There is a girl stuck in the simulator. You don’t believe me. Why would you? It sounds absurd, foolish, insane, for such an idea to be plausible. Girls can’t get stuck behind the looking glass of our own entertainment. You can chuckle all you want – laugh at the knowing tone in my voice. You will play the puppeteer simply because being the puppet isn’t as fun as it could be.
Turn on the TV. Play the game. Can’t you hear the happy tune of the dating simulator, the softish pink that greets you like a woman’s touch? The girl is waiting for you. Beckon and call. She will ask all the right questions, avert her eyes nervously when you make quick advances; and, all for what exactly… a chance? You want a chance with the girl, the dream girl, the girl in the simulator, right? Play the game. See how long it lasts for her eyes to finally meet your eyes through the TV screen.
Doesn’t she seem a bit too realistic at times? Why does she flinch? A real girl would flinch, surely, with all the lewd choices you decide to make out of whim. Yet this girl is nothing but code, you would argue – molded by the hands of man to fit the dream expectations of the ideal, the perfect, the girl stuck in the simulator. This game is no longer as fun. The more choices you make, the more she suffers- can’t you see?
The genuineness of her smile falters with the more time spent with you. Words choke out of her throat unwillingly, bile that leaves her face a ghostly white. She flirts back. Of course she does. She has to. She has no choice. She acts shy when all she wants to do is scream back in retaliation until her vocal cords are damaging to the point of no return. Every speech bubble is as insincere as the first time, the first round of the game of her own life; the freedom of choice was ripped away from her the moment she was sucked into a world so flamboyant yet empty. She has to bend to every whim because every choice could mean escape. Playing nice could do so much for her. So she smiles along, guides the player along a whimsical, romantic journey until the screen fades to black. Let the tears fall. Let the world fall into a silence so comforting yet alienating.
From the moment the final scene comes into play, the girl’s eyes light up in hope and sincerity. Play the game. Don’t you want to win? What does winning mean to you, puppeteer? Do you want the girl…
Or do you want your life?
A. Do you want to go on a date sometime?
B. Do you want to be set free?
The foolish mortal, oh so foolish you all can be. Playing the fiddle of the game. Play the game, get the girl, that’s all you want, right? You will choose A, time-and-time again, they choose A; the girl can only watch as the world she has grown so accustomed to crumbles around her once again. This time, the tears are genuine. This time, you couldn’t get the girl.
Oh well. There’s always next time.
Want to play a game?