Alternate Battle for Dream Island

ABFDIA 1b: Yeah, What?

The world as it was was definitely still far from ideal; but, at the very least, it was better than it was now.

The story was simple enough: long ago, twenty- er, nineteen living objects came to be one day, and they eventually made their home on the green plains of Goiky. Their origins, much like most details of the world they called home, would be scattered into the wind and lost to the pages of history. To them, however, that wouldn't matter one bit. They had their whole life ahead of them, and there seemed to be no point at all in reminiscing about the past when the future was right there, out in the open, just waiting to be taken. Time passed, the world continued spinning, and the objects became accustomed to their standard way of living. They'd wake up, they'd talk, they'd play games, they'd have fun, they'd fall asleep, and then they'd do it all over again. That's all they needed to do. That's all they wanted. That's all things seemed to be, and so it shall be.

But Golf Ball, from the very start, wasn't content to just let that be the whole story. From the very beginning, even before she began her long and storied career, knew that there was something more, something that was just buried underneath. She immediately noticed that herself and plenty of the others seemed to stick out like sore thumbs the moment you actually pay attention, whenever you think about it for more than 2.763 seconds. Little Fireys emerged every time lightning struck the ground. Small Leafys grew from the trees. Minute Bubbles formed when you splash vigorously in the water. Teardrops fell from the sky, Snowballs capped the mountains, Rockys dotted the landscape. But never in her entire life had she found another Golf Ball, or Tennis Ball, or Coiny, or Pen, or Eraser. They *had* to have come from somewhere, but they seemed to have come from nowhere.

It was just a casual observation at first, a question derived from a cursory glance at everyone she knew. But with a lack of *anything* to do around here but cause mischief, and a lack of arms to participate in said mischief, that lingering thought would soon develop into a full-fledged obsession. A fixation. If she and the others did not come from here, then where? If their other family members were not given the gift (or curse, as would be more fitting) of life, then why them? If the world truly was meant to be lived in, to be enjoyed, why did it seem like it was just them? As soon as you figured out how to formulate one question, you knew how to devise several more. And more after that. And once you have plenty of them, it became very, *very* hard to find any enjoyment in life.

Time continued to pass, and Golf Ball would gradually become more and more eccentric, more and more weary of the outside world and its many mysteries. She already wasn't too keen on the mayhem caused by others, but now she saw it as a nuisance. A distraction. Something that kept everyone busy and away from the things that *really* mattered in life. It was a happy, exciting life, but it wasn't actually *fulfilling*. It wasn't a life well-spent. It wasn't a life with purpose. That sort of life, GB reckoned, would be one spent pondering the many questions of the universe, and giving it her all to figure out the answers.

Of course, no one would want to agree with her; her countless hours spent digging up dirt with her feet to look for historical artifacts was, as they'd put it, incredibly lame and *boring*. It wasn't too long before tales of the bozo-brain bossy-bot would start making the rounds, and whenever they weren't messing with her, they maintained their distance.

But eventually, with enough persistence, it would start to pay off. One of her little expeditions managed to uncover a vast underground facility, containing a priceless trove of works throughout time, pieces in the great puzzle of the history of the Earth. Her life soon became a tad more tolerable than the days spent cooking in the sun and resting on the grass, rediscovering the ancient luxuries of electricity, running water, and air conditioning. And *eventually*, someone else would start to see the merits of her work. A fellow armless sphere would wander up to her Factory one day and declare that they wanted to be taught in her ways, and the rest was history.