Pacing Aimlessly
Creator: Jackie Milton || First Published: 11/09/2016 || Players: 2 || Size: 7x7
Categories: None
Rating: 8.00 in 1 rating
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Comments:
Jackie Milton (11/09/2016 02:13pm):
My 8th in a series of Black Metal themed maps.

There's an island. It looks nice, but you can't go there. They say that that island is better, a more
suitable alternative to your current situation. But it's an island, cut off from the bounds of your own
reality. It's a falsehood in and of itself. You could wish things were different, that you were on that
island (it's better, they say). You may spend your time gazing at it; that is your choice. You may
also ignore it; that is your choice. It doesn't matter because you cannot go there. In a way it
doesn't exist, but you feel that it does, that it can. This isn't a waste of thought or effort to hope, to
imagine. Because as you pace and live across the way from that island, your body ages and you
turn to dust, and with you, the island dissolves as well.

Play in rain with fog as per the usual. I recommend banning all COs except Adder as well.

-J.N.M.
Xmo5 (11/09/2016 06:22pm | Edited: 11/09/2016 06:23pm):
Pacing aimlessly, slipping ever deeper into thought
Through the rooms or up and down the halls
Little mind to where my foot falls
Perhaps it's futile, perhaps it's not

For who am I to ponder so?
I'm but a simple man left all alone
but aimless pacing's all I know
The weathered floorboards creak and groan

"What good is thinking", I ask aloud
"When all that I think of is thought?"
I think, so I am, but what if I'm not?
My mind once clear, now in shroud

Does the light in the mirror have a source
if it only reflects a reflection?
Does a train of thought have a course
if it only explores introspection?

My musings, like my pacing, are aimless
My logic, like my path, doubles back
A droll play with no final act
This cycle is unbearably heinous

How to escape? Where's the door?
Surely I'd find one on the first floor
But which floor am I on and where are the stairs?
This circular thinking's left my memory impaired

With all memories of doors or stairs gone
I have no chance of escaping this prison
I'll need to go searching until I come upon
Some kind of exit, but the walls are all prisms

The more that I focus, the more lost I become
Features blend together; I lose hope and direction
Chair? Table? Window? Wall? Intersection?
My mind's been unhinged and my psyche undone

Only one option remains. Systematically plain.
I'll walk with no aim. I'll walk through the pain.
If I walk the whole place I'll begin to learn
By brute force I'll make my memory return
Sooner or later I'll get out of this place
But I can only escape if I aimlessly pace.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Pacing aimlessly, slipping ever deeper into thought
Through the rooms or up and down the halls
Little mind to where my foot falls
Perhaps it's futile, perhaps it's not.




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