<<if $papa>>Dad was there in [[the kitchen|la cocina]], next to me, smiling at me. We couldn't talk about anything else: I had already told him everything I wanted to say.\n<<else>>I looked at Dad.\n\n"What's the matter, Kari, little darling? You wanna tell me something?"\n\nI was very nervous. I didn't know if I should talk about the [[weather|clima]], about everything [[he did|lo que hizo]] for me, [[about Mom|de mamá]], o if I should just aks him [[how was he|cómo estaba]]. I could also [[answer evasively|responder con evasivas]], of course.\n<<endif>>
<<if $papa and $mama and $grande and $chico>>I opened the window. When I looked through the other side, I saw what I had seen before I fainted: the corpses, the snow, Dad's face. I then understood all that was a fantasy. And just a I understood that, I started waking up.\n\nI tried to stay there, with Mom and Dad, I strained, I wanted to hold on and resist the vigil that was pulling me out of that beautiful nightmarish world…\n\nThere was no case. I was [[awake|despierta]].\n<<else>>I tried with all my strength, but both locks weren't unlocked yet, so there was no way for the window to open.\n\n<<display 'la cocina'>>\n<<endif>>
"Are you alright?" I insisted.\n\n"Well…," he answered, "I'm OK".\n\nIt seemed I wasn't the only one in [[that kitchen|la cocina]] that was nervous about talking.
I did. It's then that I had a beautiful nightmare from which I eventually had to wake up.\n\nNow I'm getting up from the floor while I shake my head as to take away the last pieces of that terrible dream I just had. I have to concentrate. First things first: I'm in [[my room|mi cuarto]].
The clothes are all a mess. Very unusual for him, at odds with the rest of [[his room|cuarto de papá]], so pristine. It seems he was in a hurry to get the coats to be outside as quickly as possible.\n\nHow crazy, he always so careful.
There were lots of books, and I felt like I was actually traveling through the world without knowing where to go next. Besides, I had the feeling books were constantly changing their location, o disappearing from the library to be replaced by new ones. The place, for some reason, urged me to abandon the search and go back to the [[previous room|salón]].\n\nI could search on the [[south|sur]], [[west|oeste]], [[east|este]] or [[north|norte]] wall.
<<if $pense>><<else>>Because eventually I will have to leave: food isn't eternal and the snow might just be. Anything could happen, really, and Dad always said one has to be prepared.\n\nWho knows. <<set $pense = true>><<endif>> A couple months from now I'll get up one day knowing I got to get out of here. I'll be incredibly nervous, in [[my room|en mi cuarto]], eager to [[stay there forever|no salir nunca]].
I was on the floor of my room, I knew I would lose consciousness and there was nothing I could do about it. It all got black…\n\nThen I was in my home's [[kitchen|la cocina]], about to eat. [[Mom|mamá]] and [[Dad|Papá]] were sitting at the table, but we couldn't continue until I did something, just didn't know what.
They were some hooks like the ones there really are at home next to the main door. The only thing remotely close to a furniture that was in that [[room|salón]].\n\nThe coat rack had on it <<if $objeto neq "coat">>a [[coat|saco]],<html> </html><<endif>><<if $objeto neq "hat">>a [[hat|sombrero]],<html> </html><<endif>><<if $objeto eq 'red dress'>>and<html> </html><<endif>><<if $objeto neq "umbrella">>an [[umbrella|paraguas]]<<endif>><<if $objeto neq "red dress">><html> </html>and a [[red dress|vestido rojo]]<<endif>>.
