The next morning greeted me with disappointment—not just because I didn’t get that game, but because it was raining. Normally, I’d welcome the sound of rain, the kind of cozy ambiance that pairs perfectly with a bowl of popcorn and a good movie marathon. But walking to school on a rainy day? That’s a whole different story. It’s like nature slapping you in the face while whispering, “Your life sucks.”
And if rain wasn’t enough to kill my mood, the wind decided to join the party. Holding onto my umbrella was like reenacting The Battle of the Century, and spoiler alert: I lost. I stumbled through the school gates, drenched from head to toe, my umbrella flailing in defeat. If anyone had the audacity to ask, "Why so gloomy?" I’d point to the sky and shout, “Exhibit A!”
Our usual hangout spot was out of the question—it was outside and looked like a swimming pool now. So, I slogged through the hallways, dripping and miserable, when I spotted Rodrick. His distinct, messy brown hair with that streak of reddish tint stuck out even in the crowd. The guy was holding his hands up like binoculars, scanning the distance with the intensity of a hawk.
I crept up behind him, my lips curling into a mischievous grin. Whatever this fool was up to, he had no idea I was about to ruin his day. But curiosity got the better of me. What was he staring at?
I followed his line of sight and—oh. Oh. Girls. Girls everywhere. They were outside in the rain, soaked to the bone. Our school’s white uniforms had officially betrayed humanity, turning translucent and clinging to skin in ways that made my brain short-circuit. Rodrick’s breath hitched audibly as a gust of wind sent skirts flying. My brain finally screamed, “What the hell are you doing, Hector!?” snapping me back to reality.
I jabbed Rodrick in the ribs and shouted, “BOO!”
“OH JESUS CHRIST!” Rodrick practically jumped out of his skin, flailing like a fish out of water. His panicked expression shifted to a sheepish grin as he tried—and failed—to play it cool.
“A pervert to the bitter end,” I teased, crossing my arms.
“Chu know it!” he shot back, flashing the goofiest grin known to mankind.
Rolling my eyes, I steered the conversation to something less... hormonal. “So, how was it, Rodrick?”
“How was what?” he blinked, clearly still stuck in his fantasy land.
“The game, A Warrior’s Kingdom. Remember?”
“Ohhh, that!” His face lit up like Christmas morning. “Dude, it’s amazing! I don’t even know where to start!”
Before he could dive into details, the school bell rang, slicing through our excitement like a buzzkill blade. We groaned in unison. Just my luck—another interruption. First, the game eludes me, and now this. Still, I wasn’t about to let Rodrick off the hook.
“Walk with me to your class and tell me everything,” I demanded.
As we trudged along, Rodrick’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Okay, so picture this: you boot up the game, and BOOM! A flash of light blinds you, like you’re being sucked into another dimension. Then, you get to choose your name and pick from three ethnicities for your character. It’s like creating your own destiny!”
“What name did you pick?” I asked, my stomach doing backflips. This was torture—the good kind.
Rodrick smirked like he’d just discovered the secret to life. “Oh-ho-ho! That’s classified info, my dude.” He winked dramatically.
“Really? My man, you’re gonna pull that on me?” I gave him my best death glare.
“Anyway,” he continued, completely ignoring my glare, “the world looks so real. The grass sways with the wind—like this!” He waved his arms around, making whoosh sounds like a human wind machine.
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“I found Ivan pretty quickly, and guess what? It’s a fighting game!” he gushed, his excitement contagious.
Sadly, we reached his classroom, and our conversation had to pause. “See ya later in P.E.,” he said, fist-bumping me before disappearing inside.
My thoughts swirled with jealousy and excitement. A fighting game? That’s it. I need this in my life.
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The wait for the game became unbearable. Every day after school, I checked the mailbox like a man possessed. And every day, I was met with disappointment. Flyers, bills, coupons—everything except that game. Even Rodrick and Ivan’s tales of their adventures couldn’t cheer me up. Instead, they only reminded me of what I was missing.
My friends noticed my mood shift. They tried their best—offering to hang out or letting me play their copy. But it just didn’t feel right. That game was theirs, not mine. No one else could play it on their console.
Days passed like this, and I resigned myself to my fate. I was the only kid in the neighborhood who didn’t have A Warrior’s Kingdom.
Until one fateful day.
Walking home, I shot my mailbox the nastiest glare. It had taunted me for weeks, standing there smugly empty, mocking my patience.
"Screw you, mailbox," I muttered, my tone dripping with betrayal.
Just as I started to pass by, something caught my eye—a glint of white against the darkness inside. My steps faltered. Could it be? My heart stumbled, then picked up speed like an overclocked game console.
“No way...”
I bolted to the mailbox, nearly tripping over my own feet. My trembling hands wrestled the metal door open, and there it was: a package. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, like I was unearthing some sacred treasure, I pulled it out and held it up to the fading sunlight.
“Beauty supplies for women, 50% off,” the label read cheerily.
For a moment, the world froze.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
My voice tore through the quiet neighborhood, echoing off walls, rooftops, and the heavens themselves. I hurled the box onto the lawn with all the fury of a gamer scorned.
And that’s when I felt it—a small, solid nudge against my foot.
I glanced down.
There it was. A second package, unassuming yet radiating cosmic importance.
My heart skipped a beat. My jaw dropped.
“A Warrior’s Kingdom.”
Time seemed to slow as I bent down, reverently picking up the package like it was the Holy Grail. The weight of the game in my hands—this was no ordinary box. This was destiny.
Eyes wide, I tilted my head back, holding it up like Simba in The Lion King. My voice cracked as I shouted to the skies, “YES! THANK YOU, UNIVERSE!”
Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the blood from my earlier fall. Not that I cared—this was a moment for the history books. It had been weeks. Weeks of false anticipation, endless prayers, and watching my friends dive into the game while I sat there in my room, left behind in my lonesome. But now, it was here. It was finally here.
I sprinted home, ignoring the throbbing pain in my nose and the growing stitch in my side. My front door nearly flew off its hinges as I barreled inside. Hands trembling, I tore the packaging apart and slid the disc into my console.
The screen flickered to life, the title card glowing like some ancient artifact: "A Warrior’s Kingdom." The opening jingle played, and my heart swelled with a blend of nostalgia and exhilaration.
But then something odd happened.
The room began to shake.
At first, it was subtle—a soft tremor, like the rumble of distant thunder. But it quickly escalated. Books toppled off shelves, my controller slid off the desk, and a framed poster of Final Space Odyssey crashed to the floor.
“What the—?”
Colors exploded from the screen, swirling into an impossible storm of light and energy. Blues, greens, and fiery oranges twisted together like a living aurora, filling the room. The game’s title glowed brighter, pulsing in rhythm with the shaking.
I tried to back away, but the air seemed to thicken around me, pulling me forward. My legs refused to obey. The screen grew impossibly large, consuming the entire wall.
Suddenly, a deep voice boomed from nowhere, resonating in my chest:
“WELCOME TO THE GAME.”
The vortex swallowed me whole.