Darkside55
The Freeman
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2009
- Messages
- 12,083
- Reaction score
- 90
I don't know how they got in. Well, no, I know how they got in, but I'm still trying to come to grips with it. You see, HL2.net, they walked right in through my door. Not through the door, but THROUGH the door.
They were ghosts.
The first of them introduced himself to me as Past. I will henceforth refer to this spirit as "he," but in truth I cannot be sure what gender it was. I could not discern the gender of this spirit; it was rather like being visited by Bridget from Guilty Gear, although not nearly as hot, nor initially as welcome. 'He' was also of indeterminate age, looking at all times youthful yet weathered by the ages. He stepped forward and greeted me, and I, already plied with copious amounts of egg nog, gave season's greetings back:
"WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON HOW IN GOD'S NAME I DON'T EVEN WHAT IN THE FUCK..."
And this went on for several minutes, during which they graciously allowed me my string of obscenities as I came to terms with what I was seeing. They even took it good-naturedly when, at one point, I threatened to "get Egon Spengler and all them guys" down to my house pronto.
At some point Past interjected, and told me they were there to show me things I needed to see. He took my hand, and suddenly we were away.
The scene shifted, more accurately, from my house to an apartment I once occupied long ago--two decades to the date, in fact. Ah, I was four again, and this was my most treasured Christmas. There I was on the floor with my parents, sitting in front of a 'tree' made out of lights strung on the wall. We were too poor to even afford a Christmas tree, you see, too poor to afford much of anything. Nevertheless, it was the happiest memory I have of the holiday, because even though all I got was a sweater, it was the one time I can remember Christmas being about the company of those you love, rather than the gifts they give.
Past allowed me to stay and watch that scene, before saying we had to be going. I asked if he'd let me stop off at another point in the past, to a day when I got the shit kicked out of me in third grade so I could administer some Old Man Justice, but he said that was out of the scope of his abilities and we said no more of it.
Present was next. I declined making the obvious pun, because I figured he's probably heard that several times and I didn't want him getting violent. I was still feeling that egg nog, and even if I hadn't been I don't know if I could've taken a ghost. Dude looked like a real man's man, too, all red-bearded and green robed, carrying a torch that doubled as a horn. At first I thought he was a viking come to send me on a Valhalla vacation, but mercifully he was just there to show me things about how I spend Christmas these days.
The scene did not shift this time. Instead, we simply walked from my living room into one of the rooms I keep as a designated computer room, where, surreally, I viewed myself hanging out on forums and imageboards. I was secretly glad we had not arrived later in the night, when I would probably be found with my pants around my ankles and my 5.1 surround system blaring moans that'd wake the neighbors.
No, I was simply trawling the interwebs, doing nothing much at all but talking to people who, like me, had decided to eschew time with the family for time spent in front of a monitor and keyboard. Again we stayed for a little, then we walked back to my living room.
The third spirit stepped up and did not offer his hand, nor words; for he had no mouth to speak them from, and his hands were naught but bone. He pointed to me, then pointed beyond me, and I thought he was trying to do charades.
"First word, behind?"
He held up his hand.
"Stop?"
He put his hand over his face.
"Captain Picard?"
He glared at me, if a thing without eyes is able to glare, and he glided past me, bidding me to follow.
We were, again, in my computer room, watching myself on the internet talking to people. I thought for a moment that the spirit was in error, that he'd taken Present's schtick, but upon closer inspection I was older, my eyes lined and my temples graying. Here I was, years later, doing the exact same thing with my Christmases: spending them on the internets. It sobered whatever egg nog was left in my system. I nodded to the spirit of Christmas Future, and he led me back out.
The spirits, as one, faced me and nodded, then went back out the door the way they'd come. They had left me wondering.
And I wondered for a long time.
And I came to the conclusion that what they showed me wasn't all that bad. In truth, I spend a few hours with family on Christmas Eve and Christmas day, and my family has a Christmas breakfast every year that occurs about a week or two before, but the majority of my time these days is spent on the internet with a bunch of people I don't really know (and some people I do know IRL, but mainly communicate to online). I spend Christmas on the internet.
Yet that isn't such a bad thing; in fact, I rather enjoy it. To all of you whom I've spent the past four years with, and with my friends on one particular board I've spent another four years with, and all the people I know from IRC that I have known for nearly a decade now, you people are like my extended family. I shall never have the pleasure of meeting most of you, but nonetheless I consider you kin to me, and though it is over keyboard and monitor, phoneline and cable, tcp/ip, I am spending the holidays with people I enjoy.
