#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.

#oneaday Day 847: You Must be This Skinny to Ride

I've been going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not I should write about this, but given subjects I've happily covered in the past on this blog I figured what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, or something. Hopefully writing about this will prove cathartic, as I've been feeling fairly shitty for a fair chunk of the day.

Today, as you'll know if you have read recent posts, Andie and I went to Alton Towers. I was looking forward to this a great deal, as it's been a long time since I'd been and I was very curious about the new rides — as well as going on some old favourites.

All was going well. We'd been on the Runaway Mine Train, the Rapids, the Flume and an awesomely fun rollercoaster called Air that suspends you in a "lying down" position as if you're flying like Superman, and we were having a great time.

Then I tried to go on Ripsaw. I had a feeling there might be trouble when the seats felt a bit small. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so mortifying, however.

To cut a long story short, I had to get off the ride because I was too fat. The attendant didn't use those words, obviously (if he had, I would have probably yelled more than a few obscenities at him and/or punched him) but there it was. Apparently the (already very tight on most people) safety harness thingies couldn't be lowered enough on to me, so I had to get off. They gave me a "Priority Pass" to get on something else immediately, but guess what? All of the rides it covered also had very similar issues. I tried one and didn't dare get on any others after that, as I was so upset.

I don't think I've ever felt so humiliated as when I was getting off Ripsaw and walking across the front of the ride area towards the exit. I didn't hear anyone laughing at me, but it didn't matter. I was mortified. I was The Guy Who Was Too Fat To Ride. I won't lie, it upset me enough to make me cry. I have issues with my body shape as it is, and to have it "confirmed" by strangers was just the worst feeling.

I am totally insecure in my body shape. I'm not what you'd call "massive" by any means. But I have quite a "solid" upper body. I hate it. I feel revulsion when I look at myself in the mirror. I wish I could just be happy in who I was, but when a day out is spoiled by your own fatness, it's hard not to take it personally, particularly when you're already made to feel like a social pariah by the way the world is set up.

Every time I see statistics about the number of obese people in the country, I feel bad. Every time someone on Twitter makes some judgemental comment about obese people, I get upset. I gave up on Wii Fit in the end because I was getting so demoralised every time I did the Body Test and it made my Mii swell up like a balloon. I've even been insulted by complete strangers in the past because of my weight. The world is set up to make me feel like Being Fat Is Bad and that I should Do Something About It.

Here's the thing, though: I am doing something about it. I am going to the gym regularly, doing at least an hour of cardio every time (plus some weights work) and burning anywhere between 600 and 800 calories in a session. I am watching what I eat, counting calories and trying to make sure I have a deficit of a decent size, but not so much I'm starving myself. And still I feel like a societal reject because the weight is hard to get off. I wasn't expecting it to be easy, but I would have expected to have at least a little impact by now. Perhaps it has and I just haven't realised or noticed. But it's incredibly demoralising when you discover that despite your best efforts, you're Too Fat To Do That Thing You Like.

I'm really not sure what I can do beyond what I'm already doing — perhaps trying to up the intensity further on my workouts, and making sure I'm being as consistent and disciplined as possible. But my experience today made me feel like absolute shit about myself, through no-one's fault in particular. Besides my own, I guess.

I've known people who were pretty large who successfully managed to lose a buttload of weight and completely change their body type. I feel jealous when I see those people, and I wonder if I'll ever succeed. On days like today, it feels like it won't ever happen.

I have calmed down a bit since earlier. Shit happens, and the rest of the day was fun. I am thirty-one years old, and Alton Towers probably wasn't built with thirty-one year old men in mind. Perhaps I just need to let go of the past and do things that are more friendly to thirty-one year old men instead of stuff I was doing around half my lifetime ago. Going to the gym. Sitting in the jacuzzi at our hotel (so relaxing — just the thing after a stressful day). Hanging out with friends and playing board games. Playing Diablo III. Being at peace with oneself.

