A Game Story

(11-13-12)

This was written as a journal assignment for a class I took.

There is a dream that Hugo has been having off and on ever since he finished his bizarre machine. In it, he has full control over what he does. He is consciously aware that he is dreaming, and so his actions are not limited by his own mind.

The dream always takes place in the same world, a narrow and endlessly long hallway with a pair of doors every several hundred meters. Sometimes the doors are on opposite sides of the hallway, and sometimes they are on the same side, but there are always two of them. With every instance of the dream, the doors open to entirely different places. Some doors open to old or recent memories, but cannot be passed through. Other doors open up to what seems to be another section of the hallway, with more doors to choose from. There is no discernible pattern to where they lead, and it seems to be different every time. Hugo has tried countless things to escape the hallway and wake up from the dream, but nothing ever works. He usually ends up riding the dream out and exploring his memories until his body wakes itself up.

At times, Hugo can see a shapeless shadow wander from door to door. It pays no mind to Hugo’s presence, and sometimes even passes straight through him. It disappears into doors for a while, and will eventually come out and wander to a new one. All attempts to communicate with it are ignored. When Hugo tries to open a door it has just wandered into, the door is locked. It unlocks after the shadow leaves the door. When he is finally able to open the door again, nothing seems suspicious (or unusually suspicious, given the circumstances).

Hugo has tried to understand what these dreams mean, and why they happen. They only started occurring after his machine was finished. He always seems to wake up from them at strange times. One time he woke up sitting at a table with his head in a bowl of stew! It’s as if he suddenly passed out while going about his day-to-day activities. It only recently occurred to him that these dreams seem as though they represent what he does when he plays around with the existences produced by his machine.

Is it possible? Is this dream what happens to people who’s lifelines he tinkers with? Could someone else be toying with Hugo’s existence?

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A Game World

(10-30-12)

This was written as a journal assignment for a class I took.

With the bizarre invention he has created, and his new ability to modify history, Hugo Clabby’s world is incredibly unstable. Every time he prods at the world’s timeline, his surroundings could morph into something entirely unrecognizable. For reasons unknown to Hugo, there are some locations that, no matter what kind of manipulation he does on the timeline, always remain the same. Everything around them could be entirely different or even gone from existence, but these few locations are always the same.

The first location is a bit of an odd case, in that it is not exactly a fixed section of the world that persists. Simply stated, wherever Hugo is when the timeline is altered, that location will persist through the changes. It is quite mystical indeed, and the only theory Hugo can concoct is that his machine or the material existences emit an invisible “pixie dust” of sorts. This dust would land on his clothes and hair, and when the timeline is twisted, Hugo and his immediate surroundings remain unchanged.

The second location that never changes is Hugo’s home. If his theory about the “pixie dust” is at all accurate, then certainly there is enough of this dust within his house, where it originates from! After Hugo left his college, he gained employment at a humble clock repair and sales shop. Despite his skill and education in clockmaking, his job at the shop was not to repair the clocks, nor was it to sell them. He was a delivery boy. He would travel to the shop’s customers and deliver their new or repaired clocks. Though he was able to develop excellent navigational skills and get to know a bit about everyone in the city, his salary was an utter pittance. As such, his home is small and simple. Wooden planks cover the ground. Off-white paper and a dark maroon trim make up the walls. Shuttered windows are scattered about, and his bed lies beneath a pair of them. He has his machine sits near windows for ventilation, but out of view of them in case of suspicious on-lookers. His workbench lies next to his machine, and always seems to have papers and notebooks scattered about, irregardless of his efforts to tidy up. Other than his machine, he has one piece that stands out from the humdrum: a large, red-bodied and golden-bordered rug that his parents gave him before he left for college. Though his world may never be the same again, this rug always reminds him of his childhood, his innocence. Stability.

There’s no time for pitiful nostalgia, though. Not with the way things are now. Especially not with the third place that never seems to change. The college. It lies on the highest hill for miles, and its clock tower can be seen from anywhere in the city. This town has no church, yet every hour, you can hear the echoes of a looming bell coming from the college. Hugo has not set foot within a thousand meters of that place since he was driven away years ago. There is no way any of the mystical dust could have gotten into the college, and certainly not enough to allow it to persist. There can be no other explanation. Hugo is not the only one with this power.

A Game Idea

(10/23/12)

This was written as a journal assignment for a class I took.

Hugo Clabby is a charming and eccentric fellow with quite a mind for design, and a rather large helping of sour luck. As a young man, Hugo was a dedicated pupil of Horology and clockmaking, and one of the most honest students in his university. That is until one day, when he was falsely accused of illicit academic charlatanry, and furiously impugned by a rogue professor. Hugo, at his wit’s end, fled the college, and chose to pursue the extralegal discipline of time travel.

Much to his own bewilderment, Hugo had a remarkable knack for such a study. In a stroke of utter brilliance and daftness, he managed to construct a machine unlike any the world had ever known. This machine could reach into the Voide, pull out the very chains of one’s existence, and transmogrify them into physical, tangible matter! Hugo refused to stop there. He soon discovered that these specimens could be altered in their physical form – rearranged, tweaked, shifted, or destroyed. Hugo could see how a person’s life would look if their history was entirely rewritten. Then, almost by happenstance, he discovered that these physical copies of a person’s life, now deformed and manipulated, could be placed back into the Voide, overwriting the life that was already there.
Hugo can change the actual existence of a real person.

Now, he can’t just poke around at people’s lifelines however he pleases. Even what seems like a minor alteration could affect him and his world in awful ways. This means that sharing his discovery with the public is out of the question, unless he’s looking for folks knocking at his door, demanding a revision of their history. Not to mention, his machine needs a piece of a person to locate their lifeline. Something like a strand of hair or a drop of blood. Not too many people are keen on parting with their hair or blood for a strange man toying with unspoken science. Perhaps Hugo should consider abandoning his research and inventions to spare the world of what could come from them. This was his plan, until one day he came home to find his lab notes had been stolen, and a letter was left on his workbench that simply read, “You don’t deserve this power.”

Who wrote this message, and how could Hugo find him? Whoever it was, they must have been able to understand his lab notes and realized what his machine could do. If they can understand the notes, they can create another one of these machines! Anyone who would choose to thieve this research must be planning to do terrible and selfish things with it. Hugo may have no choice. He may be forced to use this machine – this terrible, inhuman contraption of his – to stop the thief from erasing every tale and every life the world has ever known. Let us pray to God that Hugo minds his step, for the happenings of the world are more connected than they seem.