The year is 2045. A new console has been released. My impenetrable plastic dome grows 281701 copies of Skyrim taller. My living spaces lie so deep within the confines of this polyethylene prison that the explosive crack of the delivery cranes can no longer disturb the air around me.
I’ve been alone for years now. My two children, brave and foolish in equal measure, attempted to tunnel out while my partner and I passed the time in blissful ignorance. The torrential shift in the stack felt as though the world had cleaved itself in two. It had.
My partner blamed herself. I did the same. But she managed to take her leave of our situation before I could. We had long ago spoken about final arrangements, so I had already prepared a coffin crafted out of special edition boxes. I entombed her along with our little boys within the chamber closed in the avalanche.
My taciturn days and years are spent carefully carving an unerringly straight line through the hoard of copies holding me prisoner.
Recently, I’ve heard something other than the scurrying of vermin or the cacophonous settling of stack. A ceaseless, rumbling hum that stirs memories of travel and sunshine. The giddiness in my chest is as unrelenting as the electric pain piercing through my bowed back. I might soon find my way out.
…
My first breath of freedom feels like icy daggers rending at my throat. I cannot muster the strength to open my eyes. How had the world changed? How had I? How could I function after all I had gone through? With a soft breath out, I slowly lift my eyelids to begin again. Fresh and new. A voice from nearby rings through my ears as light fills my eyes. “Hey, you. You’re finally awake?”
The year is 2045. A new console has been released. My impenetrable plastic dome grows 281701 copies of Skyrim taller. My living spaces lie so deep within the confines of this polyethylene prison that the explosive crack of the delivery cranes can no longer disturb the air around me.
I’ve been alone for years now. My two children, brave and foolish in equal measure, attempted to tunnel out while my partner and I passed the time in blissful ignorance. The torrential shift in the stack felt as though the world had cleaved itself in two. It had.
My partner blamed herself. I did the same. But she managed to take her leave of our situation before I could. We had long ago spoken about final arrangements, so I had already prepared a coffin crafted out of special edition boxes. I entombed her along with our little boys within the chamber closed in the avalanche.
My taciturn days and years are spent carefully carving an unerringly straight line through the hoard of copies holding me prisoner.
Recently, I’ve heard something other than the scurrying of vermin or the cacophonous settling of stack. A ceaseless, rumbling hum that stirs memories of travel and sunshine. The giddiness in my chest is as unrelenting as the electric pain piercing through my bowed back. I might soon find my way out.
…
My first breath of freedom feels like icy daggers rending at my throat. I cannot muster the strength to open my eyes. How had the world changed? How had I? How could I function after all I had gone through? With a soft breath out, I slowly lift my eyelids to begin again. Fresh and new. A voice from nearby rings through my ears as light fills my eyes. “Hey, you. You’re finally awake?”
God damn you, Todd Howard.
This is art.