Objects are rather strange creatures.
Life itself is already pretty peculiar; even the many, *many* hours of work that have been put in by the greatest minds (which these days usually meant just Golf Ball and her friend) have been unable to figure out that great mystery, of how a completely lifeless arrangement of particles can, with a little bit of magic, turn into a *live* arrangement. And now, not only is the miracle of life very real and very tangible, but it's also been given to these... things, these objects that are dubbed inanimate, these artificial constructions made to move and meander. They can walk, they can talk, they can do just about whatever their hearts (or whatever filled that role) desired, all while being a *double* offense to the laws of nature and the universe, an unthinkable, improbable abomination. The whole idea was just absolutely absurd and ridiculous to anyone that gave it any more than 2.763 seconds of thought; but then again, *most* things that have happened in Goiky are of a similar vein. Perhaps that is why those that end up following this train of thought end up getting branded as sad, miserable losers. Perhaps that is why Golf Ball ends up retreating into her dark, depressing, dilapidated factory, where the sunlight shines down just about as often as any spark of joy or happiness.
If one were to venture down those flights of stairs, into the deep depths, if one were to find GB hunched over, feverishly working over something or other, and if one were to dare to ask her about these matters and tolerate her high-pitched shrieks and raspy tone, she'd go on and on about how those absolute *fools* knew absolutely *nothing* about what they were talking about. She'd talk at length about the extensive experiments and repetitive research she'd conducted on the field, desperately trying and failing to figure out just what gave them the spark to be alive, to toil in this horrific Earth. Pages upon pages of barely-legible scrawl and technical jargon; massive, ancient volumes and tomes from an older, unknown time; all sorts of notes and observations she laboriously worked on instead of managing her team or actually being a decent and tolerable person. All this and more she can go on for basically the rest of time, as one would most likely die of sheer boredom before she could get halfway done. It was a nasty, horrific, thankless endeavor, but Golf Ball knew deep down in her heart that it was a necessary one; *someone* was most likely accountable for this great mistake, for allowing them to breathe and grieve in this terrible rock floating in space.
If one were to really look at it, some objects *really* shouldn't be alive.
On one end were the ones that were already alive, in some sense, prior to evolving to become these monstrosities; Flower, Grassy, Leafy, Tree, all of them came from nature which already had a sort of mind of its own. Innumerable were their vast lineage of cousins and ancestors and whatnot, all confined to their fixed stations on the ground. They and they alone were given this special gift, allowed the realization that they were always surrounded by their basically dead family, and to compete in such a horrible competition that they too were also dead by some definition.
Then there were the ones that were just... Alright. Gates, erasers, coins, blocks, books, matchsticks, bells, basketballs, pencils, robots, and pieces of wood that are now sentient for... reasons. Every single other one of their kind was indisputably dead, motionless, unfeeling, uncaring. Inanimate in every sense of the word. But they, through some fluke, some joke, some cruel trick, are allowed some time in the sun, some time to think about their lives. When one finally gets over the fact that there's just no explaining the how, the next obvious thing to dwell on is *why*. These characters have had absolutely nothing of renown or interest until a speaker box fell from the sky one day and declared that they were to Battle for Dream Island. Prior to that, they were just hanging around these green plains, talking to each other about whatever they wanted and perhaps doing something funny if they felt like it. Just what exactly was the point in making these things alive? If one were cynical, perhaps the meaninglessness of it all *was* the meaning; perhaps some sad soul was angered by their existence one day, and so decided to vent out their frustrations by forcibly placing that burden unto others, just like what happened to them.
