JUNO

MINDEN, LA

OCTOBER 1986

I can’t stand this chain.

The shackle alone must weigh ten pounds, putting immense pressure against my left ankle. And it makes such an unpleasant sound, echoing across the rotten floorboards of this place. I can only go as far as the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom. My son’s crib is in the living room, near the threadbare sofa and his toys scattered across the floor. Despite the peeling walls and torn up carpets, the house reeks of cleaning solution and cigarettes. But it barely masks the scent of decay that leaks past the basement door.

It’s really hard to walk with a chain. The creature started using it after I tried to run out the door that one time with my son. It’s not like in the movies at all. I have to lug this thing wherever I go, even in the middle of the night to relieve myself. It’s left a green mark on my skin. The ends of the shackle are rusty.

I have been inside this dark house for one month, two weeks, and four days. I’m not even allowed to go the windows. The creature has boarded them up with some wood and rusted nails that are bent at the edges. I see them take Rush out all the time, however, they never go far with him. Just to the front yard, where my one-month old son is able to lie out on a worn quilt and smell the fresh air. I can’t see them, let alone the figure’s shape. But I have never seen my boy cry once with my abductor, rather, he falls fast asleep in their arms when they do return with him.

And it beyond irks me.

I’m focusing on the wrong things. I have not been sent back to the game in four weeks. I keep waiting for the creature to do it, like when I had tried to run out of the house with my son, but they just won’t. I’ve tried everything I can to provoke them, just so that I can gain more exposure to the rules. I’ve destroyed plates in the kitchen, dumped their sketchbooks in the toilet, and left all of our food supply out in the heat to spoil.

But the creature doesn’t react. It spent last week plunging the toilet, sweeping the broken pieces off the floor, buying non perishable goods, such as canned fruits and vegetables. It’s even gotten paper plates from the store. Sometimes, they’ll be gone all day. For what, I’m not sure. I use this time to search the house for anything useful to break my chain.

But when they return, I’d be holding Rush in my arms. I recognize their car pulling up in the overgrown driveway. The ugliest Volkswagen I’ve ever seen, with a missing headlight. I’d shut myself in the tiny hallway bathroom. They’d removed the lock but I’ve barricaded it with other things. They knock on the door. I do not answer. In the morning, when I am sure they are gone, I see that they have left me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a tray, a glass of milk, and two large cookies.

Does this creature sleep? I have no idea. The house is as silent as it is, and the stench of human remains are so bad that it stings my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s coming from upstairs or downstairs. I think about Tom, who is below.

I wonder what Player 099234 is doing at the moment.

Honestly, I’m losing my mind. Maybe it’s the ever present smell of cigarettes, urine, and garbage. I don’t know. Some days, the figure stays with me in the house, but not without having me restrained to something. I can only go from the family room, kitchen, and the tiny bathroom. The chain stops just right at the foot of the basement, which is darker than the rest of the house, if that is even possible.

I’ve tried everything, from pencils to utensils to break up the chain around my ankle, but it’s no use. Searching for the keys to unlock the shackle has proved fruitless, but I continue anyways. I look for possible hiding places in the holes in the walls, under the stained carpets and rugs, behind the dust covered television, everywhere.

When the figure is here, I don’t put up a fight anymore. They keep giving me stuff I don’t want or care for, like books and clothes and board games. Brand new items from Burlington, that still have the price tags on them. I ignore them, let them gather in a towering pile by the threadbare couch.

My abductor managed to fix the TV, and they keep it on mostly for background noise. Neither of us watch it. I’ve memorized what time things are on. Magnum P.I, The Cosby Show, The Simpsons, Knight Rider, Different Strokes. They don’t seem to like sports.

I’m too exhausted, and I hate how it notices that I’m slowly starting to give in, that I’m allowing it to come closer, and closer, each and every day. My broken arm is starting to heal beneath my cast, and it’s itching something fearsome. It’s so dark in this house. I need to see the sun. I miss the feel of fresh air on my face and hair. I miss the grass and trees.

Send me back. I think. Why won’t you send me back to the game, already?

I destroy the living room each day, scattering everything across the floor. I throw a book against the window, causing it to shatter near the moldy curtains. Each morning I when I wake up, it’s back in its shabby order. So I do it again. The creature has been hiding its drawings, but I rip them to shreds until they are indistinguishable. At this point, I know they aren’t planning to kill me or stuff me in a cardboard box.

