The Game @

Black.

The TV [clicks] on.

A miasma of ashy light fills the room, casting a ghostly glow on Mikey’s face, making the freckles appear black on his cheeks. His hands, one holding an action figure, the other a Hotwheel, paused pre-collision, amid a pile of wooden blocks.

“Now Available!” Words embossed on a flashing star of alternating colors sprung, seemingly from nowhere, to the center of the television screen. Mikey turned his face toward the TV as a deep-voiced narrator with a bubble in his throat intoned, proclaiming, in syncopated rhythm, the words flashing in that seizure-inducing star.

Another flashing star appeared over the first, at a different angle, overlapping the other, but not completely obscuring it. This time, the words were “TheGame.” Mikey inched his way to the television, walking on his knees, until his nose was inches from the screen. He tilted his head from side to, as if trying to peer beneath the layered shapes to see what, if anything, they hid. The narrator spoke again, the new words, echoing against the flashing light on the screen.

Another star appeared, again cock-eyed to the one beneath it, and twinkled with the words “Get Yours Now!” Mikey leapt to his feet and was at the door of the rumpus room as the narrator’s deep voice reverberated with the flashing words’ imperative.

“Ma!” Mikey shouted. “We gotta go to the mall!”

“So, what’s it do, Mikey?” Danny, with his sandy blonde hair looked over Mikey’s right shoulder to see the object in his hands. Pat busied himself picking up a clump of cardboard and plastic Mikey had dropped after removing it from around the object in his hands. Greg stood to Mikey’s left, head cocked and a querulous expression on his face.

The quartet of boys stood in a city park. Behind them, in a row, stood a set of swings, a climbing structure with wobbly bridge and slide features, and a sheltered area with picnic tables. In front was a wide swath of lawn where one could lay out a blanket, throw Frisbees, or play tag. Though, at that moment, it was being used by a sizable group of older boys playing football.

Mikey looked at the object in his hands with a confused expression. The toy had the look of a hard, rubber discus, but was light in heft and felt slick to touch. On top of this, set in an off-hand, rickety way, was a set of wooden slats of indeterminate origin sloppily pasted together like a hut made from popsicle sticks. Mikey was turning the object over in his hands when one of the larger football players noticed the boys as the teams were lining up for another play. He trotted over and grabbed the object from Mikey’s hands.

“What you got there, kid?” He held the disk over his head as Mikey and his friends jumped around him trying to reach it. “Why don’t you go fetch it, pecker woods?!” The football player flung the object with his wrist in a high, lofted arc past the boundary of the park. The object soared over a fence and into a cornfield where short stalks sprouted from dark loam. The football player jogged back to the game where the other players had began shouting at him to hurry.

Mikey, Danny, Pat, and Greg watched as their toy slowly sank to the ground. As it landed, a rainbow of brightly colored dust puffed up from the stalks, expanding outward from the disk. The particles in the air coalesced into the shape of a castle that grew in awkward spurts to a height of three stories, complete with drawbridge and tower.

“Hey, what the…” Greg pointed into the distance. He fell silent raising his arm because it was clad in plate, and his finger shone, extending sheathed, from a mail and armor gauntlet.

“What’s going on?” Danny asked, peering down at his own body as it, too, was now covered in medieval raiment.

Pat interjected, “No! It’s like a quest! What is that toy called, Mikey? TheGame? It’s like it read my mind! I wanted to play Knights of the Round today.” The boy’s armor clanked. He quivered with excitement. “Look at the castle!”

The boys turned their attention to where the strange flying disk had landed. The corn stalks at the base of the castle metamorphosed into thick, thorny vines, growing over the fence and creating a briar at the end of the park lawn.

“It is a quest!” Mikey exclaimed, slamming the visor of his helmet down. “Let’s go!” The four boys began trudging towards that nasty looking briar, through thick, shoulder-high reeds. Mikey led the way, slashing foliage with a one-handed longsword. After clearing a particularly nasty swath of greenery, a swarthy ogre leaped in front of the four youths cradling an oblong stone in one arm.

“WharYooGonPeck’rwuds!” The ogre lifted the stone in his hand, intent on striking Mikey. Pat grabbed Mikey by the collar of his armor and threw him to the ground. His arm swept down to his waist and swung back up holding a spiked mace. With all his strength, Pat brought the mace down upon the forearm of the ogre, causing it to drop the stone.

“Güt däng!” the ogre cried as it tried to collect the stone from the ground. Pat kicked the stone with his armored foot, and the rock flew end over end over a nearby mead hall, open to weather, its long tables filled with gay revelers cheering on the fight between the young boys and an interloping ogre.

Surprised by how easily and how far he had kicked the stone, Pat paused to watch it land. The ogre gathered its strength, lowered its shoulder and charged at Pat. Greg rushed the ogre, holding a steel-banded buckler in front of him. He collided with the ogre, catching his shield just below the chin of the creature, lifting it up and shoving it backwards, forcing it to land on its back. The ogre kicked its legs and clawed at its neck as the four boys ran past, Mikey in front, using his sword again to cut a path through the tall reeds.

