#oneaday Day 863: Trash-Talkin’

It’s not often I feel able to say this and mean it, but there’s a piece over on Kotaku right now that is an excellent read. Go check it out, then come back to me.

I can’t comment on being a rape survivor or anything like that, but I think that article sums up why I feel deeply uncomfortable with the idea of playing online with strangers in competitive games. I hate abuse, particularly pointless, rage-filled, deliberately offensive abuse designed to provoke an intensely emotional reaction out of the victim — and competitive online gaming seems to pride itself on this so-called “trash talking”.

In my own case in the past (and not in games, in the “real world”) abuse I have received has been in the form of hurtful comments about my appearance and my weight. I can’t begin to fathom what must have gone through the minds of the bullies in question as they said those words that lashed at me like a cat o’ nine tails, but they hurt. They perhaps weren’t intended to hurt quite as much as they did — “I was only having a laugh” is seen as a valid defence by many these days — but the fact is that they utterly ruined my day when they burst into my ears, regardless of intention.

If I feel that shitty after some stranger makes some low jab at my appearance, I can only imagine how awful it must feel to be a rape survivor and hear how freely the word “rape” is bandied about to mean “beat” or “defeated”. I feel uncomfortable using the word, given that I know at least a couple of survivors (to my knowledge), so picturing how it must feel to have such an awful thing trivialised by, say, Gears of War players is disturbing, to say the least. Like the behaviour of the bullies I described above, the intention may not necessarily have been to offend or upset, but there are plenty of people for whom such comments could completely ruin an otherwise fun experience — and, really, let’s face it, there’s no need for it, is there?

Lest you think me some sort of prude, I will point out at this juncture that I’m certainly not above light-hearted insults with my friends, which often skate into sexist, racist, homophobic and other generally offensive territory. But that’s something that we do among ourselves in private — we’ve set the boundaries as to what is “acceptable” in our group, we stick to it and, crucially, we don’t do it in public where anyone might misinterpret our words as genuine sexism, racism, homophobia or any other form of misanthropy. Not one of us would even contemplate the prospect of telling a complete stranger that they’d “raped” them — or indeed hurl any other sort of abuse at them, whether or not there was social “context” for such behaviour.

An example springs readily to mind. I was playing the then-new Dungeons and Dragons Online MMORPG, and I was doing my first run through one of the game’s cooperative dungeons with a “pick-up group” of random players. All had been going well until we got to the end and there was an unnecessarily difficult platforming section. The platforming controls in D&D Online were not very good, to say the least, so it took me a good few minutes to get through the bit that the other (evidently more experienced) players had passed with ease. I apologised and made light of it, hoping that they’d do the same. Instead, I was confronted with a torrent of abuse through the private chat channels. I turned the game off at that point and never played it again.

The unnecessary, unprovoked wrath of a complete stranger had ruined the game for me. Whether or not they had intended to upset me that much was irrelevant. It had happened. I grant that I am the sort of person who is very easily upset even by heated arguments, debates and disagreements, let alone abusive words, but being sensitive about such things shouldn’t preclude you from taking part in certain activities. Something like an online computer or console game — regardless of whether it’s cooperative or competitive — should bring people together, not leave them feeling marginalised, or that their own anxieties, issues and mental scars are somehow trivial. There’s no excuse for it, and it’s something which gaming culture really needs to clean up if we want our hobby to be inclusive to all.

Therein lies part of the problem, I think, though; some people don’t want that inclusiveness. Some people want to feel powerful, to be the top of that little clique, to feel like they have achieved something important and are therefore “better” than others. And they go about that by lashing out at the weak spots, triggers and hot buttons of others. Anything goes in the quest to make them feel like The Big Man. (Or Woman. But let’s face it, it’s significantly more likely to be a male person.)

It feels like such a futile question at times, but why can’t everyone just, you know, get along?

#oneaday Day 862: Lion and Logic

I’ve been meaning to reinstall my copy of Logic Studio for ages now. For the uninitiated, Logic Studio is a suite of music and audio production tools for Mac that has become an essential part of the podcast editing process for me. I have a podcast to be editing right now, in fact, but am unable to do so until I reinstall Logic Studio, which somehow buggered itself up in the transfer process from my old Mac to my new one.

So it was that today I decided to bite the bullet and begin the several hours long process that is reinstalling Logic Studio. (There are lots of DVDs of content.) I popped in the first disc, opened up the Finder window for the disc and double-clicked the installer, only to be confronted by a message that I really wasn’t expecting.

“You can’t open the application LogicStudio.mpkg because PowerPC applications are no longer supported.”

WHAT.

