This is a piece of writing that I did, inspired by the amazing game Disco Elysium. How does someone not copy, but remain inspired by a piece of art that truly moved them, truly made them think, and truly made them fall in love with the characters of a fictional world? You take what you love and apply it to what you know.
“Decision Points” was dreamed up to make something unique. The first piece I made wasn’t created for the right reasons; I wasn’t inspired, I wasn’t committed to the world, and it came across. However, it did teach me. It made me learn how to write, and realized that AI writing is devoid of any specific opinions for or against anything.
What do I need to do now? To explore the limitations of what is possible with simply a piece of paper, dice, a pencil, imagination, and the willingness to get everything absolutely, incredibly incorrect. Out of your brain emerges a character, a voice, an objective, and a background. Not all at once, but little by little, this character climbs out of your brain and infuses itself into letters written by hand. The character is divisive, the character dislikes, the character loves, and the character moves. That’s because the character is a reflection of the person writing it.
Of Rust and Rats
Who the fuck do you even think you are?
A hero?
Jesus Christ cut me a break.
You’re a stupid fucking idiot. What were you even thinking, being the big bollocked hero, coming to save the day?
Now the world itself is upside down. Literally. I mean, if the last moment of your life is to watch the putrid river Avon smash into your eye sockets, so be it. I mean it was a life lived, just not fantastically. Why didn’t you even learn how to swim? Heroes know how to swim.
“Alright Mr Twat, I’m gonna be alright this once, usually I would’ve dropped you, but I want to return the kindness to the world.” – A voice loosely holding one of your ankles.
This dudes quite flamboyant for being a gangster.
“But, stop digging in our shit. You leave us alone; we leave you alone. You know mind your business, and that”
With that your hoisted, feet first upwards, shirt pulling itself over your head, your chest scraping on the granite stone work. For a moment, the world itself is right way up again, but you quickly fall to your hands and knees, taking quick, shallow breaths. Your vision spins, and you see dancing little white dots in your vision. You take a deep breath, the smell of your pissed pants fucking stinks.
Considering you nearly died, pissed pants isn’t too much of a problem. You tilt your head up to look at the thugs who just dangled over a 70-foot drop. Welp, watching the three, pretty content-looking swaggers, drift away from you really makes you consider what the actual fuck you’re trying to achieve. But the first question is what to do now? I suppose go back to the room and have a shower.
You slide open the door. Mrs Alcott was waiting by the door again. Like a goddam hawk, but instead of looking for a tasty snack of a rabbit or a sausage, she’s looking for any shit that has stuck to your shoe in case you walk it all over the BnB again.
She stands in front of you, pointing to your shoes, just in case you didn’t know where your feet were. “Take your shoes off and put them on the rack… What is that smell?” Her gaze looks upwards, towards your general groin area,
“Smells like fox…” now definitely having spotted the big piss stain.
“Oh…” She slowly turns with a look that you can only describe as utter confusion, with a little hint of needing to puke. There is no comeback for this. You are a fully grown man standing in the hall way covered in your own urinal.
“It’s raining outside.” You project your voice just enough so Mrs Alcott can hear as she walks away,
“Mmmh Hmmm” Mrs Alcott give you that ‘yeah right’ sort of hum back.
“Room 4,” she says, her voice like a closing casket. “If I smell urine on the mattress, Mr. Adams, I will put you out on the street myself.”
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