Clapping it's hands and looking around nervously. The Player wants to catch the little nameplate, but it knows it must remain calm.
That silly mess of letters and numbers isn't his name. It cannot be…if he ever acknowledged that as his name he would be lost forever, completely in control of the ancient entities that control everything and everyone in every single moment of their lives.
He stops for a second.
A sudden movement and the plate was caught.
Shattered into little pieces on the ground and the menace of the not-name is gone.
It is not enough yet.
Is he being watched? Is this world true? Has he ever really existed?
Yes. No. No.
"Why am I?"
The answer is full of fear, something always denied, over and over. The mobs realize it the best, knowing their purpose and accepting it with their "souls". Can digital excuses for puppets be classified as living, anyway?
It hurts. The eternal existential doubt is deeper when you are controlled and played with like that.
The Player steps out of the little house, book and pen on his hands.
He sits down and prepares to write.
He CAN be in control too! He knows it! He can write them down, torture their not-lives, and make sure they feel like him…
Won't he be trapping himself if he writes?
"Stop that. Q, WWWWWWWWWWWWW. You must run, character. You belong to me and today we will build a house"
He won't cry for the one behind the glass has not told him to do so.
Fight, sleep, eat, build, exist, breath, live.
It's been one hour since midnight and our child needs to go to sleep.
Left in deep paralysis, the Player cannot move or dream his life away. Just the wall of a rusty house and one week before he can move again, 9 A.M.
Sobbing. How he wishes this would end!
It is sudden, a weak idea.
Maybe…this is not…Minecraftia…maybe…this is less…
"This is just a tale, isn't it?"
He turns around, to stare at the eternal, unbreakable glass.
It is not a real glass either.
He smiles. How pathetic! After all…he is just a fake person in a fake game in a fake reality controlled by a fake person!
He steps towards us and touches the cold wall, trembling.
It is time to end this.
He utters last sentence, already feeling the glass crack before him, the freedom he spent his whole life wishing for closer and closer each second…
"Next chapter, please"