The lights are on
These lights are blinding. They cast a terrifying shadow of this dead parade over my empty cage, as well as the empty buildings that occupy this city. The mass has been wandering towards what looks to be a residential area. My thoughts turn towards what I believe we will eventually stumble upon. I hear the echos of that helpless woman. Are there more people in this city? How could anyone survive this monotonous onslaught? The street lights are dimmer now. Most flicker on and off as if the city itself was slowly dying. The brief darkness taunts me with a temporary escape from this place. As the crowd starts to thin, I notice that my body has now entered the quaint streets that were once filled with the everyday pedestrians that I had taken for granted. The houses are quiet. My body browses these homes as if it were shopping for groceries. I keep telling myself that there is nothing to be found, that there is no one left, but I can not drown out the doubt that plagues me. I am now afraid of the living, the conscious. My body stops and turns to the left. A face in the window disappears behind, once still, curtains. I had seen it but was my body aware? This question is quickly answered as my corpse begins to stumble towards the front door of this now, doomed home.
A distant scream startles my thoughts as my body stares vacantly into a brick wall. My corpse reacts as a child would when it hears the jolly tune of an ice cream truck. I can feel something new. This creatures most primitive motives begin to drip into my thoughts, covering them in a hungry rage. I need to feed, but on what? It does not matter seem to matter as my body runs into a wall of undead. The screams are louder now. It's a female, and she is close. This feeling of hunger is like nothing I have felt before. The feeling makes me angry. As this bloody rage slowly consumes me, the screams of the tasty morsel die off into the low moans of the crowd. The bodies thin and I push my way to the middle. I arrive in a frenzy only to see the bloody bones of what used to be a living human being. In an instant, the feeling of hunger is gone. Like someone with ADD, my body slows and continues to wander aimlessly as if nothing had happened. I am alone again. This is the first time something other than myself has occupied this space. I fear for what I was fortunate enough to miss. I now know what drives this body and I hope to never witness the consumption of what it craves.
My days are long, almost neverending. This body does not sleep, nor does it stop moving. I am a forced witness to everything. I can not close my eyes or turn away. Who was I before this all happened that would justify a punishment such as this? I have no name, no identity. I am a subconsious thought that has no subliminal influence over any of my external actions. It seems a flashing light, a distant noise or a larger group are the only things that trigger this body into an awkward gallop that would be cause to put down any champion stallion. What is it looking for, what does it need? We seem to always be in a group. Something I am yet to be desensatized to. These grotesque figures haunt the hollow place where I reside. I am not sure what frightens me more, these ungodly creatures, or my thoughts of what my own apperance must be like to be accepted into this morbid group. We wander these city streets to the constant hum of depressing moans. As my body finds the strength to express itself, I feel as if I am a mouse in a box that is being shook by an unruley child. The deep sound shakes the walls of my dark empty prison. As I distract myself with constant thoughts, I wonder if there are other unfortunate sould trapped amoung these shapless beings. I hope that if there is, they are able to find some peace when their lifeless bodies finally wander into a part of this city that is dark enough to envelope their veiw of this unjust world, if only for a moment.
These are my thoughts as I wander the earth trapped in a body that was once mine. These are the horrors I witness through familiar yet uncontrollable eyes. My consciousness is not infected, but my being is. I am the undead.
Did they get pushed back from popularity? Did they become overwhelmed and were consumed by evil, or did they just go extinct entirely? I want to know where these gentle yet dedicated gamers went.I am talking about the "Good Gamer". I remember back when I first started to play online games. I would meet tons of them. No matter what game we were playing or what the "score" was, this gamer would be having the time of his life. If it was an intense game he would amplify the intensity by showing his pure dedication to the plan or if it was a pure fun game he would not only find ways to make it more fun for himself but more fun for everyone involved. If you were new to a game this gamer would show you everything you needed to know. It was like having the greatest game support worker on the planet. He wouldn't yell through his mic or cut you down for having a weak "score" or ever use the terms, "noob", "uber", or "pwned". I'm not saying this gamer was some guy who didn't care about playing a game hard, he played it the hardest and was usually the best, but he never said a word about it.Then came the other gamers. True that they had always been around but not in such numbers. Slowly they would make their way to the top yelling and swearing like it was a new language. Good players within a game but not "good gamers". These players would mock the "good gamer", push him down for his enthusiasm and dedication to not only the game but to its newcomers as well. He was labeled "noob" himself as if the word had all of a sudden began to mean something else. These "mic jockeys" as I like to call them, seeing as they ride the mic more than actually play the game, would breed and spread like fungus covering up the leaderboards with cheaters and loud mouths who at any chance would spout the words "uber pwned" as if they needed it as much as air. Where was "good gamer" amoung all this? Slowly they dropped off the leaderboards, not because of their ability but because their online play had slowed and stopped.Where can we find these, "good gamers" today? Have they created a server unkown to all other gamers where they can play competitively and have fun at the same time? Unlikely, seeing as even when you try to avoid the fungus it spreads to some of your friends and even sometimes to you. So in the end I think I may have found my "good gamers". You have to look not online but to some of your friends who have not yet played online for very long. These are "pure gamers", the "good gamers" I have been looking for. They don't play to see their name at the top, they don't play to have a legitimate climate to say "uber pwned" in, they just play. They love it, every aspect of it. We all would like to think this is why we play but when a player gets online he becomes something else. Play by yourself sometimes and do just that, play. Look around you within the game and witness how so much hard work can make you feel.Maybe someday the "good gamers" will rise again and we can all play online, in peace.
The bombs were going off overhead as the bullets wizzed by my sweaty, mud filled face. The score of Transformers was blareing in my headphones to try to drown out the terrors of war. My P90 was covered in mud but she still worked. I had been charging all day trying to get behind enemy lines to work from within but I had been stonewalled by the losers of games......snipers. Sure we had snipers, like BugArse and Nitro45less, but these guys blew more chunks than Paris Hilton after drinking a whole glass of water, like all snipers did. I was determined to reach the building across the map to cut and shoot my way to victory. I looked to my right to see Hector. He wasn't a pussy like those snipers, he was a man. He had been beaten all day as well, but his determination was out in full force. He would be a good right hand man. After meeting in our spawn we decided that this rush would be the rush to end it all!