Being a person without a script has never, ever, been good for me before.
I never was built forreality, with its overwhelming cast and endless change.
If I’m not built for this world that I know so well, I don’t know what I’ll do.
My journal told me to help the people in this community that I love.
It did not promise that I’d learn how to belong here.
It did not promise that this community would love me back if I gave it no reason to.
As it stands, I’m in love with a 2D image and allowing my obsession to dictate everything I do without recognizing that one-way dialogue and pixelated shoulders isn’t aperson.
If I want to honor the fact that Samson is aperson—that everyone here isreal—I can’t keep letting mere infatuation based on assumption and maladaptive fanfiction fuel my actions. But…if that’s not what I let motivate me, then…
What will?
Chapter 10
♥
New body, old habits.
I have not picked up my axe from Austin.
Or spoken to Lazul.
Or learned how to fish.
These past few days, I’ve not done much of anything, really. I spent the rest of my first week here wrestling with my brain and fighting an anxiety that stuck in my lungs like glue. When Sunday rolled around, I forced myself to get up, clean up, and head to town, because the Sunday after the first day of Spring—or the day the player enters the game—is when Mimet the traveling merchant shows up with her cart of goodies, a random loot table of excellent wares, and an inventory upgrade.
I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see what was available and account for discrepancies in the pricing I’m familiar with so I could budget going forward.
I got nowhere close to her cart.
In the game, when Mimet comes to Gem Ridge, the townies stand motionless on the street for a few hours, then go about their day.
With the realism mod,everyoneexcept Samson trucked their wares out to Mimet’s cart, bartered for goods, bought, sold, placed orders, chatted, laughed, thoroughly embraced the social event with unparalleled vigor.
I froze on the outskirts of the chaos, terrified that someone might spot me.
So, promptly, I abandoned my delusions of grandeur and went back to bed.
The harrowing experience was a cruel reminder that I am not confident in realistic settings. I am a barely functional person relying solely on the mentality that I’m playing a game. Without predictable cutscenes, I’m lost if I have to deal with more than two people at a time.
To be fair to the people of Gem Ridge, I have to treat them likerealpeople with depth and feelings and more ideas than a few hundred lines of scripted text can convey.
To survive, I can’tdothat.
To even broach a possibility of being with Samson, I need to break the mold of the script I’ve learned.
Buthowam I supposed to be that brave? I feel like I could swallow my own tongue at any moment when I picture making a fool of myself in front of someone whocanhate me. In front of someone whoisn’tprogrammed to continue liking me more so long as I just keep being…a pest.
I wasn’t built for people.
I was built for trekking through forage lands with a bad axe, gathering anything I can find, and shoving my quarry into the hoard of chests I’m accumulating. I can live like a recluse. I can be with Samson in spirit, each of us despising human interaction safely within our own homes.
This is fine.