Logic Studio is a Universal app — for non Mac users, this means that both older PowerPC-based Macs and newer Intel-based Macs can run the program. However, for some reason that remains unknown to seemingly everyone on the Internet, Apple decided to make the installer application for Logic Studio a PowerPC-only application.

On past versions of OS X, this wasn’t a problem, as a technology called Rosetta was included to allow newer Intel Macs to run PowerPC-only apps. This feature was phased out in the latest version of OS X (“Lion”), however, meaning that you’re seemingly fucked if you want to reinstall anything from disc that is more than a year or two old. (This is obviously not an issue for anything you have purchased from the Mac App Store, since when you download from there you always get the most up-to-date version.)

It’s pretty clear why this situation is how it is, even if no-one from Apple would like to admit it — the latest verion of Logic Studio is, naturally, available from the Mac App Store, meaning that those who are really serious about their music and audio production needs should just drop £130 and upgrade. Some of us (like me) aren’t made of money, however, meaning a frantic scrabble around Google to try and figure out what to do next.

There was plenty of advice on how to get Logic Studio actually running once it’s installed (it seems that Apple included some sort of “obsolescence” tech in the app to actually forcibly prevent it from running under Lion — another nudge in the direction of the upgrade, no doubt) but very little on how to install it in the first place. Fortunately, I eventually found the information I needed, and I thought I could serve anyone suffering the same problem well by sharing said solution. So, without further ado, I present:

How to Install Logic Studio 8 Under OS X 10.7 “Lion”

You will need:
1 copy of your original Logic Studio discs.
1 OS X 10.6 “Snow Leopard” DVD (10.5 “Leopard” may work, too, but I didn’t investigate)
Lots of time

1. Insert your Snow Leopard DVD into your Mac and open the disc’s Finder window.
2. Double-click on the Optional Installs folder.
3. Double-click on the Optional Installs.mpkg file to run the installer.
4. Agree to all the bumf and choose your OS X install drive.
5. Rummage through the list of optional installs and ensure that the checkbox next to “Rosetta” is ticked.
6. Begin the install process. It should be pretty quick.

You’ll probably get a warning message that Rosetta is not supported on Lion, but ignore it and proceed.

7. Remove the Snow Leopard DVD and replace with the Logic Studio Install DVD.
8. Open the disc’s Finder window and double click on the Logic Studio.mpkg file.
9. Follow the instructions as normal. The Logic Studio install process takes hours, so go and do something else and check back to swap discs every so often.

Voila! Sorted.

I haven’t finished reinstalling Logic Studio as yet so I don’t know if any of the poking around to get it actually running is necessary as yet, but the installer certainly seems quite happy. This Rosetta trick also has the happy side-effect of allowing PowerPC-only applications to run under Lion, which was previously impossible — though obviously you do still need a Snow Leopard disc to pull this off. They don’t have license keys, though, so if you have a Mac-toting friend with one, just borrow it — or doubtless some enterprising young individual has put it online somewhere, too.

I’m normally pretty patient with Apple’s idiosyncratic ways of doing things — I believe things like the App Store, the “walled garden” nature of iOS and numerous other gubbins are all excellent ideas when you consider the demographic that the Apple of 2012 is trying to court — but all this seemed rather heavy-handed and unnecessary. To lock customers out of an application that they had paid several hundred pounds/dollars/whatevers for because of their desire to be up-to-date with their operating system seems ridiculous — particularly as there’s no real reason that I can discern that the app itself shouldn’t work. I guess we’ll see once I actually finish reinstalling and try to get the bloody thing working again.

In other news, expect a new Squadron of Shame SquadCast by the end of the weekend, all being well!

#oneaday Day 861: Cycle of Life

Today I took ownership of a shiny new bicycle. It is red.

Technically I took ownership of a shiny new bicycle (that was red) yesterday, but said shiny new bicycle was far too big for me, meaning that my testicles suffered considerable (and uncomfortable) compression when attempting to stand astride it, and making actually getting on to the saddle without looking like some sort of Special Person an impossible task. It didn’t do wonders for my confidence, so I took it back and exchanged it for a smaller one. Now I can ride it without feeling like I’m going to fall off. At least, not quite as much.

I haven’t ridden a bike for at least five years, I think. I used to do it a fair bit and have always enjoyed it, despite not being very good at it. I’m fairly clumsy and cack-handed and balance has never been a particularly strong point, meaning that I’m not very good at doing things like signalling, or riding without my hands clamped firmly to the handlebars. (Any tips for getting over that particular phobia are most welcome.) I’m also not particularly good at going uphill, changing gear (with either hand) or bumping up onto a pavement. But I can, at least, pedal, move forwards and stay upright without falling off into heavy traffic and dying, which is a start.