The boys approached the briar blocking passage to the castle. Thick vines writhed like snakes over each other. The thorns were fibrous and tough, taking several hacks of Mikey’s sword before falling off the vine. Danny had been hanging back during the melee with the ogre as his raiment seemed less resilient to attack. He wore a heavy, hooded cloak and carried a satchel on his hip secured by a shoulder strap. From this he took a heavy tome and rested the spine on his palm. The book opened and Danny flipped pages with his free hand, eyes scanning words at a rapid pace. He suddenly stopped flipping pages, flattening the book on its crease, holding the pages down so he could read the printed arcana.

Danny’s brow creased as he peered at the open book. A look of deep concentration crossed his countenance as his lips moved and he mumbled significant syllables of spellcasting. The briars Mikey hacked at with his sword turned from green to a rotted purple and the stems erupted into flames. Danny mumbled. The vines emitted screams as steam erupted from burning tendrils.

After his spell cleared a suitable path, Danny stopped speaking and closed his book. He stowed it back in his satchel as the other boys beat aside any remaining vines with their weapons. The flopping flora seemed to finally give up as all four boys stepped onto the drawbridge. Pat, Mikey, and Greg removed their helmets to hold them under their arms. But, the helmets had disappeared. Greg pointed to the castle with a bare arm and said, “Look! It’s shrinking!”

The castle began to slowly spin, decreasing in height. The remnants of the briar broke apart into tiny, ashen embers that floated in the air like burning wisps of paper and disappeared in the wind. The castle spun and shrunk in size, until it was that funny looking Frisbee kinda thing with a popsicle stick dollhouse on it, and it finally came to rest at the feet of Mikey.

The boys looked at each other, eyes wide, mouths open. Greg patted his chest, rubbing his cotton t-shirt, not sure if he had really been wearing a steel breastplate just moments before. Pat looked out over the lawn where the older boys played football. The group stood in a crowd around one boy who was on his hands and knees, dry-heaving. Mikey bent down and picked up The Game. He turned it over and over, peering at it from every angle.

Danny had turned around and was poking at the fence separating the park from the cornfield. Before their quest, the chain link was whole. Now, there was a ragged hole in line with where the boys had cleared a path through the briar. The perimeter of the opening was ringed by metal links that showed signs of hacking and burning. Danny held on to one of the blackened pieces. He looked behind him at the other boys. “It’s still warm.”

“That’s cool and all.” Greg stopped patting his torso and walked over to Mikey. He grabbed The Game, took a couple steps further into the cornfield and threw it aloft, spinning it straight up. “But I wanted to play Posse today.”

The Game revolved faster and faster as it fell back to the ground. When it was about seven or eight feet above the boys head, it hung in the air and seemed to melt and gain mass, coalescing into the shape of a person clad in dungarees, boots, chaps, coarse cotton shirt and a Stetson. A bandana was tied across the person’s nose and mouth. Two six-shooters rode in a belt around the person’s waist, almost mirroring a pair of bulging saddle bags bouncing on the horse’s haunches.

The horse was already at a trot when enough of The Game had melted down to become hooves on the ground, galloping away, pounding through knee-high corn. The boys looked at each other, now accoutered like the figure on the horse. They tugged on the wrists of their leather gloves as they looked around for mounts of their own. Finally, Greg said, “Looks like we’ll have to track them.”

“I bet they ain’t going far,” posed Mikey. “Like, maybe they’re just going to their thieves’ lair.”

“We best go quickly, even so.” Said Greg. He strode quickly into the corn following the path of broken stalks. Mikey and Pat followed right along. Danny took one look behind him. He dropped the bit of fence he had held. It didn’t land on rich black loam, but on hard, rocky earth. Danny looked around and saw his friends walking through a narrow canyon that looked just wide enough for one horse with rider to clop comfortably through.

“Hear that?” Greg whispered back to his comrades as he walked slowly through the canyon. The other boys pricked up their ears. Every second, a loud click echoed against the rock walls, followed almost immediately by another, slightly quieter click. “That’s the hooves. They ain’t moving any faster than us.” Greg stopped to rest against the canyon’s wall. He looked intently in front of him, then behind. “It’s likely to get hairy.” The boys continued walking apace.

The walls of the canyon closed in around the boys. A rider would have had to get off their horse and lead it the sides were so close to the other. Greg stopped. He leaned against the canyon wall and squatted. A bullet ricocheted off the rock where his head had been. The other boys threw themselves to the ground. Greg calmly withdrew a revolver from its holster. He sighted along the barrel and squeezed off a shot. “Go! Stay close to the ground!”

