you fall. you scratch your arm. at first, it is a little bloody but the skin tore at surface-level only. then the wound festers. pus and blood oozes out and your skin rots and rots away and your bone can be seen. when it pierces right in your bone, you could not feel anything, for your nerves are already gone. somewhere far away, a heavy load is cut by the rope and gravity stretches out its arms and pulls and pulls the load closer and closer until it slams into your heart like a freight train.
oh, that hurt.
it is a shocking realisation: climbing up the tower, reassuring yourself that the final boss will come soon and it will all be over – it will all be worth it – only to find out that
there was no final boss.
there was never a final boss.
how can you win against creatures that don’t die?
you still fought valiantly, though. with every stroke you write and every key you typed, you felt like you managed to severe a limb. but there are two problems: first, each mutilated limb regenerates into two and second, you are battling against an army.
you had comrades with you. one left because it was too straining; the other faded away like something one would call a “force of nature”. one joined but then realised they, too, had creatures of their own to fight, and soon deserted.
you have two left and you turn around but wait a minute, why are they gone?
for every level you conquer, for every creature you subdue, you are sure you would reach the top one day. and you are getting more efficient and intelligent and you thought you would make it! but as you battle with the intent of defeating the final boss, without there being being a final boss, you realise you are still trapped in that dungeon, just sluggishly pulling yourself forward, pushing yourself higher; just s u r v i v i n g.
when will this all end?
it’s an endless tower, and the only way to go it up.