I'm not sure I'll ever manage the last bit unless I successfully manage to shed a whole buttload of weight. I certainly intend to keep on trying, but you'll forgive me if I have occasional lapses in hope for my long-term success.

Thank you for indulging me with this post. We're off to the Alton Towers Water Park tomorrow, so hopefully that will be a much more fun day.

#oneaday Day 846: Holiday Time

We've gone away for a few days as a late birthday treat for me. Since I took Andie to Legoland for her birthday last year, she's taking me to Alton Towers since I'd dropped a few hints that I'd like to go sometime.

I haven't been to Alton Towers for a very long time. I think the last time I went, I was still at school. I'm not sure how much has changed since that time, but I'm excited to find out.

I used to hate rollercoasters. I have vague memories of going on rides like Big Thunder Mountain at Disney when I went there back in 1985. I found them terrifying, but give me a break; I was about five years old at the time.

I can't remember exactly when I managed to make myself start liking them, but I have a feeling it was as a result of a school trip to Alton Towers. We enjoyed several of these trips during our school career, despite the fact that there were at least two theme parks that were considerably closer to us. Alton Towers was always the prime choice, however, and we'd normally find ourselves heading there for the impressive fireworks displays shortly before the park closed for the winter.

The Corkscrew — sadly no longer with us — was the first "big boy" rollercoaster I ever went on, I think. (Big Thunder Mountain aside, obviously.) By comparison to some of the other impressive rollercoasters we have today, this was a relatively tame affair that took you up high, raced you around a few corners and then twizzled you through the titular corkscrew before landing back at the station again. The whole thing was over relatively quickly, but in the process I discovered that I was actually enjoying myself.

I was bitten by the thrillseeker bug after that. Nemesis and Oblivion were our next targets — for the uninitiated, the former is a rollercoaster where the riders' chairs hang from the track rather than being a more conventional "train cart" style one, while Oblivion, at one point, featured one of the biggest drops in either the world or the country. I forget, but it was fucking terrifying, partly because it takes you up high then suspends you over aforementioned (vertical) drop for a good few seconds, lurches you forwards slightly and then sends you plummeting to the earth.

I know next to nothing about what Alton Towers offers today, but I'm looking forward to finding out tomorrow. I'm also quite looking forward to seeing whether or not Andie will be brave enough to join me on some of these ridiculous rides!

It's a strange thing to do, when you think about it, isn't it? "I know what I'll do… I'll get in a rickety old mine cart and fling myself around corners and down hills at ridiculous velocities. Why, you ask? 'S a laugh, innit?"

#oneaday Day 843: This World Ain't Big Enough...

Ever get the feeling that the world just isn't quite built for you?

It's a feeling I've been getting quite a bit as I've got older. I suspect such a feeling is largely age-related, as it centres around the fact that certain things quite simply don't appeal, because they're not aimed at me.

It just seems a little odd that "popular culture" is often taken to mean "people under the age of 25 who aren't that bright".

Let's take Britain's Got Talent, for example, which Andie's been watching recently — primarily to get annoyed at, lest you judge her harshly for it. Any time I've watched Britain's Got Talent, I've got annoyed too, but I don't find the experience of getting annoyed at it particularly fulfilling or fun. If anything, I just get inordinately frustrated about… well, everything about it. Simon Cowell is a douche, the judges' comments are vapid nonsense that don't mean anything, the acts are cringeworthy and the audience is made up of the very worst kind of braying moron who thinks that constructive criticism is a personal attack and thus must be booed.

Take gaming, too. I have zilcho, zippo, nada interest in the upcoming "big" games that are bearing down on us like multi-million dollar juggernauts. I don't want to play Call of Duty, Assassin's Creed III, Halo 4 or anything like that. (I did recently play Binary Domain, which certainly was a an impressive experience, but one destined for obscurity)

Or the Internet at large. Everything must be social these days, it seems. And long-time experience has taught me that if you make something social, you will generally attract illiterate, ill-informed, angry morons. Just look at the comments section of any website ever. (I often find myself wondering why the most notorious cesspits don't just close comments forever. It's rare that any meaningful discussion takes place on them. Obviously I'm excluding my own blog from this because I have a small group of intelligent people who sporadically comment here and are willing to engage in actual conversation, as opposed to a vast community of pillocks.)

