The Ghost That Haunted Me

A story by ecto1B

Chapter Two

~ Polarity

POV - Mckinley Front

I find it incredibly fascinating that I can like and dislike things that are—if not practically the same—extremely similar. Usually what you hate is a polar opposite from what you find appealing, but I've come to notice over the years that it isn't always the case.

For example, I love when it rains. I love the smell of it, the sound of it, that ceaseless, rhythmic pounding against the roof that sends me drifting off into a perfect sleep. I especially love sitting beneath the outcrop of my back porch, watching the rain create tiny, broadening circles on the surface of our pool. Sometimes I even bring a book outside and let the story and the rain's peaceful rhythm pull me from reality.

But I hate swimming. I hate large bodies of water. I can wade in it, sure, but the deeper it gets, the faster my heart beats, and the more desperate I get to scurry back to dry land. And don't even get me started on going underwater. My biggest fear is drowning; I almost did so while at my uncle's lake house one year. Even after my mom had a pool installed in our backyard and signed me up for a swim class the summer after the incident, I refused to ever enjoy the water again.

See what I mean? Rain. Swimming. Two things closely linked by that wondrous thing called H2O, and yet, I despise one, and adore the other.

Another example: I love comedians. I love the classic acts, like Mr. Warmth himself, Don Rickles. I die laughing while listening to a few of the more modern stand-ups, like Dane Cook and Jeff Dunham. Heck, Larry the Cable Guy and his simple, honest jokes leave my stomach tingling and my lungs barely able to support me and my wheezing for air.

Yet, I hate pranksters. God forbid I come across one in my life. Those immature, moronic assholes think it's funny to watch something explode in a person's face, or to see fellow students scrunch up their noses and gag at the repulsive scent of a stink bomb. I can't tell you how many of those jackasses I've met. How are their pranks entertaining? How are they productive, in any way? I may sound like I'm coming off pretty rough, but trust me. If you've ever taken an assault of water balloons to the face, or had to deal with a fellow classmate who relished in the joy of firing a paintball gun, then you would understand my viewpoint.

Isn't it funny? Rain and swimming, comedians and pranksters… there are obvious similarities between the pairs. Is it strange that I can be so contradictory in what I like?

This leads to my main comparison: video games and real life. Now, I never said I "hated life." Actually, I quite enjoy it. What I mean is, video games and real life resemble each other in multiple ways; more the video games resembling life, but you get what I mean. Two very alike things… and yet it is possible to occasionally hate life and delve headfirst into a video game.

Why not? Video games rid us of every single problem we're faced with. They give us an alternate identity, bestow us with powers and abilities beyond our wildest imagination, grant us access to new worlds, new environments, enable us to meet new friends and develop relationships with them, and sometimes even turn us into creatures that don't even exist. They confront us with challenges that require us to think, to explore and discover, to contemplate and utilize the beauty of teamwork. They fulfill that instinctive human need to be productive, to do something. And, perhaps the thing about video games that most people take for granted, they give us a second chance. And a third chance. And a fourth. And a fifth. They let us restart at our last saved checkpoint; they let us retry difficult portions of the storyline until you complete it correctly. Or they give you magical healing potions and elixirs to keep you from dying too early. All to assure a safe passage to the end of the game, the final boss fight, the final race, the final puzzle.

When I speak of comparison, and when I refer back to my earlier statements of liking and disliking indistinguishable things, I am speaking as honestly as a woman can. Sometimes you lose yourself in the virtual world because—at that moment—life hasn't been treating you well, and you want to escape. And at that moment, you don't like life, and you love video games.

They're not opposites. Life lessons are always intertwined within the plot of games, from the simplest of racing games to the more complicated open-world adventures. You do something incorrectly, and there are consequences. You take your character to an enemy-infested location, and you're probably gonna die. You drive your car into a wall, and you're probably not gonna win the race. You use up all your medicine at the beginning of the boss fight, and you might be welcomed with the words GAME OVER across your screen. Consequences. Consequences equal life. So, not much difference.

But then you've got to look at my situation, my rare, convoluted, hellhole of a situation, and you've got to be taken aback. Sure, the two are closely related, and sure, you can lose yourself in either of them, but when did they interconnect? When did one tie in with the other? When did the way you played the game affect what happened in your actual life?

That's the question I asked myself when I opened my eyes and found myself inside Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2.

Sure, they're similar. Sure, you can hate one and love the other. Sure, they can be like comedians and pranksters to me.

But this?

I could've sworn I'd died and gone to heaven, but there were no gates to greet me, no staircase with angels lining it, praising God and all His glory. All I saw was a dusty Brazilian street from the inside of a truck and a gun resting in my hands.

Puking became the only cure for settling my upset stomach