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The Tragedy Of Crossy Road:
A Rope Of Sand.
Oh to be a chicken. The simplicity of thought, of existence, to live each day in complete and utter bliss. The burden of crossing roads, left to creatures of higher evolution. Such a concept for a chicken to undertake is near unimaginable, a feat of elevated minds; not that of such a humble creature.
And yet this is the very predicament the protagonist of Crossy Road finds themselves in, the mundane task of crossing a road transformed into a Herculean feat of speed and dexterity lent to the small frame of our plucky traveller. Why, I thought to myself, has the game's narrative placed our unfortunate friend in such a position, to cross the road is dangerous for a creature so small, cars will inevitably drive right over you; if permitted the chance.
And yet, I found solace in the knowledge of the inevitable crossing of the road, the end of the nightmare found in completion of the chicken's goal. And that, dear reader; is the crushing tragedy of Crossy Road; for there is no end; The chicken's odyssey continues, concluded only: in death. It was upon discovery of a 36 lane highway in my gameplay, that I came upon such a truth. The universe the chicken resides in, is a bitter, cruel being. It does not follow logic, or reason; it only seeks to crush, run over, otherwise harm the chicken. Indeed, comfort can not be even found in the release of death, for upon completion, the chicken is hoisted back into the beginning of the road, left only with the option of moving forward once again.
Therein lies the inherent punishment of the chicken, like Sisyphus; the chicken is doomed to accomplish the impossible, left to rot in a realm that entirely exists to maim and demean. The chicken can not run off into the trees, the chicken may choose to wait in safety for as long as it wants, but the promise of progress lies exclusively; in crossing the road.
Perhaps there is an end to the madness, for players more daring than I, to stare down the eye of madness and descend ever deeper into the endless road in an attempt to find salvation. An end to the death, the danger, the lily pads, the crossing of the road. This author has his doubts. No, I believe salvation lies only; in a refusal to play the game. One must remember the nature of the chicken, they are a simple sort, content to graze and feed to their heart's content. Perhaps the chicken will find a good life, in the opening few lanes of grass at the beginning of every game. No natural predators, nice sunny day, nearby river stream, acorns spread out. Many chickens have endured far worse conditions.
That is the lesson we must take from Crossy Road. Human ambition, our undying spirit, can sometimes be a hindrance. Through our control of this innocent chicken, we are the ones subjecting it to the folly of crossing the road, and the horrific deaths that ensue.
No. The only true way to win at Crossy Road, is not to look at it through the lens of humanity at all. Not to attempt to cross, what is clearly an uncrossable road. Rather, to leave the chicken be, and go on with our own lives. Trust the chicken to decide what is best for itself, what it wants out of its life, as I trust you to do the same for yourselves, readers.
For we all have our own battles to fight, mountains to climb, and of course… roads to cross.
