And then the game began. The screen went black and just as suddenly lit up again, with an array of amoeba shaped colors, shifting and moving in front of their eyes. The music was a cantata - Misery Made Happy. The music and the singing and the lights lit up the room and John and Christian sat, staring into it, one holding a bowl, the other holding a drink. These were not sober times, but these were not the most head lightening times either. They were both in a comfort zone. Outside of sobriety, but inside and away from the rest of the world. Certainly not shut-ins, and certainly not club people, the two of them had lives and responsibilities, but for this day they also had a brand new video game to play and plenty of excuses to put off the rest of the day.
The game was called footsteps. As the cantata slowly faded away from the opening credits, the sounds of a man walking down a hallway began to rise. He was wearing the kind of shoes you can hear coming from a distance. Not the spineless rubber souled shoes that are slip proof, spill proof, and noise proof. They are the sounds of wooden heels. The kind that make a click clack with each step and the man walking wants you to know he's coming. He wants to see people either move out of the way or raise their head and hope for a quick look. These were important sounding shoes. Or they were meant to be.
As the steps grow louder the amoeba shapes shifted to black and the steps stopped. There was a pause. Both controllers rumbled in their hands. They were given an option, in simple black and white. Single player. Co-op. They both pushed down on their controllers, creating a double negative of sorts and scrolling back to single player.
"I'll do it." Christian said and moved the tiny arrow icon next to the co-option.
"Of course you will," said John. He was still wearing the socks and had actually been itching at them during the entire intro to the game.
Christian pushed x and the game began loading. No sound. And then footsteps in the distance. Not the click clack steps but something with a limp. A click and a drag. A click and a drag. Louder and louder until the dragging sound, the unmistakable sound of shoe being pulled against it's will along a wooden floor, was the only sound coming through the speakers. It sounded like a record that had reached the end of it's tracks and needed to be flipped.
The room they were in was shaded nicely, no unwanted light would hit the screen. It wasn't a dark room though. It had light, and large windows, and even the front door offered an unobstructed glimpse of the outside world via a fan shaped window above eye level. Their eyes faced the screen, from behind they two men sitting on a couch, holding onto plastic, watching even more plastic. There have been studies that conclude experiences create much more happiness than do objects. But what about a video game? Is it an experience or an object? Is it both? And if so where does it rank on the scale of things? Christian thought that he may have had enough of the bowl when these thoughts began to creep into his head. He considered telling LaCada his thoughts, then decided against it.
The screen gave them an option. There were two tiny arrow icons this time and both had to be pointed at the same choice in order to move forward. The options, presented plainly in white small letters with the dragging foot/record skipping getting louder were simple.
We want laughs.
We want justice.
LaCada, the red icon, moved to laughs. Christian waited. And then wanted justice. They both pressed x and the music stopped. The screen told them to PICK ONE CHOICE TOGETHER.
"Laughs will be forgotten," Christian said, "Justice would be better."
"So fucking serious. Fine." LaCada said, as he moved his little red arrow and pushed x.
The game was called footsteps. As the cantata slowly faded away from the opening credits, the sounds of a man walking down a hallway began to rise. He was wearing the kind of shoes you can hear coming from a distance. Not the spineless rubber souled shoes that are slip proof, spill proof, and noise proof. They are the sounds of wooden heels. The kind that make a click clack with each step and the man walking wants you to know he's coming. He wants to see people either move out of the way or raise their head and hope for a quick look. These were important sounding shoes. Or they were meant to be.
As the steps grow louder the amoeba shapes shifted to black and the steps stopped. There was a pause. Both controllers rumbled in their hands. They were given an option, in simple black and white. Single player. Co-op. They both pushed down on their controllers, creating a double negative of sorts and scrolling back to single player.
"I'll do it." Christian said and moved the tiny arrow icon next to the co-option.
"Of course you will," said John. He was still wearing the socks and had actually been itching at them during the entire intro to the game.
Christian pushed x and the game began loading. No sound. And then footsteps in the distance. Not the click clack steps but something with a limp. A click and a drag. A click and a drag. Louder and louder until the dragging sound, the unmistakable sound of shoe being pulled against it's will along a wooden floor, was the only sound coming through the speakers. It sounded like a record that had reached the end of it's tracks and needed to be flipped.
The room they were in was shaded nicely, no unwanted light would hit the screen. It wasn't a dark room though. It had light, and large windows, and even the front door offered an unobstructed glimpse of the outside world via a fan shaped window above eye level. Their eyes faced the screen, from behind they two men sitting on a couch, holding onto plastic, watching even more plastic. There have been studies that conclude experiences create much more happiness than do objects. But what about a video game? Is it an experience or an object? Is it both? And if so where does it rank on the scale of things? Christian thought that he may have had enough of the bowl when these thoughts began to creep into his head. He considered telling LaCada his thoughts, then decided against it.
The screen gave them an option. There were two tiny arrow icons this time and both had to be pointed at the same choice in order to move forward. The options, presented plainly in white small letters with the dragging foot/record skipping getting louder were simple.
We want laughs.
We want justice.
LaCada, the red icon, moved to laughs. Christian waited. And then wanted justice. They both pressed x and the music stopped. The screen told them to PICK ONE CHOICE TOGETHER.
"Laughs will be forgotten," Christian said, "Justice would be better."
"So fucking serious. Fine." LaCada said, as he moved his little red arrow and pushed x.
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