It would take a time
machine, but I would prefer to come back as a small game piece on a board, then to be an
electronic avatar maneuvered about by some circuitry. Any number of electronic failures could
result in a fatal mishap, but to be an actual game piece, the potential for
adventure is limitless. I could accidentally
get knocked off the board and roll under the couch or chair. I could be swatted by the cat and go flying
off to somewhere unknown. Even possibly
eaten by the baby, who doesn’t hesitate to put any number of things in its mouth.
Over time the stories a game piece could gather would fill volumes, such as the great dust bunny round-up beneath the sofa or the incessant hum in the back woods of the refrigerator. Any number of tiny places can easily hide a game piece for years. Left behind and eventually replaced by a lint-covered lifesaver, but the memory of the original piece lives on. Back in the day, passing GO with the excitement seldom experienced by any algorithm.
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