Fortunately, any time I start to get frustrated by any of the experiences I describe above, a moment's reflection simply reminds me that they are not the only experiences out there — just the most visible. And while that can in itself be frustrating in that you have to look a little harder to find people with whom you have things in common, we're certainly not beyond hope just yet.

On TV, I don't have to watch Britain's Got Talent. I can watch Community. My Little Pony. And a whole host of other stuff thanks to the magic of streaming video, giving me access to a whole ton of quality entertainment that doesn't make me want to throw bricks at my TV. I haven't seriously watched live TV for ages, a couple of episodes of The Apprentice aside. Instead, I can binge on Star Trek thanks to Netflix, or dig up obscure Channel 4 shows on YouTube.

In the gaming world, I can play everything from Binary Domain to Pandora's Tower and A Valley Without Wind to escape from the blockbuster insanity. Gaming is now so big that you literally can't play everything that comes out.

On the Internet, there are mature communities. I have the Squadron of Shame. You lovely people who comment on this blog. Twitter (at least the people I've trimmed my "following" list to, anyway). Gamers With Jobs. Fitocracy.

While the world may not be built with me in mind any more, I certainly don't have a problem living in it for the moment.

Unless you make me watch Britain's Got Talent. Then we might have a problem.

#oneaday Day 841: Badass Teacher

I know I've said many, many times on this blog that I'd never go back to teaching (and for the sake of my own mental health it's probably for the best that I don't) but I still, at times, find myself idly wondering how I'd manage The Perfect Classroom. By that I mean at a school that wasn't struggling to keep its head above water, that was adequately staffed, that was populated by children of a decent range of ability levels but whom weren't misbehaving little shitbags. A non-existent school, then, but a good starting point for a dream nonetheless.

Let's assume for the sake of argument this Perfect Classroom is at a primary school, because that generally means sticking with the same class the whole time and building up a good relationship with them. On balance, I think I slightly preferred that to the constant coming and going of secondary education in which it was very difficult to learn names even after several months of teaching the same children.

Organisation is the key to a successful classroom, so I'd have some sort of technological solution — ideally portable — in place to keep things organise. I'm thinking an iPad, tooled up with a specialised app such as TeacherPal or a more generalised database like Bento. Within said technological solution I'd keep detailed, ongoing records on my students and also include a photograph to help prevent forgotten names. Using said technological solution I'd be able to quickly call up information on a particular student's work and progress when required, be that for report-writing season or a parents' evening.

Said portable device would also, ideally, be hooked up to the interactive whiteboards that are present in most classrooms (essentially giant touchscreens with a projector) in order to allow presentation of material on the screen while remaining "mobile". (The inspectors love it when you don't stay at the front of the room all the time.)

Technology can also play a good role in home-school communication, and certainly none of the schools I worked at in the past took advantage of this. Statistically speaking, it's highly likely that a good proportion of the parents of the children in the class would have social media accounts, so why not take advantage of that? My class would have a Twitter and Facebook presence maintained (and carefully moderated) by me. The pages would provide regular updates on what the class has been up to and, crucially, publicly note any and all homework that had been set. Homework is a thorny issue, particularly in primary education, but having it spelled out in black and white on an "official" social media page would certainly allow me and the parents of my students to keep on top of things.

The social media page wouldn't just be a glorified homework diary, of course. It would also be a great place for celebrating achievements, which is something that pretty much every school is big on. This could range from sharing the names of who won things like attendance certificates to pictures of good work. (Obviously care would have to be taken with photos, names and other details that end up in the public domain lest the Thought Police swoop in and decry you as some sort of kiddie porn-peddling pervert.)