Cycling is good exercise. I’ve been doing a lot on the exercise bike at the gym recently — up to an hour at a time — and it got me thinking I should get back on the “real cycling” at some point, particularly as the weather is so nice at the moment. Observations so far are that real cycling is significantly more challenging than gym cycling (at least on the resistance level I’ve had it set at, it seems) but you get to be outside and have the nice feeling of the wind rushing past you, which is most pleasant and one of the reasons I’ve always enjoyed getting on a bike as a means of transportation and recreation.

That “transportation” part is a good thing about real cycling. At the gym, you pedal and pedal and pedal for hours and don’t go anywhere, you just make the little numbers on the screen go up. On a real bike, you can actually go somewhere that is too far away to walk. Granted, the speed at which I cycle probably isn’t significantly faster than walking (unless I’m going downhill) but at least it makes some places that were previously inaccessible without jumping in the car a little more, well, accessible. This is nice. I could probably even cycle to the gym if I tried hard enough, though I then have to consider the fact that I also have to cycle back after exerting myself lifting heavy things and/or all the other stuff I decide to torture myself with.

I would very much like to get fit and lose weight, as has probably been made clear numerous times on these very pages. The more alternative activities I have to help achieve that goal, the less likely (hopefully) I am to get demoralised or bored with the whole thing. I’m doing pretty well with watching what I eat and trying to get more exercise on a regular basis — this is just another means to that end. We’ll have to wait and see if it helps. Hopefully it will.

#oneaday Day 860: Kairobot

Have you played any of the games by Kairosoft on iOS and Android devices? If not, you really should. They’re quite remarkable little experiences, all the more noteworthy for fitting surprisingly deep gameplay into less than 10MB in most cases. This is a big benefit for those of you who habitually fill your phone and/or tablet device with all manner of crap games that you never play.

Kairosoft’s games are business sims/strategy games at heart. All of them feature adorable pixel art and dreadful MIDI music. Most of them involve attempting to make as much money as possible over the course of a fixed period of time which varies depending on the title. Some are almost identical to one another, others take slightly different approaches.

All are utterly bewildering the first time you play them.

Most players’ first experience with this little Japanese software company’s work tends to be with their breakout hit Game Dev Story which, as the title suggests, sees the player running a fledgling game development company over the course of twenty in-game years. As the game progresses, players develop their staff, produce new games, try to woo the public and even have the opportunity to develop their own game console. Throughout, knowing tips of the hat are given to the games industry with pun-based names and not-quite-real game systems coming on to the market and acting much like their real-life counterparts. Develop for the Game Boy equivalent, for example, and you’ll be on to a winner. Decide to support the Virtual Boy equivalent and you may find that your sales aren’t quite what you expect.

Basic gameplay in Game Dev Story is pretty straightforward. Through a series of simple menus, you tell your minions what to do and keep a careful eye on your finances. What’s interesting about it (and all Kairosoft’s other titles, for that matter) is how much is going on beneath the surface. Markets are being simulated; seasonal growth and decline is taken into account; real-world trends form a key part of the game. On your first run-through, you may not discover everything the game has to offer. On each subsequent runthrough, you find out more until you’re making ridiculous amounts of money with each one of your blockbusters.

The most recent Kairosoft title I’ve tried is an Android title known as Cafeteria Nipponica. This, as the name suggests, is a restaurant management game where it’s up to the player to take between one and three restaurants to the very top of their game. This is achieved by hiring staff, levelling them up, researching new dishes and, occasionally, sending staff members out into the fields to look for ingredients and “treasure”. I haven’t got my head around everything the game is doing at the moment, but if nothing else, seeing little pixel people running around making a restaurant work is most entertaining. Like most of the company’s other titles, a lot of concepts are treated in a rather “abstract” manner, and so long as you don’t go in expecting a literal simulation of how a restaurant actually works, you’ll have a blast.

If you’ve read my previous post How to Play Pocket Academy, you’ll know that success in these games is sometimes quite hard to come by, and it’s quite easy to mess things up beyond all recognition. That’s okay, though, because the game remains so unerringly polite about the whole thing throughout that you can’t feel too bad even as your money spirals into the red more and more with each passing month.

In short, then, if you’re looking for something to occupy your time on the toilet/bus that isn’t Angry Birds, then almost anything by our Japanese friends here is certainly worth a look. While they may not be the cheapest mobile games out there, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They’ll provide you with a ton of entertainment for about the price of a single Starbucks coffee. And you can’t complain at that, really. That’s just good business.

#oneaday Day 859: HAWT

It is officially Hot. The sun has been out all day, and this means that all the world’s Hot has been stored up for the whole day and is now being stored in our bedroom making it an unbearable oven almost impossible to sleep in without leaving a noisy fan on all night.

This means that Summer is Here, or something along those lines, anyway.

