O-O the ending o-o
Reviews for "33"
Oh I definitely get the message here. I liked that you kinda knew the inevitability of things but still left you guessing. Just how long does the.... ending.... go for? (I was trying not to spoil it.)
Basically life. The button was only difficult to push the first time, I'm a monster.
You start with nothing. Nothing but a room and a noose around your neck. But why would you hang? You've done nothing wrong. You're not wearing prisoner's garb, you're just alone in a uniform. You're a number. You're just there. But the tally is above the door, at zero for some reason, and the TV is there. You watch it, and while there are a couple of nondescript images, you also see someone else. Someone like you. But they have a magazine on the floor. You may not even notice it at first, but that's something. You also see a button. You don't even know what you're doing, so you press the button. The other person is hanged.
You didn't realize what you've done, but before you know it you have a magazine on the floor. And the tally above the door is at 100. You're still not sure what's going on, but you have a magazine now so you look at it. You see items inside, all with the number 33 next to them. You select an item and it's dropped into your room and the tally goes to 67. So you "earned" points for pressing a button. You stole someone's life, but you also stole access. Access to things. Access that they won't get. You're rewarded for your actions, almost like someone needs you to do it. Why else would they let you? Why else would everything be set up so that it's the only thing you can do? You get yourself a bed to have a place to rest, and a clock and calendar to mark the passage of time.
You select your items, explore them, but eventually get bored. And you could sit there, bored, but you wonder what else you could get. What else you can have access to. All you have to do is go to the TV, which is bombarding you with images of other people enjoying their prizes- their earnings. And then you see someone who has just a little bit more than you and you think, well, let me see what else I can get. It's not like they're even really taking advantage of what they have available to them. I could get way more than them. You fill out your space with some furniture. It's too empty in here.
So you press another button, another person goes away, and you get more credits added to your tally. You notice that it's the same 100 credits each time. No matter what the person has, they are only worth 100. And everything for which you can redeem those credits is only 33 credits. Almost like they have no intrinsic value. Whatever you acquire is whatever you desire. Some decorations would improve this space and make it feel more alive.
Before you can spend too much time thinking about what all this means, you see more images. Surely there are more advertisements, but there's also more propaganda. More images of war, poverty and strife, but also hope. Hope that comes with being a part of the system that has granted you these things. You could be out there, sad, cold, lonely, starving, deprived, and subject to the violence that comes with being outside of the safety of the room. Inside the room, you have whatever you want. Whatever you need. All you have to do is ask for it. Even if that means that someone else is harmed, that's not really your problem. You have to look out for yourself, and besides... you're not simply a number in a room. You're part of something bigger. It's your duty, perhaps even patriotic, to feed the machine. Maybe now you can indulge in a radio, a video game... you've earned it.
But you have the same noose around your neck. So why are you spared? At first, maybe it's because you're still nobody. People see you and you just have a couple things. Nothing worth stealing. Not even worth the credits to claim your head. Maybe they take pity on you and want you to at least make something of yourself first. Or perhaps you're being kept out of sight by your suppliers. After all, you don't know how they select those whom they show to you. You see the numbers above the screen. You know that you're one of many. Too many to imagine. So those are your options? You're either too pathetic to envy or too unnoticeable to hold up as an example to others. You're alive, but you're not living. You're just existing. What's so great about that? You redeem credits for things that would make you more comfortable.
It occurs to you that you see these other people and they all have the same stuff. You can't customize. You can't make your own things. There's no individuality. No uniqueness. This drives home that it's not what you acquire, but how much. When everyone has access to the same things, you can only do your part and make yourself secure and comfortable by getting more and more things. You seemingly ignore the fact that you're probably killing and stealing people's things, not by a person-to-person struggle for the basics necessary for survival, but by the cowardly method of pressing a button and letting some unknown force do the dirty work for you.
But it seems that no matter how much you buy, there's always someone who has more than you. And you keep trying to catch up but there is no catching up. Someone was faster than you, or has been at it longer than you- they just climbed over more people than you and they have stuff that you don't have. It doesn't even matter what it is. Do you really need a flower pot in a room with no sunlight? Why is that important- that other person has it and they must think they're better than you because they have more stuff and who the hell do they think they are?
So you kill and you steal, you take and you take, until you realize that there's nothing left to gain. Nothing left to get. You have everything you can imagine. You've "won." Hell, the TV isn't even showing you anyone else. Who could it show you? You're already at the top.
Except... all that means is that now you WILL be noticed. You will be envied. And the machine won't protect you. You can see the end coming, so you do the only thing you know how to do... you buy things. You get a bag, pack your things, and you finally decide to get the one thing you thought you hadn't needed before- a handle for the door to leave your room. Except that when you finally go to leave, the door opens and you find a brick wall.
You were a prisoner all along. Why else would you just be a number? Important people aren't numbers. They just let you think that you meant something, that you were significant to the overall health and well-being of this society. You weren't feeding the machine; the machine fed on you. Your job was to consume, and to eliminate competition. Competition for limited resources. Maybe the war wasn't even for any particular reason. Maybe there were just too man able-bodied people out and about and something was needed to cull the population.
But you didn't think about all that before. If you'd stayed small, not made yourself a target, not coveted what others had, you wouldn't be in this position. You were invincible when you were deprived. The room was only a safe haven when you entered into it with nothing. You brought the war in with you. You brought the war when you became a killer. So now you don't deserve to be safe. It makes sense, really.
You want this to be over. You want to get out. You want to not live with this dread- with the sword of Damocles over you by way of the noose that you can swear is tightening around your neck even though it's the same slack as it always was. Why won't this end? Why prolong this psychological torture? Why make this last any longer than it has to? Why won't anyone pick me? Why don't they look at me with jealousy in their eyes and rage in their hearts? Surely someone must notice me. Surely they must covet what I've acquired. Why won't they take it? Why won't they take me?
This goes on and on for an eternity, it seems. The seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks all melting together thanks to your mental breakdown. You don't even know what time it is anymore. You couldn't tell what you have in your cell, even though it's been staring you in the face the whole time. It's the same mindless, worthless crap.
Only now, for some reason, the TV is pulling up another soul. You recognize the logo. It's going to show you another prisoner. Someone else. Someone whose greed has doomed them. But you think, maybe this is a reprieve. Maybe... well, no one is doing me any favors, but what if I get rid of this person, and then don't spend any credits. That will break their little chain. The vacancy will be the undoing of the system.
You don't have nearly enough time to process the fact that you're staring into your own room. That you are on the monitor. That you are watching someone else vicariously murder you. All because you have possessions that they have and that you'd give them in a moment if it would but prolong your existence, or even be a means of escape.
But you're a prisoner, and you were sentenced the moment you bought in.
And as the life drains from your body, your vision goes blurry, you realize that this is really how you always saw your cell. You added things, but you never gained any clarity. Only now do you realize that the only way to survive the war was to never participate.
Only now, as you hang there with the last synapses firing in your brain, do you realize that you will die with nothing to your name or to your number. You killed for thousands of credits.
You see the five digit number above your television. But that's not your number.
Your number is 100.
And it's just been given to someone else.
Anda, esta la misma guitarra del Nongunz, buen juego Edu