We use the hands to store the berries. We clasp them just so, backing away from the pile of other berries. Goodbye. Farewell. Outside of the hand, they are lost to us.
Now only the berries in our hands remain. If one berry falls it is forsaken. We use the hands to cling so that the berries are not lost and gone forever. We use the hands in this way until the berries are become dust. Until that dust is absorbed by the skin in the hands.
We use the hands to shred PHONE BILL. We know not where PHONE BILL originated, nor do we know what it means. These are matters of some philosophical debate. Some say the entire subject is out of our hands.
We use the hands to feed PHONE BILL to the shredder, for this is all that can be done with such an object.
We use the hands to store the eggs. We do this to attract fornication partners. The hands hold objects of lust. One egg means woohoo. Two eggs means try for baby. Three eggs means woohoo in bushes.
During the act of intimacy we use the hands to keep hold of the eggs. If an egg is dropped from a hand the love act changes according to the reduced number of eggs. If the number of eggs reaches zero we disengage and shred PHONE BILL.
We use the hands to rub the sand on our faces. We mustn't stop or the beauty will fade. At night the hands rest and the beauty fades a small amount. The next day we use the hands to scrub the sand more vigorously.
We use the hands to hold the rice. Our hands do this when no berries are available. We rush to the berry pile in a panic. The grains of rice absorb sweat from the hands, the smell of desperation.
The rice forms a heart in the hands. This pattern is meaningless. We discard it the moment berries are within grasp.
We use the hands to pin other humans' tops in place. We place the hands on the shoulders and the fabric does not fall.
We stand, linked, each human placing the hands on the shoulders of two people. A top has never fallen. Movies have been made about this. A flag waves. Majestic music swells. We give ourselves to the act, and salute those whose lives are consumed, discarded for the noble purpose without having pursued their dreams.
There are no other uses for the hands. Those humans who childishly dream for more are not practical. They are seen as little better than PHONE BILL.
While designing this space, I imagined David Fincher being forced to recreate the music video for Nine Inch Nails' Closer in a haunted gas station bathroom.
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My game is funded. Now I know everything.
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