<<if $libro>>\n<<if $mama>>Mom looked at me. There was nothing more to say. For some reason, though, she didn't start eating even with the book already found, nor could she exit [[the kitchen|la cocina]]. No idea why. Now that I think of it, the simple fact that her big problem were a recipe book is quite ridiculous. Dreams, right?\n<<else>>I gave the book to Mom and she gave me a silver key, very bright and cute. Don't know what was she doing in [[the kitchen|la cocina]] with that, but she gave it to me and I kept it in a pocket.<<set $mama = true>>\n<<endif>>\n<<else>>It was a specific recipe book, that said how to cook what we were about to eat. She always liked those books, to make something new every day. Dad always cooked better, but she was much more enthusiastic about it.\n\nThe food was actually made and served already, but if she didn't get the book with the recipe then she couldn't have made it, adn then we couldn't eat. It's hard to explain, but that was the dream's logic.\n\nThing is, she needed the book, but she couldn't go looking for it because for some reason she couldn't exit [[the kitchen|la cocina]].\n<<endif>>
Back to the start. <<display 'pensar'>>
"Nothing, it was just not necessary to make such an effort. Maybe you should've tried to be well yourself, and not caring so much for taking care of me. I was in a lot of pain, obviously, but you were affected very deeply."\n\n"Don't give me that," he reassured me, "you're my daughter and I love you and I have to take care of you."\n\nHe had told me that several times. If we wouldn't have been in [[the kitchen|la cocina]] he would've probably given a fine speech to me on the obligations parents have to their children.
<<if $mama>><<display 'libro'>><<else>><<if $encontrado neq true>>Ah, now I remember. <<endif>> Mom needed a [[book|libro]]. She couldn't go looking for it because she didn't know where it was and because for some reason she couldn't exit [[the kitchen|la cocina]].<<endif>>
Home's living room. From here I can go to the [[kitchen|cocina]] or the [[library|biblioteca]].\n\nThen there's the stairs to the [[top floor|pasillo]] and the door to [[exit|salir]] the house.
I was in an empty room, nothing like anything at home really. I don't remember what color the walls were, but it was a weird color and it unsettled me.\n\nThere was a door to [[the kitchen|la cocina]], another to [[the library|la biblioteca]] and [[a last one|una última]] to go outside the house. Oh, and a [[coat rack|perchero]]. To hang things. All that on the same wall, and on the opposite wall there were the <<if $escaleras>><html><a href=javascript:javascript:history.go(0)>stairs</a></html> to the top floor, but for some reason I couldn't use them. Dream logic.<<else>>[[stairs|escaleras]] to the top floor.<<endif>>
\n''CREDITS''\n\n· ''Eioioio'' is a sort of game or interactive short story about losing someone that matters.\n· It was written and designed by [[David T. Marchand|http://www.davidtm.com.ar]], who happens to be me, between May and July of 2012.\n· It was built entirely with [[Twine|http://gimcrackd.com/etc/src/]] by Chris Klimas, who quite frankly deserves an award.\n· It's not that very different from my previous interactive short story, [[Úrquel, the black dragon|http://www.davidtm.com.ar/media/Úrquel.html]].\n· It owes kilos of inspiration to similar works by [[Anna Anthropy|http://www.auntiepixelante.com/?s=twine&searchsubmit=find]] and [[Alejandro Grilli J.|http://blog.agj.cl/tag/twine/]].\n· It's a lot better than it could've been thanks to [[Anna Anthropy|http://www.auntiepixelante.com]]'s help with the friendly testing and advice.\n· It's obliquely based on the comic //El eternauta//, by Héctor Germán Oesterheld, disappeared in 1977.\n· Cover image maliciously stolen from the Eternauta illustrated by Alberto Breccia.\n\nDedicated to Natalia.\n\n<<if $fin>><html><center><a href="#">— BACK TO GAME —</a></center></html>\n<<else>><html><center><a href=javascript:javascript:history.go(-1)>— BACK TO GAME —</a></center></html>\n<<endif>><<set $fin = false>>
I'm now in my room, facing the [[window|ventana]] overlooking the street. To my left is the door that goes out to the [[hall|pasillo]].\n\n<<if $esconder_mensaje neq true>>\nDad spent years collecting food supplies at home and everything you need to survive for several months without relying on the supermarket. He was like that. Thing is, he always kept them well hidden, and never told me where. Wherever he put them, I'll have to find them.\n<<set $esconder_mensaje = true>>\n<<endif>>
Empieza recordando el momento inicial, cuando murió el padre y soñó con él. El objetivo es irse, dejar al padre muerto atrás\n\nDespués empieza la parte en tiempo presente, la protagonista tiene que encontrar la llave del lugar donde el padre guardó cosas para sobrevivir.\n\nLa última parte es ella planeando cómo salir, con un arma por las dudas. Y con el traje antirradiación del padre.