I have a weird relationship with summer. I’ve written about this subject in the past, but after 858 previous daily entries, frankly it’s sometimes difficult to come up with completely original topics, so I’m going to write about it again. (The last time was in 2010, anyway, so I think I’ve earned the right to do it again.) I digress. Let me start again.

I have a weird relationship with summer. I like the fact that it’s warm and it looks nice outside and you can wear shorts and not put a coat on and whatnot, but I dislike the fact it makes my arse sweaty (apparently my arse contains my body’s thermostat, meaning that if I get slightly too hot it’s the first place to start sweating) and it can be uncomfortable to sit outside in for too long, particularly if you’re prone to burning like I am.

I like the fact that it’s socially acceptable to get out a hosepipe (assuming they haven’t been banned in your region due to “drought” conditions — and let’s not get started on the misuse of that term) and spray it all over yourself on the “mist” setting. Well, okay, maybe not socially acceptable, but certainly understandable.

I like the fact that paddling pools become a viable option in the summer, even for grown adults who should really know better.

I like that you can do normally indoor-type stuff outside (though techie geeks really need to invent a phone/tablet/laptop screen that is actually at all visible in the sunlight and has a faster response time than e-ink displays) and that it’s pretty much obligatory to have some sort of iced drink to hand at all times.

I dislike the fact that if you get burned, then everything hurts for days afterwards. Particularly worthy of ire is getting burned on the top of your head, which is enormously uncomfortable and itchy — doubly frustrating for one such as myself who suffers from a perpetually-itchy head.

I dislike the fact that scrawny chavs feel the need to take their shirts off and display their hairless, prepubescent-looking chests to the world while walking around town.

I dislike that you can very easily inadvertently blind yourself with nothing but a phone screen and an unfortunate reflection.

I like that you can get in your car, open all the windows and drive to your destination with fresh air blowing in freely, regardless of what it does to your hair. (My hair inevitably looks stupid, so being windswept has very little effect on my usual appearance.)

I like that it’s a good time of year to play Dead or Alive Xtreme 2, not only one of the most perverted non-hentai (well, there’s no bonking in it, anyway) games in the world, but also one of the most summery things in existence.

I like the feeling of summer humidity exploding into a heavy rainstorm, and standing out in that warm rain getting drenched.

See? Mixed feelings. I don’t do “being Hot” very well, and if I had the choice I’d rather be too cold than too hot. But there’s plenty to like about the summer. It’s a cheerful time of year, particularly in a country such as this which spends an awful lot of time overcast, raining or both.

As such, I’ve bought a bike and will be picking it up tomorrow with a view to actually Going Outside when I get the chance. This, then, is doubtless a cue for the sun to disappear for the rest of the year and a torrential deluge of Biblical proportions to begin. Oh well. Good intentions and all that.

What are your favourite and most-despised things about the summer?

(Cue silence. In the past, ending a post with a question has generally been a prompt for there to be no comments whatsoever. But I’m not giving up now, dammit.)

#oneaday Day 858: Pete Achieved [Blog-Rollin’]

Time to take a break from the creative writing on here for a little while (though I will try and continue doing it behind the scenes) and talk a little bit about the current hotness that is Diablo III. Now the furore over its botched launch has somewhat subsided and at least a few people are starting to realise that “online game” and “persistent online DRM” are two completely different things, we can take stock of the things that the game does extremely well.

I wanted to focus on one in particular, because it’s something I think Blizzard handles extremely well, and it’s also something which divides opinion about modern gaming immensely.

Achievements.

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with Achievements. On the one hand, if used well, they can encourage you to try playing a game in lots of different ways — Crackdown springs immediately to mind here, with its quirky challenges such as playing tennis with a car and rocket launchers, sticking things together, climbing up to the top of the highest building and leaping off without dying. On the other, you get shit like you see in Call of Duty, which gives you an Achievement for starting the single-player campaign.

Some people actively pursue Achievements (or Sony’s synonymous Trophies), even going so far as to play a game well beyond its enjoyment event horizon just so they can say they have “1000G-ed” or “Platinumed” it. There’s often a lot of “filler” Achievements in there, making this an unnecessary slog at times. On other occasions, it can ruin the experience of playing a game by directing the experience too much — I “1000G-ed” The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion and walked away from the game realising that I had still missed at least half of the game’s content — and had no motivation or incentive to seek it out after that. The Elder Scrolls series is supposed to be about freeform, open-world exploration, and the Achievements (tied to various quest lines) completely spoiled that for me by shunting me down specific quest paths.

