You are a creative mind caught in a world of awkward impetus and grey malaise. The fulfillment of your every imaginative whim lies just over the horizon where the rising sun kisses the mountain peaks… behind the hilltops… over the ocean… and beyond the wasteland where you now stand.
A Dark and Lonely Starting Place
You are alone. There is an endless endlessness all about you. Obvious exits are in all directions.
You are in good health and spirits.
It has been one move since your last creative work.
Saved Game Name? >DAY3
A standard issue kitchen setup sprawls before you. There is a well-stocked pantry to the south and the dining room to the east. Your office is to the West.
Your spouse is here.
There is a chicken dish on the counter.
There is a pile of vegetables nearby.
>LOOK AT SPOUSE
Your spouse is on soup detail, stirring and chopping with abandon.
You are tired and distracted.
It has been 1,823 moves since your last creative work.
>LOOK AT OVEN
The oven is pre-heated, awaiting your culinary talents.
Your brow perks up. You could write a cooking blog…
Spouse: “Where are you going? Cut up that tomato and onion and get that chicken cooking!”
>LOOK AT CHICKEN
A masterfully spatchcocked chicken lies in a glass pan.
Your brow perks up. You could write some erotica…
You hand bounces off of the tomato harmlessly.
Your brow perks up. You could write a kung-fu comic…
You don’t see one here.
Spouse: “What’s the hold up? The kids are starving!”
>ASK SPOUSE FOR KNIFE
Spouse: “In the drawer! Get it your damned self!”
Your brow perks up. You could write a demonic horror story…
The open drawer reveals a collection of store receipts, assorted whisks, and a knife.
>GET ALL FROM DRAWER
receipts: You can’t allow your spouse to see those.
whisks: The whisks form an immovable tangle, a vision of metallic kudzu, invincible and taunting.
(with the knife)
The knife makes swift, clean slices through the ruby flesh. You imagine how such a weapon would fare against a hedge of metallic kudzu.
Spouse: “Really? On the floor?”
Spouse: “Get to that onion!”
(with the nasty knife)
Spouse: “You can’t use that, this floor is filthy!”
>WASH NASTY KNIFE
Water cascades in dual waterfalls around the blade of the knife.
>CUT ONION WITH KNIFE
Your grip on the wet knife fails. You deftly flip your wrist and the errant blade executes a single flip and lands back in your outstretched palm.
You dry off the handle and instinctively flip the knife around once more.
A vision of jungle adventures in a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk universe has entered the room.
Spouse: “Seriously, any time now!!!”
>CUT ONION WITH KNIFE
Before you can cut, a tribe of cannibals enters your mental scene, swinging handfuls of the wickedly sharp metal kudzu vine in a terrible arc of terror and menace.
You are energized and horribly distracted.
It has been 1,839 moves since your last creative work.
>PUT CHICKEN IN OVEN
Done. You feel like you forgot something. The imaginary tribesmen cheer your success and you perform a double flip of knife to show off.
You wisely put down the knife before you accidentaly decapitate someone.
Your spouse pulls back, noticing a familiar gleam in your eye.
Spouse: “Oh crap. You’re going to your office, aren’t you?”
The tribesmen in your head follow you.
(Disclaimer: The oft-distracted author of this entry has never forgotten his children at the store or at school, but if anyone has seen his car keys, please respond!)