Farewell, My Spreadsheets!

The battle for Arcadia began on Vivian’s command. Mounted on horseback, flanked by a radiant Guin Veridian and the battle maid Emily, the three ladies seemed like foreigners among the rugged features of men and women behind them.

“The moment you hear the rebels fire,” Vivian commanded the officers, “Advance on the hill. If we can take the rebel position, we’ll have the advantage when the royals sally from the city.”

“And stay with me, the rest of you,” Vivian called out to the riders behind her, “Diane’s riders should draw most of the rebel fire. Our objective is to overwhelm the rebels on the hill before the prince takes advantage of the chaos.”

Meanwhile, what was I supposed to do?

I tried to communicate with Vivian with a confused emoticon.

(o_O) ?

But Vivian’s response was equally sparse.

“Now’s not the time for funny faces. Focus on undoing the curse, Kyle. I need you.”

I was happy to feel needed, but what did Vivian think would happen if I rid myself of the curse? Surely, the benefits didn’t outweigh the risks. No, the spreadsheets that I possessed were paramount. The research, the data, how could Vivian not see their value? Nevermind that she had never seen the research or the data, but she had to understand that the only reason I could help her was because of the spreadsheets. That’s how important they were!

I found myself then asking, were the spreadsheets more important than Diane’s survival? Than Vivian’s? Would I sacrifice them if it meant I could record their lives on my spreadsheets?

Yes.

What?

That ‘yes’, the instantaneous response that echoed in my mind, with no consideration for Diane’s safety, for Vivian’s wellbeing, for her wishes, awoke me from some kind of coma. How could I have thought that so easily? Diane, who had helped me unconditionally. Vivian, who had only ever believed in me. Was I ready to part with them for the sake of my digital work?

Yes.

No! Stop. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like this side of me at all. When did I become so obsessed with spreadsheets?

Wait.

Oh right.

I forgot.

I had always been obsessed.

In the past, perhaps I would have been comfortable with foreclosing my relationships with others in favor of the cold, air conditioned comfort of my single bedroom apartment. But now, out in this open field, with the wind against Vivian’s cheeks as she sallied forth, a war horn blaring across the camp, I found that no numerical model I could construct, no research paper I could write, would ever be able to describe the indescribable guilt if I allowed myself to watch my loved ones die.

But spreadsheets?

Shut up, me.

“Wish me luck, Kyle,” Vivian repeated, “When this is over, let’s have tea with Diane again.”

I ignored the obvious death flag and took a metaphorical deep breath. Every fiber of my being screamed at my intent, but with the thought of Vivian in my mind, I began to delete everything.

I first scrapped ViviDailies. Then ViviPedia. Then the emoticon widgets. Then every research paper I had drafted about each individual attribute, especially the ones about luck. I deleted the graphs, the models, the presentations, the infographics, the video essays, even the short two hour film I had composed with my own personal narration detailing the importance of attribute optimization.

I binned the special widgets that only contained the attributes I wanted Vivian to level. I said goodbye to the letters I had written to her that she couldn’t even read, the daily aphorisms I planned to display on her page, the morning reminders of what activities would most efficiently acquire experience and levels. I got rid of the Greymoor family dossiers, the notes I had taken on Diane, my personal hit list of aristocrats that I despised.

Goodbye, my fabricated list of “spots I would take Vivian on a date if I was actually human!”

So long, my database speculating the size and value of the Astral Viscount’s treasury!

Adieu, my diary where I obsessively demonstrated my envy of Prince Pendragon’s appearance!

Farewell, my spreadsheets!

The first deletion was of course the hardest, but each successive removal felt easier than the last. In fact, deleting everything took much less time than I had anticipated, as if this entire time, someone had been waiting for me to simply begin discarding my work.

The more I deleted, the more I felt settled and calm. One might expect that this was the curse and its burdens being lifted from my shoulders, but that alone couldn’t describe the elation of my spirit. There was a different, perhaps a romantic, force, that gave power to my drive.