So back to Blizzard, and Diablo III specifically. Diablo III features a wide range of Achievements for all sorts of things. There are Achievements for reaching significant milestones in the game’s story — beating bosses, completing Acts, that sort of thing. There are Achievements rewarding those who explore thoroughly and delve into the surprisingly deep lore. There are Achievements for completing special challenges, encouraging players to play more skilfully. There are class-specific Achievements, nudging players in the direction of a good way to play said classes. And there are plenty more besides. There are hundreds of them, as they are not limited by Microsoft and Sony’s arbitrary limits, and chasing them is an immensely addictive experience.

One key thing about the whole system uses Diablo III’s persistently-online nature to great effect. As soon as someone on your friends list attains an Achievement, you’re notified. This helps to encourage communication between people and also lets players see at a glance how their friends are doing. It’s even possible for players to browse each others’ profiles and check out what Achievements they’ve managed to snag, providing incentive for a little good-natured competition when, say, one sees that the other has somehow killed the Skeleton King in less than 20 seconds. In short, it helps make Diablo III into a more social game, which is exactly what it’s been designed to be. Where its predecessors had discrete, segregated “single player” and “multiplayer” components, Diablo III blends this all together into a seamless online experience that encourages communication, competition and cooperation, where players can feel like they’re making progress even when playing by themselves, and continue making progress when they want to play with friends. It’s a good fit for the series’ gameplay, though it makes the ludonarrative dissonance between the ridiculous on-screen action (punching people’s skeletons out!) and the rather serious fire-and-brimstone plot seem all the more silly.

If you haven’t given Diablo III a shot yet, it’s well worth it. Over 6 million people can’t be wrong. Although if you value your sanity I wouldn’t advise looking at Blizzard’s forums. Ever.

(I think I still have a Starter Edition code knocking around somewhere, so if anyone wants to give it a go for free, get in touch and I can give you the code. First come, first served.)

#oneaday Day 857: Another Ending

This had to be it.

He’d been stuck here for — how long? Days? Weeks? Months? Time had lost all meaning in these tunnels. He’d been here so long that he’d all but forgotten why he had been sent down here in the first place.

The only thing keeping him going was the thought of her. He knew that she’d be there waiting for him. She had promised. It was the one memory from his past life that he remembered. She would be there. She had to be there. Otherwise all this was meaningless.

He was the last survivor. He knew that much. None of the others had lasted. Some had died, some had succumbed to madness, others had simply disappeared, never to be seen again. He was alone. That knowledge made him all the more determined to succeed, to get out of this hell-hole.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, but he was breathless. He drew the pistol from its holster — he wasn’t even sure if it still worked — and sat down with his back against the wall. The uneven rock wall was uncomfortable and dug into his back, but he didn’t care. He just needed to rest for a little while. He felt the end was near, but he needed to be on top of his game for any last-minute challenges Fate might have in store for him.

He closed his eyes. Unconsciousness took him quickly, and his head slumped to the side. Visions swirled in his mind’s eye. Past blended with present and with future, confused images flashing into his subconscious for a moment, then vanishing.

“Guilty.”

The word echoed through his brain. It was the word that had sent him here. The word that no-one ever wanted to hear. The word that struck fear into the hearts of everyone.

What was he guilty of?

“Guilty.”

How had this happened?

“Guilty.”

Why had it–

He awoke with a start, his eyes flicking open. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but down here it didn’t matter. All he had to do was press onward. The end had to be near. She would be waiting for him. She would be there. She had to be.

He stood unsteadily, bracing himself on the wall as he pulled himself up. He was hungry and thirsty, and his supplies were getting low. He holstered the pistol and started walking again for a few paces, before breaking into a light jog. His boots clip-clopped on the hard floor and echoed around the tunnel. They pinched his feet, but he had to keep going forward.

As he jogged, the never-changing scenery of the tunnel’s walls either side of him, his mind wandered. Fragments of lost memories remained just out of reach, tantalising him with promises of truths perhaps best forgotten. But still her face was there, urging him onwards, pushing him forwards.

“Guilty.”

The word that had haunted his dreams while he slept was pounding at the boundaries of repressed memories now. He knew that behind the walls his mind had put up, there was a torrent of pain and suffering. He didn’t want to let it out. But every time—

“Guilty.”

Thump.

Cracks were appearing.

“No,” he said out loud to himself. “Please.”

“Guilty.”

Thump.

A flash. A vision. A room. Dark, with small shafts of light beaming in through the dirty window.

“Guilty.”

Thump.

He was sitting in a chair. In front of him, there they were. Those who decided his fate, whether he liked it or not.

“Guilty.”

Thump.

The walls were coming down. He couldn’t stop them. He kept running, but the memories were seeping out. The horror.

“You stand accused of forbidden knowledge,” said the voice. His blood chilled, and shivers ran down his spine. “How do you plead?”

