(DISCLAIMER! This story is based off of the incredible free game, Presentable Liberty, which is easily one of my favorite games ever. The game produces the types of emotions rarely seen in games today, and I HIGHLY recommend you play it first (or watch someone play it first) before reading the rest of the story. That way you can hopefully feel the exact same emotions I did. This story is essentially my thoughts chronicled in creative fiction format, with a few touches of extra characterization and plot. I do not own Presentable Liberty. Thanks for reading!)
DAY 1
If you've ever had the feeling of utter isolation and exile, you know that it, to put it lightly, doesn't feel very nice. You start to picture events and experiences that may or may not be real, create characters to ease your loneliness, and try desperately to latch on to the two things keeping you human: Your sanity and your memories. While I didn't know it at the time, I would soon be treading down that same rugged path in just a few days. Then again, what did I know? I couldn't remember anything. After years of living my tedious existence, they wiped it clean in just a few hours like a bug on a windshield. How appropriate then to place me in the one place which no man ever wishes to set foot in, even if they still have those human-like qualities: prison. How metaphorical.
I wake up suddenly, my entire body screaming at me for more rest. I have to deny their most humble request, however, due to the surroundings I find myself in. I pant heavily, sweat pouring out my forehead, and struggle to remember what put me here in the first place. Hell, struggle to remember anything at all. But every time I try to access those memories, it feels like someone picks them up and places them another mile away. I return to the real world and assess my situation.
I'm in a stark gray prison cell, barely large enough to walk around in. Two paces to the back, two paces to the front, and one pace side to side. There are only five objects in my room: the steel bed I'm currently laying in (very uncomfortable, mind you), my cell door, which is little more than a steel slab with a window and a feeding slot at the bottom, a simple black and white clock, which ticks in a very strange fashion. Instead of a second hand, the minute hand ticks once every second, obviously way too fast for any real depiction of time. In the back upper corner, there is a tiny window showcasing the beautiful blue sky beyond, and by the door are two seemingly out of place wires poking out like miniscule tentacles. The walls, floor, ceiling, door, window, and bed are all a depressing shade of gray, which already is starting to grate at me a little bit. The entire ensemble seems to be designed to physically and mentally degrade me, make me long for something new, something interesting. Something human.
I look out my cell door and see something that utterly confuses me: a simple wooden door and a fire alarm. Wait…if I'm truly in a prison, where are the other inmates? Surely I haven't done anything so horrible I deserve to be in permanent solitary, right? Come to think of it… why am I here? I would never harm a soul, so murder is out of the question. I don't feel the pang of guilt someone receives from larceny, so stealing is also not an option. I would never lie, cheat, swindle, maim, abuse, or in any way deserve to be here. So what is the purpose of placing me in my own separate cell on my own separate floor?
I barely have any time to question this when I hear a new sound other than the dreary ambiance. It sounds like…paper scratching against floor. I look down at my feet and I'm stunned to discover that a letter has been delivered through my feeding slot. But how? I was just looking out of my door and never did I see a person come by and deliver this massage…curiously, I pick it up. The envelope is a rugged shade of brown, almost like burlap. Scrawled in fancy writing is the name, "Salvador the Traveler". I open it slowly and read the inscription inside:
"My dear friend, I hope this letter finds you well. How is prison life going for you? I know it must be hard, especially in times like these. As for me, I will soon start another of my journeys into the unknown. Wish me luck.
-Salvador the Traveler"
Who is this guy? Why does he refer to me as his friend? I've never heard of him. How did he know I was in prison anyway? Can he send letters specifically to my cell? If so, can he explain to me what's going on? The wave of thought starts to pass as I realize I can't write to him asking what happened. Hmm…
It's not too long afterwards that another letter slides in. It's the same brown envelope only, is it just me or did it…move? I tentatively pick it up, open it, and scream as a shiny black beetle crawls out onto the floor. I'm about to smash it with my foot when something tells me I should read the letter first. Figure out what the deal is.
