You wake up years later. No time has passed. You still find yourself trapped within the same stagnant moment. The repetition of a monotonous routine has sedated all your passions. A once unfamiliar ceiling has blossomed with mold. It seems the only thing left permeable is in your perception of things and the erosion of a belief. That we are capable, and able, to carve the future. That through desire alone we can dance even among the stars.

It is no longer aspiration that drives your feet. You used to like being here, did you not? Among the company of these friends? You must have at some point… for why else did you choose to walk beside them, now so very long ago? They at least seem to be at ease with your company. And it bothers you not comprehending why? They don’t really know you at all! Nor honestly do you really acknowledge them. Circumstance and a shared purpose brought you together, and naively you thought maybe that was all that was necessary. Through simply existing in the same space, you would passively form connection. To feel and know, and be felt and known. Yet all this time spent and all you feel is a disconcerting nausea. A sickness of the heart. Melancholia. It would be best for everyone for you to quarantine and isolate yourself, lest you infect those around you with this contagion.

But your presence is expected. Mandated and all too necessary. You made that choice in being here, and now you must commit to it. They have invested far too much in indulging your presence. And there are no longer any alternatives. For you had so selfishly denied them the opportunity to find someone else. Someone who they would care to know and touch. Someone complete. Anyone other than you. But it is too late now. This desert highway has no forks or stops. So now they are stuck here in eternity with you. The very least you can do is be grateful.

Why is it that they are smiling still? Do they not see that your mirrored expression is forced? Are they really so blind to be deceived through masquerade? Or are they also equally aware of this farce and deliberately choosing not to acknowledge it? Perhaps they too indulge in such thoughts? If so, then who is this performance even for? For what purpose do we seek to enforce conformity through appeasing each other? Is it to distract ourselves as we continue this slow march towards an inevitable and unglamorous demise? No, their smile is sincere. They must find some value within this torment. So, continue to persist in it you shall.

You walk once again through the labyrinth of identical yet upsettingly distinguishable hallways. Ignoring all of it’s useless branches. Every crevice in this space thoroughly explored, every door… except for the one directly behind you. You refuse to acknowledge it. To even consider such an escape. Not just because you believe it is foolish to try. No, it is the diametric outcome in which you fear. That once you leave you will never be able to come back. And accept it never was some exterior force which entrapped you.

(“START AGAIN: a prologue” is a proof of concept, and now accompanying piece, to the more fully realised game “In Stars and Time”. By the very nature of this relationship, one could (correctly) infer that they are similar experiences, with the later work being an extension of the former. I write on the prologue however because it possesses qualities which I connected with more. It is a much more concise and focused experience and by its very nature as a ‘pilot’ falls under no obligation to present to you a compelling answer to the questions which it raises. To me this more open-ended and ‘incomplete’ statement I find much more compelling, as it provokes an engagement from its players, through being left in wanting we consider the idea more thoroughly. I recommend the prologue to those who are ‘stuck in time’. And if you can indulge a belief in possible escape, perhaps the main game too.)