Well, not yet. I am on borrowed time.

But I need to find out what pushes their buttons. Clearly, the messes I’ve made have barely faze them. But I continue, because I’m out of options at this point. I don’t expect the creature to give me an answer out of the blue.

But they do.

I’m feeding Rush one rainy morning, surrounded in the middle of the messy living room, positioning the warm bottle in his mouth. His eyes are halfway open, and I am quietly humming to him. My mood is immediately spoiled when I spot the figure sitting at the foot of the stairs. Water leaks from the ceiling above, causing a puddle to spread outwards on a rotting floorboard. Then I can see two white dots, where the creature’s eyes are supposed to be. They are the only things available in the pitch black. I shudder and begin to move. Shoot. It is seven thirty.

When did they get home?

I didn’t even hear them come in.

My grip tightens around my son, and I instinctively shield him away from its sickening glare. I always do this, and it knows I can’t stand being in the same room as it. I know it hurts my abductor, and I like that it does. I’ve even slept in the cramped bathroom, holding my sleeping son in my arms. I do what I usually do. I put enough distance between us so that when the creature is home, we do not interact.

The room spins.

I stand up to go to the kitchen where I can feed Rush in peace. If I find any plates or glasses, they will be dashed upon the floor.

Juno?

My name flashes in front of me, like a text bubble. A startled shriek escapes from my mouth, and I stumble back, accidentally knocking over a small chair. It lands on the floor with a thud. It’s so dark here. I can’t see a thing. Not a thing. I am shaking. The room has disappeared. Where did the windows go?

Hey, June bug. My pretty girl.

It’s not a voice. But it feels like one—a message bubble in the cartoons. I pinch myself. Maybe I am hallucinating. They’ve drugged me, again. Somehow.

Why do you keep doing this? Destroying our house? Why you doing this to me, my love?

I begin to feel around in the dark.

My chain is rattling against the floor. The silence is not really silence. There is a static sound flooding the background, washing through my ears. I hold Rush closer to me, his hair soft against my chin. I no longer hear the rain outside. The text keeps appearing in front of my face, and I can’t bat it away, even though I try.

You can’t ignore me forever.

Oh, yes I can. I keep my eyes on the black abyss in front of me. I need to figure out the instructions to the game. It’s somewhere in this house, probably in one of the creature’s journals. I know they’re about send me back any moment, and I brace myself. But then I stop and ponder for a while. My mother’s voice echoes in my head.

Everyone wants something, Juno.

There is a hint of desperation. A footstep.

Why won’t you just talk to me? It’s been so long. I can’t even say good morning to you?

I shift uncomfortably on my chain. My son begins to fuss as I bounce him up and down in my arms. I lightly pat his back to burp him. He sighs with relief as he begins to fall asleep against my shoulder. Immediately, I glance up. The figure is immensely closer than before, although all I can see in front of me is black. Below us, Tom Brunswick is in a box. He is rotting, head to toe, in a cardboard box.

And it is all my fault. I must do this.

I’ve tried to keep you comfortable here.

Oh, how thoughtful of them to consider such a possibility. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I feel a cold hand slowly linger around the base of my elbow. Heavy, slow breathing. They have come even closer, and they smell of cigarette smoke. A face, suddenly buried against my shoulder. Thick, woolen hair—too long for a man’s and too rough for a woman’s. As their arms wrap slowly wrap my waist, I stare ahead in the pitch black. Their heart beat is slow against my chest. Skin and flesh. I fight the urge to slap them away.

I won’t hurt you. I’m not a monster. You need to understand that. I want you to know it. So there’s no need to break things.

A dull pain has settled on the right side of my head. I adjust Rush in my arms. The figure’s cold fingers gently tilt my chin to face them.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

”Can I go outside?” I quickly ask. “I need some air.”

Silence. I hold my breath. They seem thoughtful for a moment, before gesturing at my sleeping son. He places his thumb in his mouth. He is dressed in his frog printed onesie. My eyes faintly water as I observe his peaceful, calm face. We are getting out of here, I promise him. Sooner or later.

Put Rush in his crib. I’ll open the front door for you.

I grit my teeth, but reluctantly obey. I place a small kiss on my child’s face. Obviously, the creature knows that I wouldn’t leave here without Rush. The sound of the creaking hinges makes my heart palpitate. The fresh, glorious scent of rain is apparent, but I can hear the jingling of keys, the clanking of metal heavy against the floor. I bend down and massage my sore ankle, sighing with relief.

