The story of one character’s trip across the wastes…
Imagine for a moment – a book that writes itself. All you would need to be is that character, be placed in that world, have it be an interesting setting that you can interact with on many levels, and the ‘story’ would flow from that point. Fallout 3 is that ‘book’. Sure, you can follow the quests (whether main or side), but you don’t have to - there is tons to see and do aside from that. You might still stumble into the occasional quest that starts suddenly, but you can always back off – no one is forcing you do it, or even complete them.
I have played quite a bit of Fallout 3, and I suppose now is a good time for a review, although – maybe a bit late. I have also played Fallout 3 as a “good guy”, “bad gal” and a “neutral guy.” Bear in mind, I have had no experience with previous Fallout games, so I will not be making any sour whining noises about that, and how ‘it does not meet my sex fantasy expectations of what a dream game needs to be’ – blah, blah, blah.
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So there’s this fantastic new site you’ve just GOT to check out! It’s called Damn Short Stories , and it’s a combination of a personal blog and a Short Story site. It has a very interesting angle in that it focuses on stories that are only one page long, with the goal of presenting a high level of polish in the space of that one page. OK, OK, you caught me: it’s my site. While on occasion I’ve posted a personal blog or two here at the Ugly Baby Studios team site (sorry guys), from now on all my personal work and story work will appear on that site instead.
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It is now 4 days and 7 hours since my father passed away. As is always the case, more of reality has emerged and more facts revealed than anyone could have guessed, perhaps except for me, because I finally understood my father years ago. It’s that understanding that drove me away from him, and it’s that understanding that, I hear, now illuminates for others why I walked away.
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So this is it. The moment after the call came in. The moment after my dad has finally died. What is in this moment? I can’t call it pain. I certainly can’t call it joy. Confusion might be overkill. I know what this is:
It’s the end of a man to whom I desperately tried to connect as a child, and haven’t really even spoken to in 10 years. It’s not completely true, of course, the 10 year bit. I spoke to him for about 3 hours this past Christmas. I spoke to him two hours ago as my sister held the phone to his ear in the hospital as he lay in a coma, dying.
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The story of one character’s trip across the wastes…