"Friend, I hope you aren't feeling too lonely in that dark cell. Just in case, I have put a little bug friend for you in the envelope alongside this letter.
–Salvador
Oh…well wasn't that nice of him. I'm glad I read that first, otherwise my new friend would be nothing more than a smudge on my shoe. I watch him flitter about, happy as can be in his new home, squeaking on occasion. It's actually…kind of cute! In a buggy kind of way. I continue watching him, so entranced at the sporadic way he skitters around the bed and in and out of the mail slot. Oh wait…where am I going to put my letters? I have no table or drawers to place them in…I suppose I'll keep them in a nice pile in the corner.
After a few more minutes, another letter arrives. However, when I pick it up, I quickly notice that the envelope is very different. Instead of "Salvador the Traveler", I find that the white envelope has, in a weird font, "From the desk of Dr. Money." I open the letter and find a few pages of writing inside. I sit down at my bed, beckon my bug friend onto my knee, and get reading.
Good day. We are happy to inform you have been selected by me, Dr. Money, to join an exclusive program for inmates all over the country. We have noticed that, due to the recent outbreak of a terrible virus, the population of our beautiful nation has started dwindling. This is unfortunate. But there is still hope:
You.
Recent studies have shown that 98% of our great nation's population is already infected with the virus. Incidentally, many of the remaining 2% are prison inmates like you. We hope that you continue to be vigilant and remain happy. In order to fight depression and suicidal thoughts in the dire situation you have found yourself in, you will be assigned your own personal Happy-Buddy tm. Enjoy!
I set the letters down, staring off into space. What a lot to comprehend in just a short amount of time. So, apparently, I am one of the only surviving people in the country due to some unspecified virus, and I'm supposed to be happy? Also, what kind of name is "Dr. Money" anyway? For some unexplained reason, I don't trust him. Or her. Or it. Whatever.
Almost immediately afterwards, I hear that familiar *schick* indicating the arrival of a new letter. This one is stranger still. It's wrapped in a deep blue envelope with smiley faces dotting it and large comical letters saying "Happy-Buddy" on the front. I pick it up and instantly feel its weight is much different. I open it and let the contents spill out onto the floor. There are three or so large index cards, a strange Game-Boy-like device, and, strewn about area, are what looks like five party poppers, although they're much heavier and longer than normal. I pick up the index cards and read them one by one. They have a strange leaf pattern around the outside and large bold text that matches the front label.
HELLO HELLO HELLO! I AM YOUR OWN PERSONAL HAPPY-BUDDY TM ! I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU! FIVE CONFETTI POPPERS! HAVE FUN!
Curiously, I wrap my finger around the string, point it at my cell, and yank. A loud pop and a birthday horn escapes the popper, as well as a shower of confetti that rains down upon the floor. A soft giggle escapes my lips as my bug friend squeaks in surprise and flees to safety under my bed. I read on:
HELLO MY BUDDY FRIEND BUDDY! DID YOU ENJOY THE CONFETTI? IF SO, I HAVE ANOTHER PRESENT FOR YOU! IT'S A DR. MONEY PORTABLE ENTERTAINMENT MACHIENE! GAME INCLUDED! HAVE LOTS OF FUN :-)
I pick up the Game Boy (or sorry, "Dr. Money's Portable Entertainment Product") and turn it on. There is only one game on it, a snake rip-off called Serpent. It's RIDICULOUSLY hard and I get sick of it almost immediately. My bug friend has come out of hiding and is now nibbling at a piece of confetti. Heh…I should probably come up with a name for him now. He is my only real friend now, anyways. What should I name him?
Oh, no time for that, another letter from Salvador has arrived!
My dear friend, I have started my journey to the far east with no clear goal in mind. On the road, I met a nice woman who gave me directions to the nearest lake. You know how much I like swimming.
