first person shooter

these are the greatest of times.

the kid sits on the edge of his bed, slumped over a colossal controller. he could be paralyzed, a statue, if not for the blur of his fingers, smashing buttons at much speed.

i couldn't be happier.

"wanna play or something," i ask quietly.

no? too busy being awesome at video games? your zombie aspirations all coming true? your parents should be proud.

maybe he couldn't hear me over the sound of virtual world war two. maybe it's because i'm under the bed. maybe it's because i asked too quietly. i'm not that concerned.

i'm too busy having a moment. i'm too busy knowing i couldn't be happier.

the machine guns stop abruptly. then the kid's head appears upside down in front of me. his dirty hair hanging down to the dirty floor.

"hiya merlin," he says.

"hey buddy."

can't you see i'm busy in a moment.

"how's normandy going up there?"

"good." then he smiles, which is terrifying upside down.

"want some help with your game?" i ask.

"nah, i just wanted to make sure you're still there."

it's at this point i start wondering when the kid's going to wear his first dress. not even in a hurtful way, just curious, like wondering what day he'll make it to first base, or dig up the secrets to masturbation. the dress is in his timeline, etched into his carbon.

he winks at me then his smiling/frowning head disappears.

i need a cigarette so bad.

the machine guns start up again. before i know it, i'm in a deep sleep.