Pac-Man's Ruminations on Daily Life
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Disclaimer: I don't own Pac-Man, but I have no earthly idea who does. I'm not getting paid for this story, for more reasons than because it's a load of useless, yet oddly amusing, garbage. ^_^
Author's Notes: Whoo! It's my first jump into incidental video game fan fiction! Now, this is very obviously a purely silly story. It's what happens when Rhianwen has a severe Diet Pepsi buzz and twenty minutes to spare. That said, I don't know if something like this has been written before or not. If it has, I apologize, but I wasn't aware of it.
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Mine is a tragic existence, filled with bitterness and despair. I say this not because of any great calamity that has befallen me; it is not any specific event that has made my life what it is, save perhaps for this video game enthusiast or that pushing the start button and launching me again into what has become my lot in life.
The tragedy of my life lies in its monotony, its drudgery, and the hopelessness of it ever changing. Ever since I can remember – I do not know how long ago exactly; I do not even know my own age. Hours, days, weeks, months; time has no meaning to me – it has been my existence to live day in and day out in a maze filled with little white pills. I trudge about the maze, consuming the pills, which long ago lost for me the intended effect of brightening the hopelessness of where and what I am. But I must trudge quickly, for everywhere I go, I am pursued by ghosts, phantoms of my past who would devour me if I gave them the chance. This must never come to pass, for if it should, I would be overwhelmed by circumstance, and my progress would be ruthlessly undone. And should I allow the ghosts to overtake me once too often, I would surely sink into a despair from which I would never again emerge.
But the unending drudgery of my life can be broken by one special pill. It is this shining, glorious object that is my beacon of sanity-giving hope. With the crunch of this special pill, the tables are turned on the phantoms that mercilessly pursue me, and it is my turn to hunt, to devour, to ignore their silent screams of pain, their silent pleas for mercy. The thrill of the hunt pulsing through my veins, I fly like the wind through the maze, occasionally smashing flat against a wall when I neglect to slow down sufficiently to turn a corner. I follow the scent of my prey, helpless and cowering before me.
But as with all things, this ends eventually, and I return to being the hunted. It always seems as though the ghosts come after me with a renewed ferocity following these magical times of vengeance, but it is always worth it.
There is no way to leave the maze; I have tried it. More than once, I caught sight of a door and sped towards it with all my might and courage. But sadly, once I passed through the door, I found myself once again on the other side of the room – and about to pass swiftly into the waiting jaws of the phantoms from which I flee.
And the music! Oh, God, the music! It seems as though I could tolerate my circumstances gladly, were it not for that damned infernal music! Repetitive and disgustingly cheery, it pounds all day into my brain. There is no way to escape it, to dull the pain and boring sameness of that ceaseless tune.
And should the pills ever be completely gone, what should await then? I have learned, sadly, that it is simply more of the same. I will advance, but only to a life identical to the one I have now. Another maze. More pills. More ghosts, more fearsome than the last, pursuing me with renewed vigour.
I try not to complain, for I know that somewhere, somehow, there is a purpose to my suffering. I go through what I do so that children and adults alike may have endless hours of amusement. I cannot change what I am, nor do I wish to.
For above all things, I am...a Pac-Man.