Read it with an open mind... The actual story is depressing as hell but it was meant to be more funny than sad because, really, think about it. Its a damn pong ball. Hahaha
Pong of Darkness
The left bar hit me from behind hard up against the right bar; it was a raping of the senses. I just wanted the game to end. A fifteen point match never lasted longer. The players were too skilled for their own good. The gangbang drove me inside until finally the words flashed in front of me that player 2 had won. Those white letters were always coming to my rescue; text was my savior.
…Until game two. The festival of pain never ended. It was always a rematch. Back and forth, I felt as though I would die at any moment. The bar always brushing up against my most sensitive of areas; my only recluse came after hours of torture. Even then, the interminable loneliness made me long for the bars. The game was over and I was thrust into the endless abyss. The black chasm extended onwards, endlessly into all directions.
I had enough of this life. Let them find a new ball to corrupt and torment. The only thing that remained pure of me was my white color, and even that faded across the walls at times in a wicked glare that would quickly etch its was into the darkness.
When the console was shut off, I receded into the depths of the cartridge to my home. It was a compilation of various other "arcade" style games, all of which slowly decaying the ones involved in them for some player's amusement. Centipede had given up all hope on life; his wife left him for a young spider. He couldn't keep up with their fast-paced relationship. He wasn't a larvae anymore; he could not compare to the spider. Everyday he went home to depressing memories and the thought that his love was screwing another species; one much more nimble in the bedroom. He imagined them all over the house, suspended in a web, entangled in a lovemaking position on the ceiling. I still miss him; he killed himself thereafter. Just went one day to the garden and let the player kill him. He walked right into the line of fire.
I yearned to be as daring as him. I just wanted to end my life. I felt ready and willing. I went into my home and picked up a knife. I caressed my vinyl surface and began to playfully tear away at the threads that bind me together. My sanity was lost somewhere in the cotton that dripped unto the floor. I lost consciousness.
I woke up to the men from inside the tank that protected the planet from "alien invasions." They heard the rumors of my suicidal tendencies and broke into my house. They saved me. Their words of wisdom support me to this day:
"We are the characters (and objects) of these arcade games. Our job is to exploit ourselves in harmful, depressing ways for the enjoyment of others. Everyday I see my planet destroyed by the alien threat. Repeatedly I lose everything I have ever known. But I won't give up on life, ever. The player needs to play the game, for that is their job. I know my role in society. Don't be like Centipede…. Don't fade away into the darkness of your game. Only then will the player truly beat the game."
So it was all about dominance. In a game of cruelty, in which I was bashed back and forth with the sexual lashings of "the bars," I could never establish dominance. I was always flat on my face taking it from behind; but no one would be able to tell any different from my circumferential perfection. It is a life I was born into and will always regret; but won't give up on.