Completely paralyzed by fear, hearing the snow hitting the window all day. I'll stay at home until there's no choice but to get out, and by then my physical condition won't even allow me to stand on my own two feet. I will starve to death.\n\nWell, [[better not|pensar]].
If this snow is what I think it is, radioactive or something like that, and the result of some war catastrophe or whatnot, then my window won't show much more than it does now: a buch of bodies over a bunch of white. Dad'll still be there, I guess.\n\n<<display 'en mi cuarto'>>
I'm now in Dad's room. In here I can see the [[bed|cama]], the [[closet|placard]] and the [[nightstand|mesita de luz]]. And also, of course, the exit door to the [[hall|pasillo]].\n\n<<if $diario>>His [[diary|diario]] is on the bed.<<endif>>
It was a big window, very strange-looking, the only one in the whole [[kitchen|la cocina]]. I didn't know very well what it was doing there, and wasn't sure I wanted to [[open it|abrirla]].\n\nIt had two locks, a [[golden one|dorado]] and a [[silver one|de plata]]. Someone had locked'em both, though I don't really know who nor why.
It's the front door, with the seven locks Dad installed, the self-closing device and the most durable weatherstripping I've ever seen.\n\nI won't leave, better stay [[here|planta baja]]. Dad and the neighbors all came out of their houses and failed to take four steps to the street. This snow is not normal.
"I wanted to ask you about Mom. She-"\n\nI couldn't go on. I believe that, with Mom right there with us in [[the kitchen|la cocina]], I couldn't talk about the accident, because in that dream the accident hadn't technically ever happened. Or something like that, don't remember.
"No, nothing. I was just thinking aloud."\n\nHe smiled at me and went back to his thing. Well, went back to being there sitting without doing anything, staring at a wet spot on [[the kitchen|la cocina]]'s wall.
I took the hat from the rack<<if $algo>><html> </html>and hanged the <<print $objeto>> back in its place. For some reason, there couldn't be more than one empty hook<<endif>>. <<set $objeto = 'hat'>><<set $algo = true>>\n\n<<display 'salón'>>
<<if $revolver>>I'll then walk towards my goal, whatever that is, leaving the house behind. One hand holding the oxygen carafe and the other near the belt's holster. A few minutes from then Dad will be a tiny spot on the distant landscape, and I'm going to keep slowly going on towards my destiny, with steady steps. Or with my legs shivering in fear.\n*[[— THE END —|Créditos]]<<set $fin = true>>\n<<else>>I'll venture on the neighborhood, looking for anything I might be looking for. If my Dad's predictions on the nuclear holocaust hold some truth, there will be other survivors wandering.\n\nProbably hungry, less prepared, willing to kill if just for the oxygen I might have on me. They'll possibly attack me. And me with nothing to defend myself, I'll probably die before I can offer any resistance…\n\nMaybe I should plan this [[better|volvamos]].\n<<endif>>
Dad's favorite place. It's like entering another dimension, especially since he set up the walls to isolate the noise. Not that it matters much, now that the neighborhood's quieter than ever before.\n\nAll furniture is covered with books, even the desk, and the chair too. Next to the [[exit door|planta baja]] there's a [[plaque|placa]], with a poem written in silver letters.
