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Literature Text
Nobody is watching her, she absently thinks, somewhere within the weight of the metal cube. Not even the bulk of the desks can hide it – the chairs are all empty.
It’s weird, given that the cameras follow her every move.
From there on, she never misses a single office. She studies the smooth windows whenever she meets them, catching what she can of the sorry sight just behind. Among the furniture, warped by the glass in alien ways, there is no human shape.
A heartbeat, and she dreams of breaking in. She yearns to see whatever is beyond, to reach out, maybe learn something more.
Diffidence will only get her this far. Even calling for help would be better than this silence.
But she can make it on her own, she boldly reminds herself, as bullets begin to whistle by and trim her hair. No point in seeking human contact where, certainly, none is left.
She always was enough for herself, and she will always be.
It becomes her cold mantra, on the ground or in flight, among the acid smokes that rise from below. Nothing will stop me after this, she repeats every time, steadily refusing to notice that it only gets worse.
She got far. She tries to focus on the idea, as she wades through the rare blood-red lights that break the darkness. Her efforts alone were surely enough.
But would they have been, without the arrows?
She drifts above, drifting into the holes of the crossfire, closer and closer to the last battle of the war. The oily metal all around makes her shiver. She is trapped in an endless steel tank – so vast, so high, so cold.
Most of all, it is lonely.
Even in the light of so many victories, it can’t be but discomforting.
That touch of wavering may not impair her courage, but it makes her reconsider what kept her alive this far. With all the denial she resorted to, she still can’t deny her fear of the unknown, and the way it crushes her bones to the ground.
She was not mistaken. The first thing about facing death is that you must be alone. Even before the promise of danger, every single word the machine says holds the icy breath of abandonment.
No matter what, to be left behind like that is always horrible. She feels that certainty weigh on her in a haze, just before she is thrown across the sky.
In the end, loneliness really gets to you.
And the monster at the heart of Aperture is its finest creation.
It’s weird, given that the cameras follow her every move.
From there on, she never misses a single office. She studies the smooth windows whenever she meets them, catching what she can of the sorry sight just behind. Among the furniture, warped by the glass in alien ways, there is no human shape.
A heartbeat, and she dreams of breaking in. She yearns to see whatever is beyond, to reach out, maybe learn something more.
Diffidence will only get her this far. Even calling for help would be better than this silence.
But she can make it on her own, she boldly reminds herself, as bullets begin to whistle by and trim her hair. No point in seeking human contact where, certainly, none is left.
She always was enough for herself, and she will always be.
It becomes her cold mantra, on the ground or in flight, among the acid smokes that rise from below. Nothing will stop me after this, she repeats every time, steadily refusing to notice that it only gets worse.
She got far. She tries to focus on the idea, as she wades through the rare blood-red lights that break the darkness. Her efforts alone were surely enough.
But would they have been, without the arrows?
She drifts above, drifting into the holes of the crossfire, closer and closer to the last battle of the war. The oily metal all around makes her shiver. She is trapped in an endless steel tank – so vast, so high, so cold.
Most of all, it is lonely.
Even in the light of so many victories, it can’t be but discomforting.
That touch of wavering may not impair her courage, but it makes her reconsider what kept her alive this far. With all the denial she resorted to, she still can’t deny her fear of the unknown, and the way it crushes her bones to the ground.
She was not mistaken. The first thing about facing death is that you must be alone. Even before the promise of danger, every single word the machine says holds the icy breath of abandonment.
No matter what, to be left behind like that is always horrible. She feels that certainty weigh on her in a haze, just before she is thrown across the sky.
In the end, loneliness really gets to you.
And the monster at the heart of Aperture is its finest creation.
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