in and out of it. I liked that. I always got excited when I was going somewhere, even if it was somewhere stupid like an underground loo.

There was always something I hadn't seen, somewhere I hadn't been. It was like having an infinite computer game, where you never had to beat the final boss and switch it off.

(If life's a computer game, what's happened to me now? Has my game frozen? Did I die? Or was I just not the main character? Am I...am I one of those dorky pixelmen who's always in his dorky pixelhouse, no matter when you visit?)

It's so different in here. Since I moved in, the lights have stopped working one by one. The sun and the moon are dull, seen through glass. It's always dim. It reminds me of those old castles you get in Scotland, Fyvie and Amhuinnsuidhe and so on. Uninviting, sort of thing. Forbidding. It's even got a dungeon sort of bit, all those storage lockers downstairs--a jail for old furniture and suitcases. Indeed, the only thing that shines at all in this place is the computer screen. (Perhaps that's why I'm so attracted to it. Ha, ha.)

Don't get me wrong--I like it here, as accommodations go. It's perfectly comfortable. Still, one can't help but resent any prison, in the end, however gilded the bars may be. Especially if one's fellow prisoner's a compulsive biter. (Yeah, you, Stella, you.)

Someone should upload the whole world to the Internet. Or--or--better yet, you should be able to buy a little camera thingy, no bigger than an insect, which you could throw out the window, and it'd fly anywhere you wanted via remote control. It would have a little speaker on it, so you could talk to folks who were really outdoors, and they could talk back to you, if they felt so inclined. It would be network-capable, so you could send information to people's Palm Pilots, or they could send information to you. No-one would ever be stuck indoors again, not like this, anyhow. If you wanted to, you could send your little bug soaring skywards at noon, so all you'd see was a dazzling light and an angry scatter of lens flares. You could skate it over the surface of a pond, and see the shore wavering through a mini-spray of water droplets.

I suppose such a thing wouldn't be much of a success. Perverts could use it to look up your skirt, and it'd be easily broken, to boot. Still, there ought to be some way to get the outdoors in, some way to experience a shopping mall or a busy street firsthand, without having to be there in person. Watching a film, looking at photographs, those are all right, but they're always the same, snippets of the past caught on tape. They're not interactive. They're not still happening. You can look at them all you want, but you can never change anything, or speak to anyone.

(If life's a computer game, maybe I've been paused. One day, whoever's playing will come back from the toilet, pick up the controller, and return me to my adventure.)

What am I talking about? Oh, I hate insomnia. It's been about forty-eight hours now, since last I slept. I have this horrible suspicion I'm talking complete gibberish. I usually do, when I've been up too long. I used to write any old crap, and not realize it was hogwash till after I'd slept, but experience has taught me to expect the hogwash, to embrace the hogwash, to let the hogwash flow. Maybe this pile 'o' horse is what I really think, but it's so ridiculous I only entertain it when in a compromised mental state, such as extreme exhaustion.

This is going to be a bad month for me, in terms of health. I can just feel it. All last week was horrible, and I've not quite recovered. I'm all...flattened, sort of thing, and droopy. I need to summon some strength from somewhere, and also get some sleep in. I wish I had another computer game, to pass the time till I get better.

Ah! Computer games! That's what I was on about. I think...I think I said my piece already, quite some time ago. I'd better stop now, before I think up something extra-triple-doggie-stupid to say.

Oh, too late! I thought of something: I have drawn four Greater Short-Necked Spatulate Vultures this week, none of which have been up to snuff. I'm halfway done with a fifth, which I worked on in bed today--I think this'll be the one. A greater short-necked spatulate vulture begins and ends its life as a plant, but becomes a bird for a while in between. The world should know about the greater short-necked spatulate vulture, for it is a most wondrous creature. And I'll tell the world--I'll show them.

But for now, I'm taking my silly, sleepless self offline.