>>5723687Pigma’s fists clench. “Fuck that.” He grumbles. “I screwed over squadmates for a SHOT at something like power. And what did it get me? A disgraced reputation among mercs, and two million. I’m a failure at worst and a sellout at best! At some point, I gotta settle into the cycle and stop taking big contracts from wackos, like YOU!”
“Have hope, Pigma Dengar…”
“Hope for what? Is hope how you can walk through a sandstorm like it’s a dance floor on Saturday night?”
“I simply hope to be the image in my mind’s eye… Ooh, that’s overcomplicating it. Think of it like how a child plays pretend, when we’re adults, fantasy is seen as a delusion. But is hope not that? A fantasy?”
“Andross had a fantasy, and it fucked up all of Lylat! I’m a REALIST!”
“With a good understanding of what is fantasy and what is reality, we can, like any part of our world, exploit our own perceptions… Imagine you’re forging a new path. That this place holds nothing, but is exactly where you want to be. Why? What’s out there? Beyond the storm? What are you hoping is out there?”
Pigma takes a deep breath through his nose, and begins to push harder through the wind. “Can hope get me paid faster?” Kick, push. “Can hope get me a mercenary team who aren’t completely fucking insane?” Step, crash. “Can hope get the C.A. off my ass!?” Shuffle, leap. “Can hope get me FIVE. MORE. MILES!?”
As the final word left his mouth, the vision cleared, the old buildings where the remaining townsfolk held their shelter from the storm were gone. The pair stood now in front of a modest homestead as the storm raged on ahead of them. Present, but passed.
Pigma stared, speechless.
“Hope can make five miles feel like half of one… Hope for a better future aligns a wind to bring it to you. But purpose…” The director laughed. “Heheh, purpose can dispel the system. The images of everyone else’s hopes, they all battle for the spotlight, and purpose is a weapon to make your hope the last one standing…” He took a breath of finally clear air as the last rustled pebbles fell flat on the ground. “And… Scene…”
“Damn… Did… Did we really walk that far?” Pigma muttered.
The director looked around, spying a facade of a tree, long dead, but with some wooden planks bolted to the upper section of its canopy to create shade. He held his fingers up like a screen, placing the house up ahead into its aspect ratio, setting the next scene perfectly.
“Stand in the shade.” He ordered. “When you see me open the window curtains, that’s your cue to come in… Until then…” He turned away and adjusted his tie once again. “Stay OUT of my shot…”
Pigma blinked, remembering to take his goggles off as he nodded and made his way to the safe haven from the heat.
(Continued…)