Which is the most important reason to celebrate the season.
Merry Christmas, Halflife2.net.
They were ghosts.
The first of them introduced himself to me as Past. I will henceforth refer to this spirit as "he," but in truth I cannot be sure what gender it was. I could not discern the gender of this spirit; it was rather like being visited by Bridget from Guilty Gear, although not nearly as hot, nor initially as welcome. 'He' was also of indeterminate age, looking at all times youthful yet weathered by the ages. He stepped forward and greeted me, and I, already plied with copious amounts of egg nog, gave season's greetings back:
"WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON HOW IN GOD'S NAME I DON'T EVEN WHAT IN THE FUCK..."
And this went on for several minutes, during which they graciously allowed me my string of obscenities as I came to terms with what I was seeing. They even took it good-naturedly when, at one point, I threatened to "get Egon Spengler and all them guys" down to my house pronto.
At some point Past interjected, and told me they were there to show me things I needed to see. He took my hand, and suddenly we were away.
The scene shifted, more accurately, from my house to an apartment I once occupied long ago--two decades to the date, in fact. Ah, I was four again, and this was my most treasured Christmas. There I was on the floor with my parents, sitting in front of a 'tree' made out of lights strung on the wall. We were too poor to even afford a Christmas tree, you see, too poor to afford much of anything. Nevertheless, it was the happiest memory I have of the holiday, because even though all I got was a sweater, it was the one time I can remember Christmas being about the company of those you love, rather than the gifts they give.
Past allowed me to stay and watch that scene, before saying we had to be going. I asked if he'd let me stop off at another point in the past, to a day when I got the shit kicked out of me in third grade so I could administer some Old Man Justice, but he said that was out of the scope of his abilities and we said no more of it.
Present was next. I declined making the obvious pun, because I figured he's probably heard that several times and I didn't want him getting violent. I was still feeling that egg nog, and even if I hadn't been I don't know if I could've taken a ghost. Dude looked like a real man's man, too, all red-bearded and green robed, carrying a torch that doubled as a horn. At first I thought he was a viking come to send me on a Valhalla vacation, but mercifully he was just there to show me things about how I spend Christmas these days.
The scene did not shift this time. Instead, we simply walked from my living room into one of the rooms I keep as a designated computer room, where, surreally, I viewed myself hanging out on forums and imageboards. I was secretly glad we had not arrived later in the night, when I would probably be found with my pants around my ankles and my 5.1 surround system blaring moans that'd wake the neighbors.
No, I was simply trawling the interwebs, doing nothing much at all but talking to people who, like me, had decided to eschew time with the family for time spent in front of a monitor and keyboard. Again we stayed for a little, then we walked back to my living room.
The third spirit stepped up and did not offer his hand, nor words; for he had no mouth to speak them from, and his hands were naught but bone. He pointed to me, then pointed beyond me, and I thought he was trying to do charades.
"First word, behind?"
He held up his hand.
"Stop?"
He put his hand over his face.
"Captain Picard?"
He glared at me, if a thing without eyes is able to glare, and he glided past me, bidding me to follow.
We were, again, in my computer room, watching myself on the internet talking to people. I thought for a moment that the spirit was in error, that he'd taken Present's schtick, but upon closer inspection I was older, my eyes lined and my temples graying. Here I was, years later, doing the exact same thing with my Christmases: spending them on the internets. It sobered whatever egg nog was left in my system. I nodded to the spirit of Christmas Future, and he led me back out.
The spirits, as one, faced me and nodded, then went back out the door the way they'd come. They had left me wondering.
And I wondered for a long time.
And I came to the conclusion that what they showed me wasn't all that bad. In truth, I spend a few hours with family on Christmas Eve and Christmas day, and my family has a Christmas breakfast every year that occurs about a week or two before, but the majority of my time these days is spent on the internet with a bunch of people I don't really know (and some people I do know IRL, but mainly communicate to online). I spend Christmas on the internet.
Yet that isn't such a bad thing; in fact, I rather enjoy it. To all of you whom I've spent the past four years with, and with my friends on one particular board I've spent another four years with, and all the people I know from IRC that I have known for nearly a decade now, you people are like my extended family. I shall never have the pleasure of meeting most of you, but nonetheless I consider you kin to me, and though it is over keyboard and monitor, phoneline and cable, tcp/ip, I am spending the holidays with people I enjoy.
Which is the most important reason to celebrate the season.
Merry Christmas, Halflife2.net.
