Of the Coming of Pong

The next thing I knew, I was suddenly absorbing information about the cabinet that had been plugged into me. I learned its, name, its function, and so on.

Its name- Pong. I ought to thank my lucky stars that game showed up. Otis and Floyd are among the staunchest friends anyone can have.

Not that I knew what was to come at the time. No, all I knew was what I had already described.

For a time, I could sense that they were within the game. They were safe in there, I knew. Mr. Litwak and a friend of his, whom he called Albert, were playing the game. It was from overhearing those two that I learned the names of the paddles. The names weren't in the code.

Come nighttime, however, Otis and Floyd decided to venture out into the space within the power strip. No sooner had they come out than I began to introduce myself, explain how to stay safe, etc. I was halfway done before I realized they hadn't heard a word I said.

Naturally, this puzzled me. It took several minutes of thinking before inspiration struck.

I gathered various particles of my essence into one place, where I began to shape and mold them. I had only the pair of humans I'd seen as a reference. I confess I was very much a blend of Mr. Litwak and Albert Rae, albeit with some modifications of my own. The receding hairline, for instance? All my idea.

My body formed, I tested it. It was somewhat awkward at first, but a few minutes' worth of practice sufficed to get the basic movements down. Making notes of the composition of particles I had used, I dematerialized and then rematerialized beside the two paddles.

They had been shouting hello for a good sixty seconds by this point, and were in the middle of shouting the word again when I appeared.

"That hurts my ears," I said by way of response. They looked at me -how they did, lacking faces, I couldn't tell, but I knew they did. Their silence was almost like a reprimand.

"I made a factual statement," I said, hoping to ease the tension.

"Okay," the one called Otis replied, his voice rather like that of a specter.

"I did not mean to be offensive," I added.

"No, it's not that," Floyd chimed in. "It's just that you sound bored."

The dramatic contrast between Floyd's more human-sounding voice and his fellow paddle's eerie tones would have startling on its own. But Floyd's assertion gave me additional reason for reflection.

The truth was that I was speaking in a monotone.

"It's just how I talk," I said. "Meantime, I need to inform you of some things.

We then proceeded to converse for quite some time. It was a useful exercise in communication for me, and I was truly fortunate that the paddles were good listeners.

Well, most of the time they were. Every so often, they would insert an aside or comment meant to represent a form of humor.

We parted amicably enough, if exhausted. Getting what I had to say through to them had proven a strenuous task; I simply wasn't used to communicating by my chosen method yet.

Little did I realize how much more labor intensive my duties would soon become.