He was speechless. He couldn’t respond. Whatever he said would damn him. He had no control of this. The voices were coming in thick and fast now, flooding his brain — so much noise — and he couldn’t stop them.

“Guilty,” most of them were saying. “Guilty.”

They had already made up their minds. There was nothing he could do that would make a difference.

“Guilty,” he said. The voices stopped for a moment. Everything seemed to be frozen in time.

The memory faded. He was still running. He grit his teeth and tried to concentrate as best he could, willing the walls within his mind to push themselves back into place.

“Guilty,” the voice still continued, softer this time.

He tripped on a loose stone and fell to the ground, skidding along the floor a short way. It hurt.

He lay on the floor and closed his eyes to concentrate fully. He had to control this.

Be still, he said to his troubled mind. Be silent.

The angry sea of images threatening to break into his mind’s eye swelled and roared for a moment before calming, settling and quietening. He was in control. It was all right. He was safe, for now.

He couldn’t think about the past. He couldn’t. How he had discovered this ability, this curse. It was too much. The memories threatened to swell and overcome again, but he pushed them down forcefully, and they stayed quietened.

Focus, he said to himself. Calmness. That is what will get me through this.

Opening his eyes, he got to his feet and started walking. He did not break into a run this time, he simply walked, his back straight and upright, staring straight ahead. This was different. This was focus. He felt centred, at peace. But it was taking all his concentration and effort to remain that way. He didn’t know if he’d be able to hold it. But he had to try.

Minutes flowed into hours as he walked. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, always straight ahead, never deviating from its course. When would it end?

He pushed the thought out of his mind and continued to walk. He had to stay absolutely focused, otherwise he would fail, and he would never get out of here.

Suddenly, a voice. He couldn’t tell if it was in his mind or if he was actually hearing it. But it sounded like her.

“You’re going to make it,” she said. “I know you will. I’m waiting for you. Just a little further.”

A door opened. Brilliant white light flooded into the tunnel from the other side. A silhouette stepped into it. A familiar silhouette. A comforting one.

He came ever closer, not breaking his focus for a moment. He had to take his time, to maintain his control, otherwise it would simply slip away from him. He was going to make it.

As he came closer to the blinding light, he saw her face. She was crying, but she was smiling. She extended her hand to him.

He kept walking. Closer now. It was definitely her. She had kept her word.

He reached out.

He took her hand.

And it was over.

#oneaday Day 856: An Ending

The atmosphere in the room was solemn. Silence hung in the air, making it feel cloying, oppressive.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Not after what she’d done.

At least she’d admitted it, he thought to himself. But not without him putting her in a position where she had no choice but to admit it.

He hadn’t expected things to go this way. He used to think that no challenge was insurmountable, that they’d always be able to make it through, together.

But not this time. Not after what she’d done.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and all he could see was the face of the one who had caused this whole mess. Of course, he didn’t know what the Stranger looked like in real life, so the “face” he saw was obscured by shadow and mist. But he knew who it represented.

He felt himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, so he opened his eyes again to try and banish the unwanted intruder into his thoughts.

She gazed at him, her face a picture of abject misery. She really hadn’t meant things to happen this way. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but she knew from the beginning that what she’d been getting into carried that risk. And still she’d done it — why? For the thrill? No, that wasn’t it; it was more a sense of ennui, dissatisfaction, of being stuck in a rut.

She hadn’t felt comfortable raising the subject, so she’d simply started plotting behind his back. Before she realised that every little plan she made without his knowledge was just going to cut deeper, she was in too far. There was no going back.

She didn’t regret doing what she did — the alternative was just sinking into a black mire of mutual resentment and depression, and she knew that he knew this too; he just didn’t want to admit it, or didn’t know how to tackle it. He’d never been good at that sort of thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice cracking a little from the pair of them having been sat silently for so long. “I really am.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it like she always used to. Still he didn’t look at her. He seemed to be staring into the middle distance.

His eyes were filling with tears. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear the thought that this was it, that it was over. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. He loved her, even after everything that had happened. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn her way and say it. It was too late. Too late.

She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him towards her. He resisted a little to begin with, but then allowed himself to be pulled in. He buried his head in her shoulder and felt something snap inside his mind. He started to cry, big gulping sobs that he couldn’t control. He’d never felt so utterly wretched in all his life, and here he was, baring his soul and showing himself completely helpless and vulnerable to this woman who had just an hour earlier crushed his dreams for the future.

She held him close, not saying a word as the waves of emotion rocked his whole body. Tears fell from her eyes, but she was silent. She needed to be strong. If she were to give in to this pitiful display before her, then she’d never be able to move on — and neither would he.

His sobs subsided, and she gently pushed him away, trying to get him to look at her. Still he wouldn’t make eye contact. His body was limp, deflated, like all the fight had gone from him.