When I step outside on the porch, puddles have formed around the burnt remains of my car. The water quickly seeps through my thin yellow dress as I walk barefoot across the scorched yard. I deeply exhale and close my eyes, sinking my fingers deep into the mud. The sky is gray, but just enough light so that I can see the figure’s frame leaning against the doorway. The keys and metal shackle dangle from one of its long arms. As the cold water seeps through my hair, I observe the creature. They seem quite unsure what to do with themselves, lingering in the shadow of their crumbling, pitch black house.

I glance behind me at the empty muddy road. It lacks tire tracks—and there are only other neighboring houses that are in worse shape than this one. And it seems so easy, to just take off, doesn’t it? The temptation to just get up and run seems stronger than ever. But I know better at this point. They have a car; I no longer have one. I know that they are physically stronger than me. I know they are far more familiar with these woods than I could ever be. Most likely, they are testing me. I feel their eyes on me at all times.

Thunder rumbles above.

I make sure to take deep gulps of the fresh, strong air. I simply must wait at the right time; the right moment. There is a place for everything. My mother has always told me; that once people receive what they truly want,

that is when they are most vulnerable to deception.

I have to find out what this creature wants.

* * * * * * * *

”What’s your name?” I ask the following evening.

My voice is unrecognizable and shaky from the lack of using it for so long. It’s mostly dark, except with the exception of a few candles sitting on the nearby table. The figure remains hunched over by the stove in the shadows, digging into their plate piled high with food. They look slightly surprised by the question, loudly setting down their fork.

We are having pancakes and sausages for dinner. The chain is back on my ankle, and I loosely swing my leg back and forth. I’m a bit hesitant to touch my own plate—I’ve been living off of potato chips and dried fruit, since I’ve been too afraid to try their cooking. Three large buttermilk pancakes and a large sausage with Cajun seasoning. They’ve been trying to get me to eat—and despite it smelling wonderful, I’m worried they may have slipped something inside of it.

They’ve drugged my food before.

“Who are you?” I ask.

They lean against the wall, still chewing. Eyes fixated on me. Nothing.

I reluctantly take a bite of my pancake.

It’s soft and warm and fluffy, and despite me shaking I actually end up shoving the plate onto the floor. As I wipe my mouth, the figure dumps their dirty dish into the sink. It shatters into pieces, causing me to jump a great deal. They abruptly turn around, breathing heavy. I rush to my feet, begin to run for the bathroom. I am too slow.

The words flash across my face like fire. It’s like a shout, although I can’t hear a word.

You don’t appreciate anything.

They destroy another plate, more shards flying across the air. As I trip over my chain, they rush towards me, abruptly grabbing me.

I trip as I try to rush away, but they catch me. All the food in my stomach is tossing and turning. I can’t help but scream, their cold fingers digging into my hands.

* * * * * * *

Good morning, my love.

Morning. It’s such a wonderful day.

You overslept, so I have breakfast waiting on the table for you. Scrambled eggs and grits. It must’ve been a rough shift for you last night.

It was. I appreciate it. We were very busy at work. Boss gave me a promotion.

That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you!

That…that means a lot.

You’ve earned it. And I’m glad you’re off today.

Say, you want to go outside for a walk? We can take our son to the park. There’s a pretty big playground there.

Maybe. I’m down for it.

Do you want to help me decorate his room?

Hmmm. I’ve been thinking of painting the walls yellow. Kind of like he’ll always have sunshine spilling into his room. Even on rainy days. That sounds a bit silly, I know.

Not at all! Tell you what. I’ll run to the hardware store and pick up some samples. You tell me what you like, and we can go on from there. We’ve got to move his crib upstairs anyways. That’s going to be a job in itself. And with you at home with the baby all the time, you’ve got your hands full already.

You see? That’s what I admire about you. You’re so dependable. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m so lucky to be a part of this family.

You’ll stay forever, won’t you?

Huh?