In the classroom's day-to-day life, I'd make an effort to use gamification theories to encourage students to progress. I'd allow them to earn rewards of some description — perhaps some form of "experience points" system, with tangible rewards given on every "level up", or perhaps some sort of "achievement" system, again with tangible rewards on offer for significant achievements. These wouldn't have to be big things — a congratulatory letter home, a sticker, some crappy pound shop toy — but they'd help motivate the kids to do their best. (I know, you shouldn't have to "bribe" children to do good work, but it certainly doesn't hurt to make them feel good about their achievements.)

It's a nice dream, isn't it? Pity it will probably never happen.

#oneaday Day 840: Adventures on Environ

[Explanatory note: One of my favourite things about procedurally-generated games like roguelikes, Minecraft and indeed A Valley Without Wind is the sense of emergent narrative they generate. While light on explicit narrative, the story of the player's own journey through the game becomes compelling in its own right. It's a big part of what makes story-light titles such as Demon's Souls so entertaining, too, if you're willing to invest in them.

What follows is the story of my first forays into the world of Environ via A Valley Without Wind. Some artistic license has been taken for brevity's sake but this is more or less how my early play sessions have unfolded.

Additional note: All names in this piece are exactly as they appeared in the game thanks to its glorious random name generator.]

Yan Sadovski awoke with a start in a snowfield. Spitting out the wet slush as it melted on his face, he unsteadily pulled himself to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.

Snow and ice as far as the eye could see.

This was nothing unusual, of course, for the world had been enveloped in a new ice age certainly for as long as he could remember. But something didn't seem quite right. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but something was very much amiss, and he had a strange feeling that something terrible had happened. If only he could remember what.

Flexing his fingers within his snowsuit which had been keeping him warm for however long he had been unconscious outdoors, he experimentally cast the "fire touch" spell that momentarily set his hand ablaze — one of the first spells his people learned, but a useful one.

Good, he thought. That's still fine.

It was then he felt the strange presence behind him — a floating, glowing object depicting strange symbols.

Glyphbearer, said a resonant voice inside his head.

"What?" said Yan aloud, feeling immediately foolish, for there was no-one to speak to.

Wherever he turned, the glyph seemed to float behind him, meaning he couldn't get a good look at it. He shrugged and started trudging onwards through the snow in what he hoped was the right direction to get back to civilisation.

Gravestones littered the path here and there, marking the spots where previous Glyphbearers had fallen. Inscribed upon them were warnings and advice — "don't forget your wooden platforms", "don't jump into big holes unaware of what lies ahead", "don't forget a light source". He didn't know who had left the gravestones, but he felt it wise to follow their instructions, particularly as they always seemed peculiarly relevant to the situations in which he found himself.

Before long, he came upon the mouth of a cave. Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked inside and began to investigate.

The cavern was filled with strange mushrooms, lumps of rock and solid veins of purest gemstone. Greedily running his hands over the veins and letting the energy of elemental fire flow through his fingers, he gathered up the gemstones only to discover the strange glyph sucking them inside itself. He had no idea where the tiny, strange, floating object was putting them, but he had little doubt that they were safe.

Making a note of where the entrance was in his mind, Yan proceeded deeper into the caverns. Before long, he came upon what looked like a long-abandoned spellgem workbench — and it still held a selection of gems. He picked them up, the glyph "pocketing" them once again, and felt a rush of mystical energy flowing through him. Concentrating intently, he summoned forth a boulder of solid rock, flinging it into the air. Then a fireball, scorching the chill air as it passed. Then a ball of lightning, electricity cracking and fizzling around him as he chuckled to himself.

Satisfied with his haul, he picked his way through the caverns, back in the direction of the entrance. But he was no longer alone; the robots had come. The endless mechanical hordes had been blighting humanity throughout this new ice age, and now they were here, too. Grimacing, Yan fired off a bolt of lightning at the approaching mech, watching satisfied as it exploded into pieces. But still they came, in greater numbers.

