A whiny violin plays in the distance. It holds one note long enough to sting the ears with its shrill tone. Then it descends to a weepy cliff–ready to jump. While standing on the edge, it plays the same sad note over and over as the rain pours down.
A piano now accompanies the lonely violin on the edge. The piano speaks the rain’s language: a torrent of notes flow from its keys.
Moving closer, one can see the rain patters against a house’s window. A solitary drop trickles down the cheek of the glass rectangle. From the outside looking in, this tear seems to come from a video game console sitting in the living room.
Inside there is a drought because the console sits alone–not a soul in the world to play it. No, not even the fridge or dishwasher greet it with a hum. Now the dust bunnies are trying to consume it.
The console hasn’t played, and come to think of it, I haven’t played for a while. I’d use video games references to describe this drought, but it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten everything about them. I guess that’s it.
I have some time to play video games again. But a couple months ago, I was too busy to even think about games, and that’s what inspired this post. I wasn’t depressed then or now: I wanted to paint a picture of a depressed video game console in this post. No one would play with it after all.