You’ll stay here forever. You won’t leave. You’ll stay forever and ever and ever and̢̋̆̆̒

W̢͈͕͙̰͔̦̼͙͇̦̱ͣ̇̿͑̌ͩ̇̏͜H̴̨̛͓̜̠̦̩̱̠̪̳̬͈͇̻̳ͪ̋̏̐̊̑ͣ̇̅ͣ̍͊ͫ͒͂ͮ̾ͫ͒̈ͫ̋̚͘̚͠Y̯̠̰̟̙̻̰̲͌͆̐̇͗ͭ͋ͦ̚͞ W̢͈͕͙̰͔̦̼͙͇̦̱ͣ̇̿͑̌ͩ̇̏͜H̴̨̛͓̜̠̦̩̱̠̪̳̬͈͇̻̳ͪ̋̏̐̊̑ͣ̇̅ͣ̍͊ͫ͒͂ͮ̾ͫ͒̈ͫ̋̚͘̚͠Y̯̠̰̟̙̻̰̲͌͆̐̇͗ͭ͋ͦ̚͞ ḒͪO̵̢̢̪͎̤̣̠̙͙̘̥͖̻̤͈̱͙̜̺̥̪̹̓̒̂ͯͬ̓ͦ͛̊̍ͩͮ͌̀̎̈́́͆͋͘̕̚͞N̨̝̘̥̰̝̗̯̂͂̐̐̅͜’Ṯ͓̖̣̱̭͈͆͂ͨͣͥͥ̔̚̕ Y̸̸̶̡̛̼̰̱̺͍̗͖̣̣̥̬̩̪͉̙͛ͫ́̆̈́ͦ̏̇̊̇͐͋ͦ̅͗͋͐̃̚͠͠͞_̤̂̇ͯȌ̷̶̪̠͙̻̙͉ͫ̄ͬͭ̋ͤ̀ͮ̀ͣ͝_͓̹̺͚̞͕̼͆̇̈͟Ư̴̷̝̗͙̟̱͖̜̭̗̫ͮͦ̿̿̀͞__̶̖̤̺ͥ͂̽̓́̀ W̵̨̢̖̝̺̪̜̬̠̰̹̯̤͇̝͕̼͇̍̔͛ͭ́̏ͪ͌̅̏̂͌̉̐́͊ͥ̑͜͜͝A̶̘͕͊̕__͙̜̼̹̍͂ͩ̽ͪ͂̔̂̀͘͝͞NŢ̛̤͕̦̗͇͇̲̥̏̿ͩ͌ͦ̐̉͠ M̞͇͉̬̍̈͗̆̀͆̐̔ͪ͋̌̾̍̍̌̏͂ͤ͞E̴̲̠̩͆͋̾͟͠_̶̡̗̪̬̟̩̻̫͒͛̂ͮ͗ͭͨ̐̃ͧͫ̀͢͟ḒͪO̵̢̢̪͎̤̣̠̙͙̘̥͖̻̤͈̱͙̜̺̥̪̹̓̒̂ͯͬ̓ͦ͛̊̍ͩͮ͌̀̎̈́́͆͋͘̕̚͞N̨̝̘̥̰̝̗̯̂͂̐̐̅͜’Ṯ͓̖̣̱̭͈͆͂ͨͣͥͥ̔̚̕ Y̸̸̶̡̛̼̰̱̺͍̗͖̣̣̥̬̩̪͉̙͛ͫ́̆̈́ͦ̏̇̊̇͐͋ͦ̅͗͋͐̃̚͠͠͞_̤̂̇ͯȌ̷̶̪̠͙̻̙͉ͫ̄ͬͭ̋ͤ̀ͮ̀ͣ͝_͓̹̺͚̞͕̼͆̇̈͟Ư̴̷̝̗͙̟̱͖̜̭̗̫ͮͦ̿̿̀͞__̶̖̤̺ͥ͂̽̓́̀ W̵̨̢̖̝̺̪̜̬̠̰̹̯̤͇̝͕̼͇̍̔͛ͭ́̏ͪ͌̅̏̂͌̉̐́͊ͥ̑͜͜͝A̶̘͕͊̕__͙̜̼̹̍͂ͩ̽ͪ͂̔̂̀͘͝͞NŢ̛̤͕̦̗͇͇̲̥̏̿ͩ͌ͦ̐̉͠ M̞͇͉̬̍̈͗̆̀͆̐̔ͪ͋̌̾̍̍̌̏͂ͤ͞E̴̲̠̩͆͋̾͟͠_̶̡̗̪̬̟̩̻̫͒͛̂ͮ͗ͭͨ̐̃ͧͫ̀͢͟

