The Hand
A hand stretches up towards you out of the darkness.
You’re not quite sure why; why you’re in near-total darkness, why there’s a hand there, why it’s at ankle height, stretching up.
Why you can’t actually make out the hole it’s stretching up from.
You feel fairly sure about the fact that it is actually stretching up from a hole. It could, of course, be a disembodied hand, in which case there is no hole, it’s just on the floor. But you feel pretty sure that is not the case. That’s probably for the best, sanity-wise.
You feel woozy nonetheless. You should be more concerned about the weirdness of this situation than you are – you are in near-pitch darkness, after all. You can feel the black mists imperceptibly penetrating, aimlessly drifting around your brain, gently swirling off of the inside of your cranium.
You look at the hand. It’s grasping, drunkenly almost, as if it has just sensed your presence. When did you get here, actually? Surely you didn’t just materialise out of nowhere for the convenience of this narrative? Ah well. We’ll move past it.
You’ve decided that in lieu of any long term plan, and in the absence of the ability to make any long term plan, you will focus on the short term. And the only decision that you have to make in the short term is:
Do you grab the hand?
Surely not, right? A groping, grasping hand, lurking up out of the darkness? That’s creepy as fuck. Who in their right mind is going to grasp that hand? It’s suicide.
Or is it?
I mean, is it, really? Really and truly? Why? You have an instinctive distrust of the unknown, but is that fair? Can you trust that distrust? Your instincts are as fallible as your rationale. At one time, your favourite book was an unknown. Your favourite game, your best mates, your favourite food, drink, your partner – they were all unknowns. Then you got to know them. And now you can’t imagine life without them. Plenty of those things even looked unappealing at first – The Third Policeman could really do with an edgier cover – but you gave them a chance, and you tried, you tried, and now you love them, and they inform your worldview in ways you know longer even realise. That hand could belong to The Third Policeman. It could belong to Disco Elysium, it could belong to Martin, sushi, ginger beer. Give it a chance, surely?
But then again, a groping, grasping hand, lurking up out of the darkness? That’s creepy as fuck.
Who in their right mind is going to grasp that hand?
It’s suicide.
Or is it?
I mean, it’s creeping up, out of the darkness, isn’t it? It’s not creeping down, into the darkness. You have the power in this scenario. I mean, think about it. If you were dangling off of the edge of that hole, and you saw that hand creeping down, we quite frankly wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d have grasped it already, and it would be pulling you up to safety, most likely. But just because you have the power, you’re cautious. Cautious of losing it. You fucking megalomaniac. Don’t forget that Caution is like Centrism; it’s for cowards. It is a middle manager at Fear, Inc. – it is just terror diluted by bureaucracy. Your instincts may be as fallible as your rationale, but your rationale is equally as fallible as your instincts. Ethically speaking, you have a duty to grasp, and haul. Grasp, and haul, and be easy in your mind.
But then again, a groping, grasping hand, lurking up out of the darkness?
That’s creepy as fuck.
Who in their right mind is going to grasp that hand?
It’s suicide.
Or is it?
I mean, can your hands alter the prevailing visibility conditions? Obviously, you can turn things on and off, like light switches, but can you, with merely a gesture, compel blurry, inky darkness to envelop a room, smothering everything? Can you fuck. If you think about it, the main reason that you feel so unsure about this is that the hand is ensconced in darkness. But that’s not the hand’s fault. You remember playing Pokemon back in the day? You wouldn’t use Ghost types, or Dark types, because they looked shifty. Dodgy. Untrustworthy. But they were just animals, like Fire types or Rock types or Normal types. You were the one that projected shiftiness onto them. The hand is just a hand; what’s around it is simply what’s around it. The hand is just a hand. Remember that. The hand is just a hand.
You reach down, and firmly grasp the hand.
For a second, nothing happens. You don’t try to pull the hand up, and the hand doesn’t try to pull you down. Deadlock.
Then you start trying to pull the hand up. It comes up a little bit, but then jerks downwards sharply, knocking you off balance, making you stumble.
You tumble over into the hole.
Oh dear.
You're falling now.
Oh dear.
As you plummet, you can see that the hand was just a disembodied hand after all. No person attached to the hand. It was always just a hand. Eerie as fuck.
The last thing you can make out other than that is the rigid outline of Caution, peering down at you as you plunge into the darkness. You don’t become a middle manager at Fear, Inc. if you don’t have something about you. Everyone knows that.
Then the darkness consumes all, and you are falling, falling, falling, falling, falling.
Oh dear.
I imagine at this point, you probably blame me for your predicament. You’re probably thinking, well, I was the one making all of those arguments in favour of grabbing the hand, so I’m the one to blame for you falling to your death. Well, almost certainly your death. You’ve been falling for so long now that you better hope you die on impact, because if you don’t, well, that will be worse than just being dead. Either way, you’re probably quite annoyed with me for my persistent pro-hand arguing. Maybe you even think I should be trying to help you out, here.
Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame me, you mad bastard. There’s absolutely no way you can blame me. It’s not my fault. I mean, come on now. Be reasonable.
A groping, grasping hand?
Lurking up out of the darkness?
That's creepy as fuck.
Who in their right mind is going to grasp that hand?
It's suicide.