Begun at USC
Eight years ago, in a 2014 classroom at the University of Southern California, a teaching assistant named Will Hellwarth introduced a revolutionary idea during a game design lecture. He demonstrated how modifying games to use a webcam to track player blinks could replace traditional mouse and keyboard inputs for making in-game decisions. Two students in the class were captivated by Will’s concept and quickly teamed up with him to develop a project to test this bold idea. They named their creation “Close Your” and a year later, it won the IGF (Independent Games Festival) Best Student Game Award.
Motivated by their win, the “Close Your” team aimed to complete their project and launched a Kickstarter campaign. They described it as the world’s first game to use webcam technology to track blinks, narrating a life story that flashes before the player’s eyes. By 2021, this game was released under a new name, “Before Your Eyes.”
A Blink Between
When I first heard of the game, I couldn’t imagine how blink-capture technology could integrate so seamlessly with its narrative. In “Before Your Eyes,” each blink serves as a command to progress the game, similar to clicking a mouse. Beyond these interactions, blinking plays an even more crucial role: it causes in-game time to jump forward.
In the game, you play as Benjamin, a character in a realm that exists after death. A soul ferryman picks you up and guides you toward a tower, where a Gatekeeper will judge whether you ascend to heaven or remain trapped as a seagull on the ferryman’s boat. The ferryman recounts your life’s story to the Gatekeeper as evidence during this judgment—whether it is grand, humble, deceitful, or sincere. Thus, he asks for your help to revisit memories of family, love, career, and death. Since you can’t speak or linger long in any memory, each blink propels time forward, flashing you through the stages of your story.
Sitting in front of my computer, I tried to keep my eyes open as long as possible. However, multiple unnoticed blinks would skip dialogues, sending me rushing to the next scene. The frustration of blinking too soon was, for me, one of the most brilliant aspects of the game’s design. Unable to resist the natural need to blink, I ended up skipping many scenes and lines of dialogue. On replaying the game—this time turning off the blink-tracking feature and using a mouse instead—I saw some of the tender, intimate moments that I had previously missed. It felt much like life: the beautiful moments and those times when you wish you could freeze time, always slip away too quickly. The game constantly reminds you that stopping time is impossible. It sweeps you forward like an unstoppable force. Once certain experiences pass, you can never revisit them. To me, this inevitability is both poignant and cruel.
So, what kind of story would move the Gatekeeper? Would it move me as well?
(Spoilers Ahead)
The Carousel of Life
As you slowly open your eyes at the start of the game, you are transported back to your childhood. Your mother, a former composer who abandoned her dreams to work as an accountant, has pinned all her hopes on you, nurturing your budding talent for piano. She envisions a bright future for you as a musician and pushes you to practice tirelessly in preparation for an audition at a prestigious music conservatory. However, over the years, her relentless pressure often ignores your own desires. Your father—a university professor—tries to mediate, often discussing with your mother behind closed doors whether her expectations are too heavy a burden for you.
You start to rebel and do something you would never have dared to do before. For instance, sneaking off to call your first love during practice sessions. The night before your audition, that first love invites you to go stargazing. You agree without hesitation.
The audition went poorly absolutely, and your mother begins to question whether her aspirations for you were in line with your own dreams. Failing to enter the conservatory, you discover a passion for painting. Soon, you are accepted into an art college. During your time as a student, you create stunning works, sign with an agency, and eventually hold a world-renowned solo exhibition. However, amid your growing success, your mother passes away quietly.
At this moment in your memories, the ferryman exclaims with excitement, “So I’ve found a great artist!” He begins rummaging through a tattered dictionary, piecing together phrases to craft a narrative about your life that will move the Gatekeeper. But as he does so, the seagulls on his boat start to caw loudly. With a heavy heart, the ferryman reveals a secret: these seagulls are “Liar Birds,” souls who have lied before the Gatekeeper. To save your soul from this fate, the ferryman and you revisit your memories, this time peeling back the layers to reveal the hidden pain and truths you sought to bury.
The reality is that your life as an artist was merely a fantasy. As a teenager, you were diagnosed with a terminal illness, leaving you bedridden and facing the end of your dreams. Helplessly, you watched as your passion and ambitions withered before your eyes. One day, your mother brought you an old typewriter. She inspired you to write your own story to fill your days with tales of what could have been. Eventually, the disease became too much for you, and you closed your eyes for the last time. Before you passed, your mother read to you a story she wrote—about you as an 11-year-old child, full of life and wonder.
The ferryman pauses, thinking for a long while before bringing the boat to the foot of the Gatekeeper. When the time comes to tell your story, he sets aside any flowery language and ends with a simple, powerful quote from your mother’s story:
“Although he lived only a short and ordinary life, he nonetheless lived a good one.”
You were allowed into heaven finally. You let go of regrets and embrace the simplicity of an ordinary life. After all, this carousel of life with all its ups and downs is deeply real and true. Perhaps, the greatest challenge for many is accepting one’s ordinariness. Finally, the game invites you to close your eyes one last time.
FIN:
In the credits, Will Hellwarth mentions his father, reflecting on how he forgets the trivial moments of life that cannot be relived through fantastical journeys like those in the game. Perhaps only fading photographs can help us resist the flow of time.
「END」
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