W̢͈͕͙̰͔̦̼͙͇̦̱ͣ̇̿͑̌ͩ̇̏͜H̴̨̛͓̜̠̦̩̱̠̪̳̬͈͇̻̳ͪ̋̏̐̊̑ͣ̇̅ͣ̍͊ͫ͒͂ͮ̾ͫ͒̈ͫ̋̚͘̚͠Y̯̠̰̟̙̻̰̲͌͆̐̇͗ͭ͋ͦ̚͞ ḒͪO̵̢̢̪͎̤̣̠̙͙̘̥͖̻̤͈̱͙̜̺̥̪̹̓̒̂ͯͬ̓ͦ͛̊̍ͩͮ͌̀̎̈́́͆͋͘̕̚͞N̨̝̘̥̰̝̗̯̂͂̐̐̅͜’Ṯ͓̖̣̱̭͈͆͂ͨͣͥͥ̔̚̕ Y̸̸̶̡̛̼̰̱̺͍̗͖̣̣̥̬̩̪͉̙͛ͫ́̆̈́ͦ̏̇̊̇͐͋ͦ̅͗͋͐̃̚͠͠͞_̤̂̇ͯȌ̷̶̪̠͙̻̙͉ͫ̄ͬͭ̋ͤ̀ͮ̀ͣ͝_͓̹̺͚̞͕̼͆̇̈͟Ư̴̷̝̗͙̟̱͖̜̭̗̫ͮͦ̿̿̀͞__̶̖̤̺ͥ͂̽̓́̀ W̵̨̢̖̝̺̪̜̬̠̰̹̯̤͇̝͕̼͇̍̔͛ͭ́̏ͪ͌̅̏̂͌̉̐́͊ͥ̑͜͜͝A̶̘͕͊̕__͙̜̼̹̍͂ͩ̽ͪ͂̔̂̀͘͝͞NŢ̛̤͕̦̗͇͇̲̥̏̿ͩ͌ͦ̐̉͠ M̞͇͉̬̍̈͗̆̀͆̐̔ͪ͋̌̾̍̍̌̏͂ͤ͞E̴̲̠̩͆͋̾͟͠_̶̡̗̪̬̟̩̻̫͒͛̂ͮ͗ͭͨ̐̃ͧͫ̀͢͟

W̢͈͕͙̰͔̦̼͙͇̦̱ͣ̇̿͑̌ͩ̇̏͜H̴̨̛͓̜̠̦̩̱̠̪̳̬͈͇̻̳ͪ̋̏̐̊̑ͣ̇̅ͣ̍͊ͫ͒͂ͮ̾ͫ͒̈ͫ̋̚͘̚͠Y̯̠̰̟̙̻̰̲͌͆̐̇͗ͭ͋ͦ̚͞ ḒͪO̵̢̢̪͎̤̣̠̙͙̘̥͖̻̤͈̱͙̜̺̥̪̹̓̒̂ͯͬ̓ͦ͛̊̍ͩͮ͌̀̎̈́́͆͋͘̕̚͞N̨̝̘̥̰̝̗̯̂͂̐̐̅͜’Ṯ͓̖̣̱̭͈͆͂ͨͣͥͥ̔̚̕ Y̸̸̶̡̛̼̰̱̺͍̗͖̣̣̥̬̩̪͉̙͛ͫ́̆̈́ͦ̏̇̊̇͐͋ͦ̅͗͋͐̃̚͠͠͞_̤̂̇ͯȌ̷̶̪̠͙̻̙͉ͫ̄ͬͭ̋ͤ̀ͮ̀ͣ͝_͓̹̺͚̞͕̼͆̇̈͟Ư̴̷̝̗͙̟̱͖̜̭̗̫ͮͦ̿̿̀͞__̶̖̤̺ͥ͂̽̓́̀ W̵̨̢̖̝̺̪̜̬̠̰̹̯̤͇̝͕̼͇̍̔͛ͭ́̏ͪ͌̅̏̂͌̉̐́͊ͥ̑͜͜͝A̶̘͕͊̕__͙̜̼̹̍͂ͩ̽ͪ͂̔̂̀͘͝͞NŢ̛̤͕̦̗͇͇̲̥̏̿ͩ͌ͦ̐̉͠ M̞͇͉̬̍̈͗̆̀͆̐̔ͪ͋̌̾̍̍̌̏͂ͤ͞E̴̲̠̩͆͋̾͟͠_̶̡̗̪̬̟̩̻̫͒͛̂ͮ͗ͭͨ̐̃ͧͫ̀͢͟

MISSING FILE ERROR

* * * * * * *

I pick at my plate full of pancakes and sausage. It’s a lot of food for one person. I set down my fork. The figure is finishing their plate by the sink. They scrape up what else is remaining and gesture at me to keep eating.