Over south I didn't find anything. Some cooking books, yes, but not the one Mom needed.\n\n<<display 'buscar'>>
Every now and then I examined the floor carefully, and… Oh, of course! It was then that I discovered that underneath one of the bookshelves there was a book.\n\nI always say it's one of my life's rules that, on those situations, just the most hard thing to reach is always what I actually need. Well, but in the dream this was some kind of logic rule, so I was certain that book, from all the ones at [[the library|la biblioteca]], was the cooking book Mom required.<<set $encontrado = true>>
Dad spent his entire life in fear of a possible catastrophe that was never finished arriving. In the ten years after Mom died, I saw him smile [[only once|una sola vez]]. <<remember $bienvenido = true>>
We were in the house's kitchen, [[Mom|mamá]], [[Dad|Papá]] and I. They were sitting at the table, with the food already served but not being able to eat. It wasn't exactly identical to the kitchen at home, actually. On a wall there was an [[open door|salón]] and a [[closed window|ventana cerrada]].
He used it to read, nothing fancy.\n\n<<display 'cuarto de papá'>>
<<if $cacheo>>\n<<if $revolver>><<display 'papá tirado'>>\n<<else>>I'll search on Dad's clothes with all the will I'll have left, and surely I'll find his gun on his belt or one of his pockets. I'll keep it in the specially designed holster the suit has, and I'll be more prepared to wonder [[the street|la calle]].<<set $revolver = true>>\n<<endif>>\n<<else>><<display 'papá tirado'>>\n<<endif>>
Then I got up and started searching for the supplies Dad spent his years gathering so a day like this would not be the last day. Now I lie soft on the ground, take a deep breath among the tin cans and the little pieces of paper Dad left. I'm peaceful among all this things he gave to me. I feel safe, hugged.\n\nBut I'm not really safe. And now, that I have everything I'll need in a long time, I should start [[thinking|pensar]] what I'm going to do when I have to leave home.
*//Intimate is the night, abstract the street\nwithout beginning or end the rain[[.|secreto]] And Adam would like\nto forget and to forget himself,\ncradled by the wind,\nor to dissolve as a piece of salt in the water that falls and falls\nwhispering its ancient diluvian song.//\nDad loves poetry. Loved. He once told me a third of all this [[library|biblioteca]] is pure poetry books. I never checked if it was true. I was always more inclined to read novels and short stories.
I push the silver dot with a finger. It's a button! It sinks a few centimeters inside the plaque, and a door opens in the floor underneath the desk, leading to a kind of [[basement|sótano]]. It's like a movie, I can't believe it.
"No, just that it's a little cold."\n\nHe smiled at me and pretended to shiver as to say I was right. I don't remember if it was cold or not in [[the kitchen|la cocina]]. I don't know if you can feel any temperature when dreaming.
<<set $escaleras = true>><<display 'salón'>>
''Eioioio'' by [[David T. Marchand|http://www.davidtm.com.ar]]   |   [[Credits|Créditos]]   |   [[Help|Ayuda]]   |   <html><a href="#">Start over</a></html>   |   [[JUGAR EN CASTELLANO|http://www.davidtm.com.ar/media/eioioio.html]]
My dream's library was similar to the one at home, but it had no door: all walls were covered in shelves full of books. However, I knew I could [[go out|salón]] whenever I wanted.\n\n<<if $encontrado>><<if $libro>>I already had the book Mom needed, so there was no reason so stay there.<<else>>Underneath one of the bookshelves was the cooking [[book|el libro]] Mom needed.\n<<endif>><<else>>Though the [[floor|suelo]] was dirty, under my feet I could clearly see a Compass Rose drawn, pointing at the bookshelf of each wall. It meant each bookshelf was one of the map's directions and the library was the world.\n\nWhat I had to do there was to [[look for|buscar]] my mom's recipe book.<<endif>>
On the east part there was only old books, and quite bad, that seemed to fall apart on touch. I didn't see the cooking book Mom needed.\n\n<<display 'buscar'>>
I took the coat from the rack<<if $algo>><html> </html>and hanged the <<print $objeto>> back on its place. For some reason, there couldn't be more than one empty hook<<endif>>.<<set $objeto = "coat">><<set $algo = true>>\n\n<<display 'salón'>>
In [[his room|cuarto de papá]], this nightstand was like his ascetic little altar. A [[lamp|lámpara]], a [[bible|biblia]], a [[drawer|cajón]].