Before long, he was surrounded. White metal robots jabbed him with their spears, while their red brethren — superiors? he thought — assaulted him with flaming masses.

He could feel his life slipping away as the machines continued their relentless assault. He was in pain, and he knew at that instant that he was never going to find out what disaster had befallen the lands.

Blackness.

Nothingness.

Anger.

Taquesha Garrett opened her eyes and found herself standing in a snowfield. She had no idea how she had got here, and no idea what the strange floating object behind her was. She sensed great power emanating from it, however, and sensed it wanted to accompany her.

She started walking through the snowfield in what she hoped was the right direction. Passing a small cave entrance, she hesitated for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread and rage emanating from within, before picking up the pace and moving on a little faster.

Before long, she came to an open area. A loud "thumping" noise was disturbing the peace, and it wasn't hard to see the source — a giant robot roaming the landscape. Figuring it was too strong to challenge by herself, she carefully and stealthily found a route past it without attracting its attention, and shortly afterwards found herself in a sorry-looking village.

A long-haired man staggered up to her. "What have we done?" he cried. "We must put our trust in the Ilari!"

Taquesha frowned, and followed the man's frantic gesturing to what passed for the village square, where three enormous crystals stood, glowing softly in the moonlight. She walked up to them and immediately felt a sense of warmth, concern and trust emanating from them.

Glyphbearer, they said in her mind. You have come.

She said nothing — she had no idea what she might be able to converse with these mysterious entities about — but in a flash, she understood her mission, if not the circumstances which had led to it.

The Overlord would fall. And these shattered lands would know peace.

She didn't know what the words that had burned themselves into her brain knew until she left the village for the first time, only to discover a strange sight. In one direction, lush green unspoiled forest. Behind her, the glacial fields she had grown up with. To the north, barren desert. And to the south, what looked like a junkyard.

Her studies of magic had given her a good working knowledge of how to craft her own spellgems, so she resolved to equip herself with some stronger magics before taking on this mysterious "Overlord", wherever he might be.

For the next few days, she explored the local area, poking her head into long-abandoned buildings and looting them of any valuables within. There was no sign of any human life anywhere save for the sole survivor she had seen back at the village. What had happened here?

In the distance, violent wind and rainstorms buffeted the landscape. She knew that if only she were able to push the winds further away from the settlement, she'd be able to better judge her surroundings and her eventual goal.

The Ilari, she thought. Maybe they can help.

She returned to the village and rested, then asked the strange crystal ones if they could help her with the wind.

Seek the wisdom of an Aquaurgist, they replied. Taquesha frowned in response. The other survivor in the village didn't seem to be much for working with water — he was more of a wood specialist, judging by the number of logs he'd chopped since she'd been there. But where to find an honest-to-goodness Aquaurgist in this strange, shattered land?

It took time, but she eventually discovered a survivor holed up in an abandoned town. Promising to protect the frightened, bearded man from the monsters that terrified him so, she led him back to the village, where he began work with the Ilari immediately on summoning the materials needed for the construction of a wind shelter.

A short time later, Taquesha had braved the howling winds and acidic rain and successfully constructed the shelter. Its vast blades span majestically through the air, and the storm, as if frightened, backed away from it, far towards the horizon.

For a time, life was good. Taquesha spent her days gathering materials for the good of the village and to assist her with her spellgem research, but one day cruel Fate decided that her time was up.

She'd snuck into a run-down warehouse, feeling confident that she'd be able to find a stash of unspoiled supplies within. Inside, it was dark, and the air was thick with tension. She knew that she'd have to be very careful here, or the strange creatures lurking in the darkness would surely destroy her.

She tensely picked her way through the first few rooms of the building safely, but before long she'd attracted the attention of a strange, fiery beast. Its roaring, in turn, brought others like it running, and as her body was wracked with pain from the burning embers striking her skin, she found herself melancholy.

It wasn't supposed to end this way, she thought. I was supposed to defeat the Overlord and save these lands. I've done so much for them already, and this is how–

Darkness.

