Monday, January 25, 2010
Finding poetry in the Zombie Apocalypse
When I sat down to show our handiwork off on Facebook (did I tell you about my video life support system?) I asked Ben, “So, what’s the story with the first aid kit?” He told me that in the game if you have this kit in your possession (you earn it or find it or something along those lines) you can take it to your injured compadres and…well…when you give it to them you heal them.
You heal them. You heal them.
I mean, that about took my breath away. Not the game’s kit, really. Games are full of health points and tokens and objects of one sort or another. No, what stopped me in my tracks was the power of the object.
Harry had created something so poetic, a ritual object of a teenager that was probably about as perfect a symbol of his desire for his friend and his brother to be better as he could have designed. And in addition, his giving of that original, handcrafted gift was also a symbol, and more powerful and significant than anything he could have given them. It made them laugh (yes, James plays the game as well, of course) and smile. Ben sleeps with his already. James put his on his bed.
But the part that sticks with me is the irony. Out of blood and gore and the zombie apocalypse, this. Who would’ve guessed?