Ummm…..I do? Once again, I'm stricken with disbelief that I had ever met this person. Who was he? How did he know me? I find myself asking the same questions again and again. Anyways, what did he say? Something about a nice woman and a lake? Why would he take time out of his adventures to write to me? I guess he does know me after all then. Why else would he refer to me the way he does? I look at my bug friend and instantly I come up with a name:
Amnesia.
After a bit of self reflection to hopefully recover some lost memories, another letter slips through my door.
Friend, The lake is beautiful. It is so peaceful and quiet here. Have you ever been so alone that you cannot convince yourself that other people exist anymore? -Salvador
Oh my god. He's right. That's the way I feel right now, trying to keep it together with only a damn beetle to keep me company. What if these letters are just being written by someone just outside my door? That would explain why I can't see anyone deliver them. I run to my cell door and scream my lungs out to see if I hear a sound, a person, anything other than the dark background noise I've created in my head. I feel a slight tug, and look down to see Amnesia crawling up my leg toward my hand. I hold it out and she (I still don't know the gender so I'm guessing it's a girl) skitters into my open palm. We look at each other for a minute or two before she opens her wings and flies out onto the bed and falls asleep. I look at the clock. 6 o' clock. Based on the chilly weather outside my tiny window, it must be winter. It will be dark soon.
I hear the noise and I'm shocked to find that I haven't been very stringent with my letter pile. Envelopes, ripped at the helm, scatter the floor, as does a few assorted letters mixed in for variety. I clean up a bit, placing them separately to create a sense of neatness, before I find one that's been unopened. How could I miss it though? This letter is huge. It must be the size of the pillow on my bed. I gingerly open it and read the letter first.
Friend, I have a present for you. It is a painting that always reminds me of the spirit of travel. I hope it will liven up your cell a little bit. -Sal
Wow…he's using an old nickname now. We must've been close at some point. I take out the painting and examine it. It's very abstract, nothing more than a few strokes of yellow, blue, and purple against a green background. Looking closer, I can see that the green part slightly resembles a hill or a mountain. Very travel-y indeed. I hang it proudly above my bed and stare at it. I imagine what it would be like to be on that hill right now, instead of trapped in a soulless gray cube. I guess it does lighten up the room a tiny bit, adding some color and variety. I like it!
Another letter:
Friend, if my calculations are correct, then this letter will arrive at your cell right around bedtime. I hope those prison beds are comfortable… Goodnight friend. –Salvador
Goodnight to you too, whoever you are.
Another letter arrives, and I recoil at first at the large, silly lettering:
HEY BUDDY! HOW ARE YOU DOING? IF YOU'RE FEELING DOWN, MAYBE A SONG WILL HELP! LALALA HAPPY LALA GLAD TO LALALA BE ALIVE LALA!
The sad part is…I almost instinctively started to sing along.
HAHAHAHAHAHA THAT WAS FUN WASN'T IT? I HOPE YOU KEEP A SONG IN YOUR HEART ALWAYS. FOR YOU ARE SMART AND KIND AND IMPORTANT.
Awww…I like this guy! He makes me so happy. I guess that means he does his job really well then, being a Happy-Buddy tm after all. Sure he can be a bit creepy at times, plus the Game Boy was kind of pointless, but I really like him.
When I get the letter, I start to wonder if I'm sure.
Good day, Mr. Smiley. We have noticed that you have not met your happiness quota yet. Remember: you will only get to see your daughters if you manage to lower the suicide rates in prison.
What?! So many questions are raised? Who is Mr. Smiley? Is that me? If so, I had daughters? Where are they? What happened to them? How can I lower the suicide rates in prison when I'm IN PRISON?! I decide to sleep on it. Amnesia flits onto my belly and falls asleep. I stay there, awake almost all night, trying to figure everything out. Eventually, though, I drift off to sleep, dreaming about hills and beetles, serpents and kidnapped daughters, ready to tackle the next day.