It's a windowless room, with some vents. It's full of canned food, tools and medical supplies, all covered with thousands of neatly distributed post-its with Dad's handwriting, indicating what each thing is for and what to do in case of a nuclear holocaust.\n\nIs this snow radioactive? At least with this I can take several weeks, months even, without leaving home. How long will the snow last? Truth is, I don't even know how long a standard one does.\n\nA giant calm invades my body. I won't die today, it seems. Or tomorrow. Dad saved my life, again. And the first thing that comes to my mind is that [[life isn't very serious with its stuff|la vida no es muy seria en sus cosas]].
<html>\n<center>\n<b>\n<span style="font-size:50pt;">E</span>\n<span style="font-size:30pt;">IOIOIO</span>\n</b>\n<br><img src="Eioioio.png" width="482px" height="207px">\n<br/>\n<a href="http://www.davidtm.com.ar" target="_blank">\n<span style="font-size:20pt;">\n<span style="font-size:30pt;">D</span>AVID <span style="font-size:30pt;">T</span>. <span style="font-size:30pt;">M</span>ARCHAND\n</span>\n</a>\n<center>\n</html>\n*[[— START —|EMPEZAR]]\n\n<<if $bienvenido>>^^//Welcome back!//^^<<endif>>
And it isn't, not in the least. The old man looked after me, he loved me to the utmost, he endured a decade of suffering after Mom's death just not to leave me alone, when he had always preferred to go for her. And today he saved my life. And I din't even have two minutes to say thanks.\n\nI know how it works. In two years I'll have to look at pictures to remember what the face was like. It happened to me with Mom. But not this time. I have to remember all of him, up until the last day: the bright smile, the carefree voice, and the dream I had when I fainted.\n\nYes, the dream too. Though I think I completely forgot it. Well, no, not really. But I only remember [[how it starts|cómo empieza]].
<<if $objeto eq 'umbrella'>>My arm didn't fit under the bookshelf, so I put the umbrella in there and tried to push the book until getting it out from its place. After a couple of tries, I made it.<<set $libro = true>>\n<<else>>I tried to grab it, but the space between the floor and the bookshelf was minimum. My arm wouldn't fit. I was going to need something.<<endif>>\n\n<<display 'la biblioteca'>>
As I looked a cold sweat ran down my forehead that ended up making my eyes burn. I got dizzy. I felt the ground hitting my face, and lying on the floor like that I tried to [[lose myself|perderme]], to [[forget me|perderme]], to damn reality [[to hell|perderme]] and be quiet in [[my own world|perderme]].
"Dad," I insisted, "are you…? Are…?"\n\n"Kari, baby," he said in all seriousness, "I am. I'm here, with you, always."\n\nThere was a weird feeling. [[The kitchen|la cocina]] didn't seem a good place for that kind of conversations.
"Yes," I said, "how are you?"\n\nHe didn't aswer. [[Good|Bien]], [[bad|mal]], [[dead|muerto]]. What could he answer to a question that vague?
Over north I didn't find nothing useful.\n\n<<display 'buscar'>>
<<if $papa>>\n<<if $grande>>The golden lock was already open, I didn't have to worry about that anymore.\n<<else>>I unlocked the golden lock with the golden key Dad had given me. <<set $grande = true>>\n<<endif>>\n<<else>>It was gold-looking lock. It was closed. The window wouldn't be able to open.\n<<endif>>\n\n<<display 'la cocina'>>
Eioioio
Hardcover, thin leaves, worn out. Four thousand notes in the margins and everywhere else made with seventeen different pens. Actually Mom was the most faithful. He never cared much for any of that until she died. From then on there was no one who could take him apart from his little book.\n\n<<display 'cuarto de papá'>>
"I never had time to talk about everything you did for me since the accident."\n\n"Well, tell me."\n\n"I…"\n\nI got a lump in my throat, and a gap in my head. I didn't know how to continue. I could tell him [[he had done too much|había hecho demasiado]], or [[thank him|agradecerle]], or [[cut the conversation|cortar la conversación]] right there.
