The cook consists of pixels. carefully tied together on the low resolution screen. pink and yellow and black. grey and white. with his white fluffy cook’s hat. he is sweaty, fat and bald. he’s got a white apron. and he keeps running back and forth on the 2d screen. towards the door on the left and then back towards the boiling pot on the right. his mouth keeps moving. open and close, as if to talk. and his words appear on top of the screen we’re in.
I’m standing to the left near the entrance door. my pixels are pink and blue and purple. black and white. and I have long blonde hair, tied at the back. with a white shirt, black baggy pants and long boots. My open coat has buttons -lots of buttons- all in a row on one side. And my chest is open and forward -like a young aspiring sailor. or like a hero. I AM the hero. I look up at the man’s words on the screen. The stream of words is too fast for my adolescent brain to catch. He is in distress though, and he seems to be looking for something. I can tell from his body language. I’m looking for something too. I need to man my ship. My ship will sail to the island. And I will find my treasure. And, something tells me, this man, or this room, has what I need.
I reach for the broom. Can’t say why I need it. But it seems to be there for the taking. I reach; the cook objects. He stops walking and pours more words on top of the screen. Better put it back. Then there’s the various cut-off fish heads and what seem to be severed tentacles on the kitchen counter. I reach for those. But then they’re too smelly, and don’t want to touch them -apparently. The room is full of other weird shiny objects too, none of which seem to be accessible to me. Like I would love to see what’s in those colorful containers on the shelves, that are on top of the stove, or to open the wooden barrel sitting next to the entrance door. But for whatever reason, those are outside my sphere of influence. as if to be simply part of the scenery. Still, I won’t get discouraged, because I know: it’s the broom I want.
So then, what does the cook really want? What’s he complaining about anyway? I look again at the words on top of the screen. right on top of my head. English words and sentences are not my specialty. not yet anyway. “book”, “cook book”. But where… Wait… I do have a book in my bag, or rather in my pocket (anyway, I have it with me.) click. drag. drop it right on top of the cook’s face. His demeanor changes. the book appears on the counter. he’s flipping through pages, reading recipes. now he’s reaching for ingredients from the shelves. 8-bit clicks and clacks of pots and pans. he adds more stuff to the stew. he stirs. and he seems content. more words appear on top of our heads. Oh yes, he is really happy! things are moving along. the food is ready. I know: he is going to serve it to the old pirates in the hall outside the door! And before you know it, food tray in hand, he leaves through the door on the left. Didn’t even think twice about leaving me alone with his kitchen. That was brilliant!
The question is, can I now reach for the broom? I reach. The broom is no longer there, and now, it’s in my pocket.