Phase Q/Dusk to Dusk
Floating through the vast endless eons of emptiness, nothing stirs.
Except for a few vague, idle thoughts.
“What if.” The world seems to wonder.
“What can we do?” you ask, pleadingly.
“Huh?” the world answers.
“You said that there may be a way.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“That.” The world seems quite final.
You yearn for your friends, your allies, at this point even your enemies would be nice.
“Can you tell me what the plan is?”
“All right,” the world gives in.
You wait.
Nothing happens.
“Hello?” you ask.
“Yeah, hang on, I’m just dealing with one other thing, then I’ll be right with you.”
“Oh, OK.”
You wait a while longer.
Still nothing.
“Are you doing anything?”
“Yeah,” says the world. “In progress.”
Impatiently, you tap your toes.
Tap, tap, tap.
Still nothing. You look around impatiently.
Tap, tap, tap.
You listen carefully. All you can hear is the tapping of your own feet.
Waitaminute.
Tap, tap, tap.
Aha!
Looking down, you see beneath your feet a floor. A wooden floor. A wooden floor against which your foot is tapping.
“Oh, thank you!” You exclaim, to the world.
As you feel your foot tapping against the world, you start to give it a certain rhythm. You start with some samba, try some bossanova. Now you’re grooving.
Tap, tap, tap.
Well, it sure beats nothing, having this something. Even if it is just a little piece of wooden floor.
“Say, uh.” You wonder.
“Yes?” answers the world.
“Do you think you could come up with a bit more than this? I mean, not to sound unappreciative or anything. I really am truly grateful for this wonderful gift you have given me. This piece of, uh, wooden flooring.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, but. I was just wondering if, maybe, perchance, could you do you think maybe also come up with something else? A bit more of a thing here?”
“Oh, right. I’ll get right on that.”
The music of your foot tapping fills your ears. You laugh, you smile, you practically scream and shout and yell with joy. The simple rhythm, the tappity tap, the tactile sensation of having something material out there, beyond just yourself. Something to interact with. It’s the simple things in life, you think to yourself.
“Um, er,” says the world.
“Yes?” you say.
“There’s an, uh, issue.”
“What is it?” you ask.
“Well, so, I’ve been working on coming up with something else here, as you know.”
“Yes.”
“And.”
“Yes?”
“Well. It, uh, it’s sort of coming out different than I thought.”
“Fuck,” you think to yourself.
With a flicker, a squadron of Futuristas appear out of nowhere. They perform a technical marvel in synchronization, then disappear again. Rapidly appearing and disappearing, the world alternates between nothingness and madly contriving Futuristas.
After a while, the flickering stops.
“So?” you ask the world.
“So what?”
“So, can we do anything else?”
“Well, at present, no.”
Phase Q: An interactive adventure.