On the west bookshelf the only thing I found close to Mom were some historical novels of those she liked so much and I always found boring. I didn't find the cooking book.\n\n<<display 'buscar'>>
Already in the ground floor, determined, the kitchen or the library will hold no interest for me.\n\nMy only choice will be the [[front door|puerta de casa]].
It was this morning. It seemed as if the paranoia that afflicted him all his life had suddenly dropped off. He came into my room in a jump —that bothered me a little— and with an ear-to-ear smile he gave [[his last words|sus últimas palabras]].
It sits at the center of the [[room|cuarto de papá]]. It's fat and almost entirely written. I won't start reading it, but I could see if it says anything about the [[supplies|provisiones]] he hid in the house.
All over [[the street|la calle]], at the doorways, coming out of the open windows, I'll see the bodies of everyone I ever knew.
"I never had any time to say thanks to you," I said. "Thanks for everything. For taking care of me, for being there with me and for staying. You were a cornerstone to me. An unstable, complicated, half-crazy cornerstone, yes, but you supported me in everything and you never leaved me. I can't tell you how grateful I am."\n\nI stared at me like really peaceful.\n\n"It was actually this what you wanted to tell me, righ?"\n\n"It was this. Thank you very much for everything."\n\n"That's more like it, darling. And you're welcome. Don't know if I deserve the thanking, but if this is so important to you, you're welcome."\n\nHe gave me a hug and a golden key, wich I kept in my pant's pocket. <<set $papa = true>> Then [[the kitchen|la cocina]] lost the feeling of confinement I had felt since the start. I had lost a huge weight from my shoulders.
"Just saying," I said.\n\nHe made a gesture with his shoulders and didn't insist. In his library he could give me two-hour speeches, but he was never really talkative in [[the kitchen|la cocina]].
I didn't want to go out. First because I felt well [[there|salón]], I was with Mom and Dad and we had to eat. Also because behind the door there was something terrible that I knew what was, but I didn't even dare to think of it.
I'll be really nervous, so I'll probably read it a bit, just to stay a while longer in [[his room|al cuarto de papá]], with his words. I don't know what I may find.
"No, nothing," I answered.\n\nHe didn't respond. He was never really talkative in [[the kitchen|la cocina]].
I took the red dress from the rack<<if $algo>><html> </html>and hanged the <<print $objeto>> back on its place. For some reason, there couldn't be more than one empty hook<<endif>>.<<set $objeto = "red dress">><<set $algo = true>>\n\n<<display 'salón'>>
I took the umbrella from the rack<<if $algo>><html> </html>and hanged the <<print $objeto>> back on its place. For some reason, there couldn't be more than one empty hook<<endif>>.<<set $objeto = "umbrella">><<set $algo = true>>\n\n<<display 'salón'>>
<<if $traje>>I'll put the biohazard suit on carefully not to leave exposed any body surface. I'll attach to it some of the oxygen carafes hidden here at the refuge. Just in case.\n\nI'll open the door and I'll close it behind me as fast as I can, so the snow won't come in. With any luck that'll do, and I'll be able to peacefully walk [[the street|la calle]].\n<<else>>I'll leave home in a hurry. Just like it happened to Dad and all neighbors, the neverending snow will cover my unprotected body in phosphorescent white and I'll immediately fall to the ground, dying in the most silly possible way.\n\nWell, [[better not|volvamos]].\n<<endif>>
I'll see the lamp, the bible and the empty drawer. Last time I checked, the gun wasn't there. What could've happened to it?\n\nOh, right! He surely took it before coming outside the [[room|al cuarto de papá]]. He'll probably still have it on him.\n<<set $cacheo = true>>
"It's snowing."\n\n"Oh, right. It //is// snowing," he answered without caring too much about it.\n\nAs if all the relevant world were [[the kitchen|la cocina]], and anything that happened outside was more or less unimportant.