When the last spreadsheet had been removed, I closed Vivian’s attribute window and waited. I felt the grand emptiness of having lost all of my work, the proverbial void that comes when one is robbed of all meaning. Part of me was reminded of the trembling heartbeats that slowed to a still when I died for the first time.

But I ignored these false feelings, the urge to simply boot up an application and recreate all my work. I wouldn’t die again, and I reminded myself that a higher purpose other than creating research papers that only I could read awaited me.

And so, again, I simply waited.

Time slowed down for me, as if I had reached some kind of zen state upon abandoning my material belongings. Outside, Vivian’s horse rode in slow motion, and I could observe the push and pull of its muscles and limbs as it galloped forth, the spectacles of dirt kicking off from the ground.

I wasn’t sure how long I had waited, but I knew I was waiting for something to happen.

And that something, in turn, was waiting for me to despair. It expected me to cry out that I had made a mistake. It wanted me to doubt that my spreadsheets had been the curse, only to enter dramatically with some kind of sarcastic jab and mock my lack of patience.

But I had spent these last few months interacting with Vivian and no one, not even a goddess, could have tested my patience more.

“Okay, fine! You win!” shouted a voice from the ether.

“There you are,” I said.

The goddess appeared to me in my home, dressed up in her office clothes.

“Yes, yes,” she pouted, “Congratulations.”

“So I was right about the spreadsheets being a curse.”

“No,” said the goddess, “Your enchantress friend Diane was right about the existence of a curse. Had she not risked her life meddling in my affairs, you would have been none the wiser.”

“What are friends for?” I laughed.

“I suppose you are right,” the goddess folded her arms, “So?”

“So?”

“I suppose you’re expecting some kind of reward from me,” the goddess raised her eyebrow, “Come on, out with it.”

“No, I actually don’t have anything in mind,” I said.

“You don’t?” she asked.

“Diane said that if I resolved the curse, Vivian and I would be unstoppable,” I replied, “And I trust her. So I don’t need a reward from you, not that I would trust you to begin with.”

“Impudent little brat,” the goddess cackled, “Humans are so quick to embrace their newfound righteousness.”

I said nothing.

“But you’re right,” the goddess shrugged, “And as much as I would like to suggest otherwise, you did what I suspected couldn’t be done. Perhaps I’m not as immune to hubris as I thought.”

“Continue to live your life, Kyle Young. Live it well.”

She smiled and clapped her hands, whether for effect or applause, I wasn’t certain. As her body disappeared, one question did in fact occur to me.

“Wait! Before you go,” I called out, “Is it ever possible that I get a body of my own?”

The goddess chuckled in faded echoes.

“One day, maybe.”

Outside, the flow of time began to move again, and I realized that time really had slowed to herald the goddess’s arrival. I watched Vivian and her vanguard riding through a shaded grove, the battlefield close at hand. A sword hung from Vivian’s belt, and I was reminded that in spite of my recent achievements, I was still just a digital stat menu.

“I wish I could be there next to her,” I sighed.

Vivian’s head turned. Had she noticed something in the distance?

“Kyle? Is that you?” she asked.

“What?”

“Kyle!” Vivian yelled, “You can talk! What’s going on? Did you dispel the curse?”

“You can hear me?”

“Yes!” Vivian laughed.

Was this the result of having removed the curse? Tentatively, I opened my attribute menu and reviewed my own statuses. On the screen, a new ability was featured at the top of the list. It was called Speech, and it gave me the ability to, well, speak.

“I guess I can talk,” I said, “N-nice to speak with you again.”

“That’s great!” Vivian laughed, “Okay, what now?”

“Wait.”

I stopped and considered this new dilemma.

What did giving me the ability to speak actually do for our current predicament? Was Diane messing around with me again? I was a recent spreadsheet monkey, not a battlefield commander. How was talking with Vivian going to make us unstoppable?

“Honestly, Vivian,” I said, “I have no idea.”