So I force myself to take a bite, chewing slowly. I’m prolonging this meal as much as possible. I really want to check on my son. He might need a diaper change. But before I can do so, the words float in front of me again.

I have drawings in the attic.

A shiver runs down my spine. My fork clatters against the plate. My pancakes have maple syrup on them. I don’t even like maple syrup.

Why do I have maple syrup on my pancakes?

Why am I eating pancakes at night?

Want to see?

I blink. The static white words hang in front of my face. They are embedded in my vision, and no matter how much I try to close my eyes, they always follow me.

Want to see my drawings?

The creature has more? I thought I destroyed at least the majority of them remaining in this house. But my stomach twists and turns.

I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

But their hand is already pulling me up the steps, my chain rattling on each stair tread. By the time we reach the landing, I am shaking. I don’t like the attic. It’s pitch black. I keep tugging away from their hands, but they are too strong. I see the ladder; the smell of death meeting my nose. Their grip tightens.

“No!”

My voice echoes across the tiny hallway, so much so that the figure loosens their grip for a moment. With what remaining strength, I shove them away and stumble down the stairs. I hear their footsteps follow me. My hand goes for one of the candles, and I abruptly hold it in front of me. They remain in the shadows just before the light hits their face. Strands of hair settles over my face.

”Stay back,” I gasp. “I said no.”

They slowly sit at the foot of the stairs. For a moment, they rest their arms on their lap. I clench the wax stump of the candle with both hands, which are shaking so bad I can barely hold it. But they remain seated, although their eyes are on me. I can’t tell what color they are. They are just quietly observing me.

The weak flame blows out, leaving us in the dark. My vision is blurry. I hear them stand. In the pitch black, I can make out a very faint whisper. So quiet, it barely meets my ears.

”Please.”

No text. It is a whisper. Barely. I blink, surprised for a moment. It is barely a whisper.

”What…” I swallow hard. “What did you say?”

Come here.

”No,” I weakly repeat, backing away from the text now floating in my vision. “I’m not going up there. You can’t make me.”

In the dark, my hand feels around on the kitchen table. The handle of a knife. They don’t see this, I hope. I feel their fingers reach for my arm once more, and, with one swift motion, I drive the blade deep into their flesh. There is a stifled gasp, before a hand firmly wraps around my wrist. Something warm and hot is dripping down my sleeve.

It is very red

If the disk stops on one disk mode, swap disks and press space! If the screen flashes then you must use side two of the destination disk.

* * * * * *

“You drew all of this?” I ask.

We are sitting on the porch steps, eating popsicles. Mine is strawberry. It is partially melted. Rush is sleeping peacefully in my arms, with a fresh diaper change and a full bottle of milk. I pull down the paper wrapper as I flip through the pages, one by one. The strange characters make me giggle, for the first time in ages.

“I really like these,” I say, even though my head is killing me. There are words floating above me. I don’t remember coming out here. The figure reaches into the cardboard box and pulls out another notebook. They place a hand on my shoulder. I quickly glance up at their darkened shape. It’s very, very tall.

The pain in my head worsens. I yawn, begin to bounce Rush in my arms. “I think I’d better lie down,” I murmur. “I’m about to pass out.”

I’m confused as they help me to my feet. With a guiding hand, they lead me through the hallway, my chain rattling against the ground. They take my son out of my arms, place him in the crib. I try to follow, but their palm gently wraps around mine. I settle down wearily on the sofa in the dark living room, feel their cold fingers gently stroke my hair. The act is so comforting that my eyelids droop, even though I can’t remember a thing.

I can’t remember

ÿ̶̺̮́͒o̶̺͋͗u̷̝̖̓̎’̸͉͙̋͘r̶͎͈̅ē̸̪͔̒ ̷̬̓̏n̶͓̓͝ö̸̮́ṱ̶̦̀ ̷̭̈́s̵͇̉̍ṷ̴̅p̸̠̍͂p̷̃̊͜ö̷̧́̈́s̵̯̀̄e̶̘̜̔̽d̷̗̱̓ ̸̖̋̊t̵̽̐͜o̴͉̍͑

* * * * * * *

Player 099234’s bloodied form is impaled on a wooden pole in front of me.

All of his teeth are visible through his open mouth, which collect flies.

His muscles twitch.

His eyes face the pixelated sky above.