Welcome, fellow Tropers! Inspired by BlackWolfeís Liveblog of Gravity Duck, I decided to search the Art Games section of Newgrounds for something interesting to do during the holiday season. I quickly stumbled across an interesting one called Every Day The Same Dream. Sadly, this will not be a blind Letís Play, but at least that means I know what Iím doing. Also sadly, I wonít be uploading pictures or videos of my playthough, but you can always try the game out for yourself. Itís pretty short, all things considered, but I think itís definitely worth some time.
The game has a simplistic opening; a few logos representing the guys that made the game, and then the words ďEvery day the same dreamĒ written in white on a black background. Below it are the words ďClick to startĒ and ďarrows + space to playĒ. And since I already do enough narration of events in my other kinda-active Liveblog (which is also about altering a cycle, come to think of it), letís change the format and let our Ďprotagonistí step into the spotlightÖ
Hello. My name is of no importance. All that you need to know is that, every day, I have the exact same dream. Itís been this way for years now, and itís about time I told somebody about my problemÖ
It begins in an apartment Iíve grown accustomed to calling home. Iím already out of bed, standing in nothing but my underwear. Thereís music in the backgroundÖlight jazz, perhaps? I see that the light on the alarmís still flashing, but turning it off doesnít stop the music. It turns out that the music seems to follow me wherever I go in these dreams. I actually think itís kind of catchy, but Iím probably a Ďsquareí to you teenage Ďhip catsí, or whatever the current lingo is.
I walk to my wardrobe, put on my suit, and walk into the next room. My wife is there, wishing me a good morning and warning me that Iíll be late for work if I donít hurry. The tellyís flashing a multitude of colors, more like an emergency test signal than any actual channel, so I shut the darn thing off before it gives my hunny-bunch a seizure. I then leave, walk up to the elevator, press the call button, and wait.
It always takes a mere few seconds to get to my floor, despite the trip downwards being a lengthy one. An old woman accompanies me on the way down, saying that I need to take five steps to become a different person. Itís odd to hear life advice coming from people you donít really know, but sheís just a little old lady, so I humor her and smile in her direction. Soon, I reach the first floor, and find myself standing outside of my building. It doesnít take long to reach the parking garage; from there, Iím on the road, caught in the morning traffic.
I persevere, of course, and reach the skyscraper that I work in. I dash past the lone tree outside of it; judging by the single orange leaf, either itís the end of autumn, or the tree is dead and nobodyís bothered to cut the thing down. I greet my boss, who just informs me of my lateness and points me towards my cubicle. Judging by a graph on the wall, the companyís doing quite well, all things considered.
And thenÖthe walk. It always seems like a long march, past sixteen identical cubicles, each with somebody working in them. And each and every one of them looks just like me. A psychologist would probably tell me Iíve got Ďidentity issuesí, but all I get when going down that path is the chills. A feeling of relief passes over me when I reach my cubicle, since it allows me to just blend in with everyone else and ignore such uncomfortable thoughts.
But next thing I know, Iím back home, standing in my underwear. I canít even remember driving back home. I shut off the alarm, and after putting on my business suit, my honey says that Iím late again. And as I leave the apartment, again, I canít help but worry. Iíve gone through this so many times, experiencing the same events, itís actually getting hard to tell if my dreams ever stop and when my real life begins. I tell myself that I need to do something, anything, to get out of this rut. This isnít the first time Iíve told myself this. But I desperately want it to be the last.