You Just Lost The Game
Entry by Steven Shiroma. This entry needs artwork!
My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,577 different people.
When one awakes it is often to the sound of an alarm clock, a cell phone, a door bell, or some other device designed to grab attention; however that luxury is lost when the time and place one wakes up in lacks the technological advancement. As such I woke up today not to an alarm, but to a person “asking” me a question.
It was rather startling to wake up from a rather pleasant dream of flying (or was it memory?) with a person, he looked to be military of some sort, dressed in thick plate armor topped with a winged and battle scarred helm hiding his face and accompanied by a rather viscous looking blade on his side. The stranger stood in front of me “asking” a question. I stress “asking” because it was not in the normal sense that someone would verbally communicate a question.
You see he never spoke a word, nor did he make any physical gesture. But as soon as I felt him “ask” his question I found myself spouting words unbidden but unable to be held back, my mouth vomiting forth with an overly cheery and car salesman-ish gusto, “Welcome back adventurer! Your reward for that bounty is five royal gold pieces as well as five hundred ee-ex-pee!”
There was a sudden flash of light surrounding this soldieresque figure in front of me before he took off at a full sprint. I don’t mean like a brisk walk or something befitting social standards, this guy RAN out of the room. After he left I felt a little more comfortable, what with no longer being stared down by an nonspeaking, seemingly unsocial character. Even after what I would call the “soldier’s” departure autonomous movement had yet to be granted to my limbs.
Seemingly of their own accord my hands suddenly sprung to life. One which was holding an empty mug the whole time was held firmly still while my other hand which had also been holding a cloth began to polish the already polished mug and kept polishing…and polishing… It seemed in this life I was to remain rooted for the however long it lasted. Thankfully my eyes and head where somewhat motor functional, allowing me to turn my head and direct my vision but speech was still lost to me. Not too long before I figured whereabouts I was.
If the constant glass polishing wasn’t an indicator, the large bar I was permanently rooted behind hinted to the fact that in this life I had become a bartender. The multitude of colored, unlabeled bottles behind me seemed to all be full, all the glasses that sat in rows below the bottles where so spotless and picture perfect it hardly seemed to me that they had been used. There were no patrons currently at the bar and only a few other guests lingered about the dining area of the bar, all standing, a few pacing but they never went very far.
These people gave me the creeps to be honest, they moved in short, repeating movements.
I doubt that those people where as conscious as I was, or maybe they where and like me where unable of vocal communication short of pre defined scripts it seemed from my earlier monologue. Just as I was getting accustomed to this new setting, a female figure ran into what I came to a conclusion as Green’s Tavern, boasted by a large wooden sign I noticed hanging above the bar. As she approached at the same break neck run as the soldier, there was no missing that her manner of clothing was much simpler than that of the previous patron.
She wore leather armor which I presume was homemade, a pair of riding boots, worn gloves and a tattered dark red cloak fluttering in her wake. Instead of a sword a strung bow seemed to be the preferred weapon of this newcomer, firmly grasped in her hand while the quiver was firmly strapped on her back, the flights of the arrows seen poking above her right shoulder. Sadly the hood of her cloak obscured her face this time simply a dark recessed shadow. I just so happened to notice something that had slipped my attention before.
Above this newcomer’s head floated what I could only explain as a small…text box, but in real life. The text written there was simply a name. Alexandria.
She was here and soon she was standing right there in front of me, only a bar separating me and her. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, ask her who she was, where she came from, why she was here but nothing came out. Then to my dismay I felt it happen again… I was getting “asked” a question and before I knew it I was gushing with that overly zealous tone, “Welcome back Adventurer! Your reward for that bounty is five royal gold pieces as well as five hundred ee-ex-pee!”
That same golden light enveloped Alexandria, a small “ding” was barely audible but was soon accompanied by more floating next, this box rising with the words “level up!” in it. Before I could even compose myself she was off like a shot, sprinting at full speed out the door and like that she was gone again. All I could do was go back to polishing that glass and await the next patron.