@S.S.Sunnnny

2 months ago

~Subtitles~ … 00:00 - Nostalgia hits you 4:10 - Memories flood back 5:51 - You remember your first world 10:44 - Your first time finding diamonds rushes into your thoughts 14:43 - Your base, your humble little house 20:06 - Your first time in the nether 24:03 - You prepare for the end 25:21 - You find the portal 28:45 - “I see the player you mean.” “Y/N?” “Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.” “that doesn’t matter, it thinks we are part of the game.” “I like this player, it played well, it did not give up.” “It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.” “That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.” “Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.” “They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players, witches and warlocks. And players dreamed, they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.” “What did this player dream?” “This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of Fire and Water. It dreamed and created. It dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.” “Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?” “It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled] in the [scrambled].” “It cannot read that thought.” … “No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.” “Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?” “Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes. But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates a worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes it’s sad creation for reality. To cure its sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.” “Sometimes when they are deep in their dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds of reality, and their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them speak the word they fear.” “It reads our thoughts.” “Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.” “And yet they play the game” “But it would be so easy to tell them.” “Too strong for this dream z to tell them how to live is to prevent them from living.” “I will not tell the player how to live” “The player is growing restless.” “I will tell the player a story” “But not the truth” “No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.” “Give it a body again.” “Shush… sometimes the player reads lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; words into meaning; meaning into feelings emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and it realized it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive. And sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again. And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love. You are the player. WAKE UP.

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