Touched (an acrostic poem)

Taking a chance, Mary sneaked close to Clyde

Oblivious to her hovering, Clyde continued to play his video game

Unable to resist, May moved even closer, invading his personal space

Clyde acknowledged her existence with a grunt

His eyes went wide though as he met his electronic demise

Eyes met, and Mary realized she had crossed a line

Drawing up to her full height, Mary walked away.  Clyde smiled and followed



A Broken Connection

His sword cut through the goblin like butter, but that just left room for the next one to step up.  Nathan had been hacking at these damn things for like the past fifteen minutes and his arms were getting tired.  True he could hardly be hurt by the things, but if he stopped swinging they could hurt and maybe even kill him.

At last he saw their king walking to the fray.  Nathan began swinging in wide arcs, ignoring his fingers complaining about their grip.  He had to make it to the king and end this once and for all.  Three more slashes and he was right there.  He sized up the king and began a combo, but before it could work the internet went down.  “Mom!” he complained, “Why did you turn on the microwave?”

“You said you wanted a Hot Pocket,” his mother said from the kitchen.

As the microwave beeped Nathan’s connection reestablished and he was able to witness the death stroke from the goblin king pierce Nathan’s character’s heart.

“No!” Nathan cried.

Nathan’s mom came into the room carrying a plate with the death dealing Hot Pocket.  “Nathan deary, it’s only a game.”

Nathan looked at her like she had told him that she had personally killed Santa Claus because his reindeer pooped on the roof one too many times, AND threw away all the presents.  “Mom, I was playing hardcore mode,” Nathan said.  “I was almost to max level.  My mage is now permadead.  Do you know what that means?”

“I’m afraid not deary.  You know that,” she said as she placed the plate on the tray next to Nathan.

Nathan swooped up the Hot Pocket, tearing into it like a medieval turkey leg.  “It means about thirty hours wasted,” he said while chewing.  “Thanks mom.”

His mom put her hands on her hips.  “Don’t you dare use that sarcastic voice with me!  All these hours you play seem like a waste.”

Nathan swallowed and picked back up the controller.  “Mom, you just don’t understand.”

Nathan’s mom shook her head and walked out of the room, but after just a brief moment she returned.  “I may not understand why you play that thing constantly, but I do know one thing,” she said.

Nathan didn’t even bother taking a look at her.  He continued to load his next character.  “What is that?” he asked.

“A thirty-eight year old should be able to heat his own damn Hot Pocket,” she said.  With that she left the room in a huff.

Nathan sat there stunned by what his mother had just said.  The idea of being thirty-eight and living in his mother’s basement made his mind explode.  Then he shrugged his shoulders, took another huge bite of Hot Pocket, and dove back into the game.  That goblin king was going to go down next time.  Go down hard!