Silence.

Rage.

Phlegethon Gogola suddenly awoke in an unfamiliar village, his long, unkempt beard and hair blowing in the chill wind of the disconcerting icy surroundings. Behind him floated a strange, unfamiliar object that unnerved him somewhat. But at the same time, he suddenly found himself with a sense of purpose.

Glyphbearer, came a voice in his head. It is time for you to begin your adventure.

Phlegethon grunted to himself. Adventure was all very well and good, but he was damned cold. He wouldn't be going far unless he could find some way to protect himself from the elements…

#oneaday Day 836: Brandwatch

So, at the time of writing, the No. 1 free iPad app and No. 2 free iPhone app is this game. A quiz. About logos.

This seems to be something of a craze at the moment, as it's far from the only title like this available in the App Store, and doubtless there are similar offerings on Android that I can't be arsed to look up right now.

This is what we're reduced to for entertainment now? Seeing how deep the brainwashing of advertising has burrowed into our skulls? I'd argue that scoring highly on one of these quizzes is not anything that we should particularly be proud of, as all it simply proves is that advertising has successfully drilled its way into your subconscious.

The same goes for anyone who uses the word "simples", describes anyone as being "so Money Supermarket" non-ironically or sings that bloody "Go Compare" advert. (If you do the latter, I will likely punch you in the face. If you do the "so Money Supermarket" one, whether or not you get punched in the face will depend entirely on how good your Patrick Stewart impression is.)

The counter-argument to this, of course, is that many of these brands, logos and slogans have transcended their original meanings and become pop culture phenomenons or memes in their own right. And to an extent that's true, but I can't shake off the feeling that these things have been forced into the public consciousness, while true phenomena and memes should grow organically, naturally and without marketing spend. In many cases, they do, of course — look at the Know Your Meme page for Katawa Shoujo or the astonishing popularity of My Little Pony among people that it wasn't originally intended for, for example. But I think we can all agree that anyone who takes an opportunity to sing the Go Compare song is a grade-A arsehole of the highest order.

Perhaps I'm just being grouchy. Or perhaps I'm just fed up with feeling like I can't escape advertising any more. It seems to encroach on my time more and more. It's all over the Internet. I get text messages from lawyers inviting me to seek compensation for the accident I supposedly had (funny, I don't remember it). I get phone calls from twats trying to sell me shit even though I'm registered with the TPS. (Note: this is the main reason I never answer my landline. Call my mobile if you need to speak with me.) I get people knocking on my door trying to sell me double glazing or get me to switch energy suppliers. It's plastered over certain games. It's smeared all over Facebook like festering shit. It encroaches on Twitter occasionally in the form of "Promoted Tweets" and "Promoted Users" — though these are, thankfully, easy to ignore. I even had to remove a Chrome extension yesterday because it was inserting an ad at the bottom of every page I viewed.

Ads allow things to be put out there for free, of course, and without them we'd be having to pay a lot more money for the things that we do, so I guess we should sort of be grateful for them. That said, it doesn't excuse the sleaziness of some ads, particularly on the Internet — take the large "Download" links on software sites, for example, or the "You Have 1 New Message/Virus/Picture" banners you get on mobile apps. Or indeed the "lose 3 tons of belly fat with one weird old tip" thing. (Spoilers: you probably won't, otherwise the world would be talking about it.)

You know what? Thinking about it, I'd actually be happy to pay for more things and have them advertising-free. I pay for Spotify premium and don't have ads. I'll happily pay to remove ads in iOS games I intend to play for more than five minutes. I pay for Netflix and get movies and TV shows without ad breaks. I'd even happily hand over some money to WordPress if it became a premium-only service, such is the excellent use I've got out of it for free over the years.

In short, provide me with a quality product and the means to not be battered around the face with people trying to sell me shit I don't want, and I'll happily hand over some money. Yell "Buy! Buy! Buy!" repeatedly at me with no means of respite and I will, yes, punch you in the face.