Welcome, fellow Tropers! Inspired by BlackWolfe’s 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 Let’s Play, but at least that means I know what I’m doing. Also sadly, I won’t be uploading pictures or videos of my playthough, but you can always try the game out for yourself. It’s pretty short, all things considered, but I think it’s definitely worth some time.
The game has a simplistic opening; a few logos representing the guys that made the game, and then the words “Every day the same dream” written in white on a black background. Below it are the words “Click to start” and “arrows + space to play”. 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), let’s change the format and let our ‘protagonist’ step into the spotlight…
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Hello. My name is of no importance. All that you need to know is that, every day, I have the exact same dream. It’s been this way for years now, and it’s about time I told somebody about my problem…
It begins in an apartment I’ve grown accustomed to calling home. I’m already out of bed, standing in nothing but my underwear. There’s music in the background…light jazz, perhaps? I see that the light on the alarm’s still flashing, but turning it off doesn’t stop the music. It turns out that the music seems to follow me wherever I go in these dreams. I actually think it’s kind of catchy, but I’m probably a ‘square’ to you teenage ‘hip cats’, 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 I’ll be late for work if I don’t hurry. The telly’s 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. It’s odd to hear life advice coming from people you don’t really know, but she’s 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 doesn’t take long to reach the parking garage; from there, I’m 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 it’s the end of autumn, or the tree is dead and nobody’s 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 company’s doing quite well, all things considered.
And then…the 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 I’ve got ‘identity issues’, 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, I’m back home, standing in my underwear. I can’t even remember driving back home. I shut off the alarm, and after putting on my business suit, my honey says that I’m late again. And as I leave the apartment, again, I can’t help but worry. I’ve gone through this so many times, experiencing the same events, it’s 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 isn’t the first time I’ve told myself this. But I desperately want it to be the last.