“You know this is for the best, right?” she said.

Gazing at the wall a few metres to her left, he simply nodded after a short pause. He closed his eyes, and the Stranger was there again, mocking him. I won, the cloudy vision seemed to say. I won.

He felt his mouth tighten as he struggled to hold back the pent-up emotions and once again failed, exploding into tears with a wailing sob that broke his companion’s heart.

He slumped forward off the seat and onto his knees on the floor. He bent over until his head was on the carpet. Down here it felt safe, for some reason. He didn’t want to get up. Everything above the floor was scary and upsetting. The world was out to get him, and he couldn’t cope any more. He just couldn’t take it.

He clenched his fist and slammed it as hard as he could into the floor. The impact boomed and rattled the room. Searing pain shot through his hand and he instantly regretted his outburst of aggression.

She just watched. There was nothing more she could do right now.

She stood.

She walked.

She left.

She didn’t look back. He didn’t even notice she’d gone to begin with. Down on the floor, in his own private little world, he was safe, but the face of the Stranger was threatening to invade. He crawled over to the seat and rested his head on the soft cushion, still warm from where she’d been sitting. The question as to where she had gone entered his mind, then was blown out again as quickly as it had come.

He slammed his fist into the cushion, imagining he was throwing a devastating punch at the face of the Stranger. Another. And another. And another. He roared with rage, yelling obscenities with each strike. It wasn’t making him feel any better. Inside, he knew what he was doing was useless; impotent. But it didn’t matter.

She was gone. And he knew she wasn’t coming back.

#oneaday Day 855: Another Beginning

“Hey.”

The voice startled him, though it was gentle in its tone. He looked up to see the source of the monosyllabic greeting, and there she was. He wasn’t sure quite how long he’d been sitting on this bench staring at his feet, but it must have been some time, as the daylight streaming in from outside the concourse momentarily dazzled him.

“Hey,” she said again, smiling. She was a pretty young woman, with coppery, curly ginger hair that fell around her shoulders, and a few girlish freckles still evident around her nose. He regarded her with curiosity, but his cheeks quickly flushed, causing him to reflexively turn back to the safety of contemplating his shoes.

She sat down next to him, bending forward to try and meet his floorward gaze.

“Hey!” she said again, a little more forcefully. “Are you all right?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was completely dry. He closed it, swallowed and tried again.

“Nervous,” he croaked, still not looking up.

“Yeah,” she said. “I got that. I’m nervous too. I think everyone here is.”

He raised his head and turned to face his companion.

“You hide it well,” he said in a meek voice, cracking a half-hearted smile and inwardly wishing the ground would swallow him up just in case she found his comment in some way offensive.

“And you don’t,” she giggled. “I’m just teasing. Everyone deals with nerves differently. Me, I just need to talk to someone, to get the thoughts racing around my head out in the open, you know?”

He knew. He wished he could be as easygoing as she evidently was. But talking to people — especially strangers — made him even more nervous, so he found it difficult to imagine how striking up a conversation could possibly help.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to his shoes. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said gently. “We’re all in the same situation here. Far from home, not sure what to expect, far from our friends… so we just have to make the best of it.”

“Right,” he said, not sure whether he was supposed to offer any more information at this point.

“I’ll go first, then,” she said, releasing her hand’s grip on his shoulder. “I’m Jennifer. You can call me Jenn. I’m here because by some freak of nature I managed to ace my schoolwork despite hating almost every minute of it. They thought I’d be a good candidate, so here I am.”

He waited, trying to determine whether or not she’d finished talking. After a few seconds of expectant silence, he realised that it was his turn to say something.

“D-David,” he said, pausing. “I test well. I have the ‘right kind of brain’, apparently, whatever that means.”

“It means that you’re a good candidate too,” said Jenn, placing her hand on his shoulder again. “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He sat up and raised his head to look at her, cracking a more genuine smile this time.

“No,” he said. “No, I guess it wasn’t.”

She smiled at him and he felt warm inside. It was nice. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since the last time he saw his sister, but that was–

“You looked lonely,” she said, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?”

“You looked lonely,” she repeated. “I’m lonely too. You might not believe that given the way I’ve been acting, but I am. I was lonely back home and I so desperately don’t want to be lonely here. I don’t… I just…”

She looked upset. The sudden shift in her demeanour took him off guard somewhat, and he’d obviously let his surprise show in his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. It looked like her eyes were glistening slightly with tears, but he couldn’t be sure. “Just met you and here I am blabbering on. You must think I’m a right schizo. I’m sorry if I–”

“Would you like to be friends, Jenn?” he interjected. It was the most assertive thing he had ever done in his life, and inwardly he felt immensely proud of himself. He braced himself for rejection, swallowing deeply as he regarded her expression of surprise, somewhat akin to a startled animal just before it bolts. After a second or two that felt like hours, her expression softened and she smiled that warm smile again.

