Ishita Dubey, Angela Hu.
Raindrops continue to beat down on a chihuahua-sized stone statue of a duck, perched in the corner of my backyard. Over the years, the white paint has eroded away in several places -- most notably on the wings and by the chest -- revealing patches of gray rock beneath. From a distance, it looks as if this duck is not of stone but of feathers, as if it could take off at any instance. Yet at the same time, there is a shadow looming over it. A shadow that was not there before. The plum tree besides it has reached higher towards the sky than in previous years. The weeds at its feet have grown rampant and hide sets of webbed toes. The fence guarding its backside has tilted, nearly toppled, from the howling winds and the rattling and rustling of jolly termites. On this day, the gray sky casts an extra layer of shadows over this gloomy corner. If you were to walk up to this petrified creature and inspect its crevices and crannies, you would notice a fissure around its neck, as if an angry child had kicked its head in rage and Superglued it back on at a slightly crooked angle. When the sun sets, you cannot see it at all. It fades out of sight, out of memory.
There are two reasons we have chosen to write this morose description.
One is to paint a vivid picture of the life of a Spoons player. You are all living duck statues. Once fresh, optimistic, ready to take on the world. But over time broken down and weathered. Your perspectives and spirits turned darker. Your energy was displaced by fear and exhaustion. Slowly, you begin fading, fading, fading. Until, eventually, you are forgotten.
Two is that we're really running out ideas on what to write on slow days in Spoons. Especially since we didn't obtain any photos today. Bear with us, please.
Angela is an excellent example of this “duck statue” idea, someone whose energy seems to have been drained. As she was walking out to the parking lot, she was apparently behind her killer but neither of them were aware. One of her friends said, “Hey, Angela!” The killer turned around in surprise, saw that Angela wasn't holding a spoon because she was texting, and just walked back and put a sticker on her. According to the killer, Angela just looked down and said, “lol rip.” A truly emotionally-charged phrase. If we made tombstones for each person who died, that's what hers would say. Her last words in Spoons. We couldn't have said it better ourselves.
We'll try our best to keep this blog strange and interesting. When the kills aren't scintillating stories themselves, it's up to us to twist them into something eyebrow-raising. We'll be experimenting with new ideas whenever we get the opportunity (and have the energy), so stay tuned. Until next time!