Dad will be there, lying on the entrance. Another body on the silent [[street|la calle]]. I'll have to try not to look directly at his face, if I'm to keep my will to stay alive.
The upstairs hallway.\n\nI have [[my room|mi cuarto]]'s door behind me, to one side is [[my dad's room|cuarto de papá]] and to the other the stairs to the [[ground floor|planta baja]].
The closet will have all his clothes, and… of course, the biohazard suit!\n\nI had completely forgotten, it's some kind of homemade space suit, like a cosmonaut's. He made one for me too, and he kept them in [[his room|al cuarto de papá]]. I think it has lead or something like that, to survive the atomic bomb. Is the phosphorescent snow radioactive?\n\nDoesn't matter. In any case, I'll take the suit.\n<<set $traje = true>>
<<if $mama>>\n<<if $chico>>The silver lock was already open, I didn't have to worry about that anymore.\n<<else>>I unlocked the silver lock with the silver key Mom had given me in exchange for the book.<<set $chico = true>>\n<<endif>>\n<<else>>It was a bright silver lock. It was closed. The window wouldn't be able to open.\n<<endif>>\n\n<<display 'la cocina'>>
Little white snowflakes fall from the sky. Never seen anything like it. Except in the movies, of course. They're thousands. They're phosphorescent. Dad told me about an Independence Day, when he was very young, but he never said they shined like this.\n\n<<if $tipo>>\nThere are several bodies at all entrances and many of the windows of every house on the block. All dead as soon as they went out, as soon as they touched the snow. Dad is there too.\n<<else>>\nA guy walks by the street. Wetsuit all tight, hermetically sealed. He shivers, breathes from a carafe. Oxygen, I guess. What could've happened to the atmosphere? Has the nuclear war broken out? I'm losing him from sight as he goes down the street, dodging the bodies.<<set $tipo = true>><<endif>>\n\n<<display 'mi cuarto'>>
<<if $diario>>It's empty. <<endif>> In this drawer he always kept his revolver and <<if $diario>> his diary. <<else>> [[his diary|su diario]]. <<endif>> The gun's gone, and I also can't see it anywhere else in [[the room|cuarto de papá]].
I'll see all my neighbors' [[corpses|los cadáveres]], like I saw them through the window. [[Dad|Papá ]]'ll be there too.\n\nDown the street there'll be [[my destination|mi destino]]: the supermarket, the drugstore, some refuge announced on the radio by the government, or some place else safer than home.
His [[diary| su diario]] will be there, also his [[nightstand|su mesita de luz]] and his [[closet|su ropero]]. The [[exit door|puerta de salida]] to the hallway too.
My room will be the same as always, with [[its window|su ventana]] and its [[exit door|puerta de salida]]. Maybe a bit more messy, now Dad's not there to make me.
"What a crazy weather, did you see?" I said.\n\n"No," he answered, "I didn't. How's the weather today?"\n\nThen I remembered the snow. Not everything, not sure if everything, but at least the snow. I didn't understand if I had to [[tell him about it|contárselo]] or [[lie|mentirle]]. Or, don't know, [[ignore the conversation|ignorar la conversación]].
Partida borrada. <<remember $progreso = 0>>\n\n<html><center><a href=javascript:javascript:history.go(-1)>— VOLVER AL JUEGO —</a></center></html>
"Are you feeling bad?" I insisted.\n\n"Well…," he answered, "I've had better days."\n\nHe then kept contemplating [[the kitchen|la cocina]], as if I wouldn't exist.