“Of course I would,” she said. “You know, you don’t have to actually ask.”

“I know,” he said. “But I thought I’d be polite.”

She giggled and suddenly hugged him. The embrace took him by surprise, but he didn’t struggle. He was just getting comfortable when she released him again.

“I think we’re going to be good friends, David,” she said. “Very good friends indeed.”

At that moment, all the fear and trepidation he had been feeling melted away. Although neither of them knew exactly what the future held for them — no-one who joined the Project did — he knew now that he didn’t have to face it alone, and he felt safe in that knowledge.

“Come on,” she said, standing and offering her hand. “Let’s go get started.”

He looked up at her quizzically for a moment, then smiled, took her hand and stood. The pair of them began to walk hand-in-hand towards the bright light of the day.

The image froze, then quickly faded to black.

“Wonderful,” said the observer.

#oneaday Day 854: A Beginning

[Preface: Been thinking I should do some creative writing again, and I had an interesting idea the other day. I thought for the next few days I’d share some doodlings that I’d come up with.

The concept is that the complete “book” or whatever you want to call it will be a book of “beginnings and endings” — short stories/scenes/vignettes that mark either the beginning or the end of something. This could be a first meeting, the beginning of a new romance, the start of a new job… or the end of someone’s life, a successfully-completed mission, someone saying goodbye to a past life. I haven’t figured out quite how I want to structure the overall thing yet but I’m thinking all the stories will be set in the same “world” and “time”, whatever that might end up being, and that characters from some stories will show up in others. Some “endings” will match up with the “beginnings”, others will stand alone. They’ll all be jumbled, though, so the reader will have to do a bit of mental dot-connecting to figure out the full picture.

Anyway. It might all be a bit ambitious or it might work well. We’ll see. Here’s the first mini-story/scene/whatever I’ve written, which is a Beginning.]

“Who are you?” said the girl.

She’d come across the boy completely by chance. He looked about the same age as her, with mousy-brown unkempt hair and some tatty-looking clothing that she guessed was a hand-me-down from a sibling.

He turned to face her slowly.

“Who are you?” he echoed back at her, his face curious; hesitant.

She frowned and looked him up and down. His face was dirty, but his eyes sparkled with life. She had already arbitrarily decided that she was going to like him very much, but she knew better than to declare something like this up front. People had to work for her friendship.

“I’m Laura,” she said. “You still haven’t told me who you are. And I asked you first.”

He looked at her suspiciously and put down the stick he was holding.

“Sam,” he said. “I’m Sam.”

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments. Laura continued to gaze at Sam, sizing him up, analysing him. Sam, meanwhile, looked anywhere but at the pretty young girl in front of him, his gaze alighting by turns on a nearby log, an interesting-looking leaf on the floor or a pattern in the old oak tree’s bark that looked a bit like a person if you squinted.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” said Laura eventually, satisfied that she had learned all she could with her eyes alone.

“I, err,” said Sam, his cheeks flushing. He didn’t like to tell people about his secret place, but since she was already here… “I like to come here sometimes,” he said. “To be alone. Away from the grown-ups.”

“Why do you want to be away from the grown-ups?” said Laura.

“Because they’re mean,” he said. “I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like your parents?”

“No.”

Silence fell once again. Laura had never known someone who didn’t like their parents. There were times when she thought she didn’t like them — usually times when she had gotten into trouble for something or other — but she’d learned pretty quickly that fluttering her pretty eyelashes, saying “sorry” in a meek voice and, occasionally, crying usually got her back into their good books.

“Why?” she said after a moment, deciding that the best approach would be the direct one. Sam said nothing in response for a moment and turned away from her. He picked up his stick, brushed away some leaves and started scratching marks into the dirty ground of the woods.

“Sam?” she said, craning her neck to look over his shoulder at what he might be scratching on the floor, but hesitating to come any closer. Still he said nothing. She stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, waiting for him to make the next move.

Finally, he turned around, the stick still in his hand. His eyes sparkled as he looked right at her, making eye contact for the first time. He looked sad.

“What is it?” she said. He said nothing, but simply gestured in the direction of the crude picture he’d scrawled on the forest floor with his stick. Looking back at him with an unspoken question hanging in the air, he nodded. She took a step forward to better see the markings.

Her eyes filled with tears, and all she wanted to do was hug him. She walked right up to him, looked into his sparkling, sad eyes and put her arms around him. His body, stiff and tense until now, softened as he relaxed into her embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder and put his own arms around her.

The pair of them wept.