Because to huddle so close to another player in this game is to set yourself up for death, for a life of relying on strangers to protect you from a weapon they never see coming. I’m too old to always be at the top of the leaderboard.
I didn’t mean to fail my Big-Wheel mission, but still, I returned to the checkpoint with wet socks, staring across the luscious emerald field that was my pool cover and that had just folded over me, clinging to my lanky body like saran wrap.
That invincible feeling didn’t last long. My early twenties didn’t last long. Nothing does, except maybe our doubts.
All townspeople I’m forced to interact with give me wrapped gifts: three fish, a scythe, a cookbook, a camera. They don’t seem to have much. The wizard is out of town and the priest on the hill has a graveyard but no congregation.
Today I woke to find you gone and have no name to call out into the wild. I tried giving you a name once, but you rejected it.
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