Outside my room, at the top floor hallway, I'll be able to [[go downstairs|bajar]] or to [[Dad's room|al cuarto de papá]].
Home's kitchen. When I calm down a bit I should have some breakfast. <<if $deja_vu>><<else>><html><br><br></html>Oh, I had a //déjà vu//. How strange. <<set $deja_vu = true>><<endif>>\n\nAt themoment there's nothing of interest here. Better get back to [[the living room|planta baja]].
He began writing it some years after the accident. Once he told me he wanted to write Mom's eyes, because otherwise they were getting away too fast.\n\nI better pick it up and leave it on the bed, so it's the first thing you see when you walk into [[his room|cuarto de papá]]. <<set $diario = true>>
body { background-color: white; width:100%; margin-left:0px; }\n\n#passages { border-left: 1px solid white; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}\n\n.passage { color: black; text-align:justify !important; font: 15pt/1.5 Georgia, serif;}\n\n#storyTitle, #snapback, #restart, #share, #credits { display:none !important;}\n\n#sidebar {position: absolute; top: -20px; left:11%; width:79%;}\n\n#sidebar li {text-align:center;}\n\n.passage ul, .passage li {margin-left:0px; padding-left:0px; margin-right:0px; padding-right:0px;}\n\n#storyAuthor {font: 10pt Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif !important; text-align:left ! important;}\n\na {text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; color: #4d6ad8;}\na:hover {text-decoration: underline; color: #8ea6ff;}\n\nsub {color: grey; font-size: 13px;}\nsub a {color: grey;}
"Kari, lil' girl, come," he said. "It's snowing!"\n\nFirst I thought he was crazy. Snowing on Buenos Aires? He went downstairs and left the house running, all bundled up already, and waved from the garden for me to [[look|mirara]] through the window.
The only thing I find about that is an entry from a couple years ago:\n\n//After much time, at long last I have a place in the house to keep all supplies Karen and I are going to need on Judgement Day. Each one has his own Battle of Megiddo, and mine's for my little girl. I must not forget: in order to get to the supplies, one has to find the point where the rain stops.//\n\nProblem is, Dad was afraid someone might steal his diary from him, so many times he wrote important information in riddles. For all I know, the supplies could be right here on [[this very room|cuarto de papá]]. Or five meters underground, I don't know.
Perfectly made, impeccable. Very much like him. He always made the bed right after getting up. He said it made him less inclined to go back to sleep. And thank goodness, because in the weeks following the accident he virtually didn't leave [[his room|cuarto de papá]].\n\nHow crazy, he probably made it before even looking out.
\n''HELP''\nSome instructions and guidelines more or less unnecessary.\n\n''PLAY/READ:'' There's not much mystery to it. The essentials are: ''1.'' read the little words (important), ''2.'' identify the links in the text (protip: they're blue), ''3.'' click one of those links, ''4.'' see how the story reacts, ''5.'' repeat the process until the story ends.\n\n''SAVE:'' If you want to come back later to the same part of the story you're in now, you just have to copy the game's URL (it's in the browser bar, up there ⇧), entirely, with all the numbers, letters and dots at the end. You can save it to your bookmarks/favorites (''Ctrl+D'' on Windows, ''Cmd+D'' on Mac OS), or copy it to a text file, or scribble it on a post-it (not recommended: they get lost!).\n\n''LOAD:'' If you already saved the game sometime, you just have to paste the saved URL on the browser bar and hit enter. //Voilà!// There's the game, right where you left it the last time.\n\n''GO BACK:'' If you regret some decision you made and would like to go back, you can talk about it with a friend or go see a therapist. Unless, of course, it's a decision made in this game, in that case you can just click the ''previous page'' button on your browser, or hit ''backspace''. If you regret from regretting and want to go back to the point you had already made the decision (you're very complicated, by the way) you can subsequently click the ''next page'' button.\n\n<html><center><a href=javascript:javascript:history.go(-1)>— BACK TO GAME —</a></center></html>