Mikey, Pat, and Danny crab-walked in front of Greg while he held a bead on a spot on the canyon wall where it curved around at a switchback. While they made their way to the corner, the hind end of the horse appeared, backing slowly. A shot rang out and blood splattered on the canyon wall. The horse neighed and reared up, whinnying fiercely. It ran forward. There was a sound, as if one of the boys had punched a pound of hamburger. Someone screamed a howl of pain, then lapsed into labored panting.

Greg stood up and holstered his weapon. He sauntered towards the other boys who were already straightening up. They approached the corner casually. Mikey absentmindedly kicked some pebbles toward the wall. As the rocks slid along the path, three shots rang out and echoed against the canyon, followed by a heavy, gurgling cough. The boys heard the person breathe out their bloody last.

Greg led the boys confidently around the switchback. But, instead of a body, they saw a mannequin in western attire, slowly shrinking. The canyon walls turned to sand and sifted down. There were no more guns at the boys’ waists. Instead of boots, their tennis shoes made soft imprints in black soil. And, where they still expected to see a dead body, there was The Game, spinning, then, wobbling. then, stopped.

“What the hell are you kids doing?” A man’s baritone called from above and behind the boys. Looking back, they saw a farmer gesticulating from the seat of a tractor. “Get the hell out of my field!” The man stood up in the seat and made to get off the vehicle. The boys turned around and Mikey picked up The Game. The farmer jumped down from the tractor. The boys ran perpendicular to the rows of corn, quickly outpacing the man, getting far enough ahead that he gave up the chase.

Mikey, Pat, Greg, and Danny ran, high-stepping over the young corn plants, until they made it to a paved street. Once there, they slowed their pace and chattered among themselves. Mikey held the game in front of his eyes and marveled at its incongruous, yet simple design. Pat and Greg talked about the adventures they’d all had. Danny didn’t speak, but looked around furtively, swatting at things in front of him the others couldn’t see.

“Dan-NEE!” A shrill voice cut through the air.

“Um, hey, guys. That sounds like my gramma.” Danny regained his focus. “I gotta get going.”

“But you didn’t get to choose a game.” Mikey turned to Danny and held The Game out to him.

“That’s…That’s okay,” Danny replied reticently. “Maybe tomorrow.” His body shook, as if experiencing a chill. “My gramma’ll be awful mad if I don’t go home when she calls.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Mikey saluted his friend by holding The Game up to his forehead. “What about you two?” He turned towards Greg and Pat.

“Naw,” said Greg. “We’re gonna go home. It’s almost dinner time.”

Mikey shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “All right. Guess I’ll see you later.”

The other boys turned from Mikey and began jogging away.

Mikey plodded along the side of the road trying to spin The Game on the tip of one finger. Wobbly at first, it then took hold and spun evenly. Mikey lifted his arm quickly, causing The Game to shoot into the air. The disc twirled, and expanded, growing into a saucer the size of a mini-van. Rings of light twinkled around the perimeter of the craft as it hovered. A door in the bottom slid back and a ramp extended to the street, right at Mikey’s feet.

Mikey walked up the ramp and found himself inside a bubble dome at the top of the saucer. The craft flew up towards the clouds. “I should probably get home, too,” Mikey said aloud. The saucer descended until it was just above roof level. It made its way, unbidden, down Mikey’s street. An alarm beep sounded, like a countdown, and it sped up as it neared Mikey’s house. The beeping hit a crescendo and Mikey was ejected from the saucer to the street below. The craft twirled lazily above the boy, slowly shrinking in size, until it was once more an awkward disc with a small house made of popsicle sticks on top.

Mikey was beaming as he grabbed The Game before it hit the ground. He clasped it tightly in his hand as he ran up the driveway to his house. He opened the door and slammed it shut. “Ma!” he yelled. “Mom, where are you?” Mikey searched each room until he found his mother in the den. Her eyes were glazed over. She sat in an armchair watching the television, hardly blinking, hardly thinking.

“Mom! This is like the greatest. You gotta see this!” He plopped into his mother’s lap, cheeks rosy, smiling from ear to ear.

“{Huff!} Mikey, don’t be jumping on me so. Get off! Get off!” She pushed her son from off her thighs. “Now calm down, boy. What is it you got there?”

Mikey thrust The Game into her face. “This is the best toy you ever got me!” He practically screamed.

His mom turned her eyes back to the TV. “{hrm} Don’t look like much, now. What’s it do?”

“It’s so cool. You like spin it and it does all kinds of things.” Mikey inhaled and exhaled quickly. He shoved The Game back in front of his mom’s face.

His mom put her hand to one side of The Game and pushed it from in front of her gaze. “Now, come on. That looks like a piece of junk.”

“Sure, it looks weird, but you oughta-“

“Don’t be a dang fool, son. You oughta just take that out back and toss it in the trash.” His mother didn’t move her eyes from the television screen as she spoke.

“But, ma, you just got me this-“

This time she looked straight at her son. “Look here. You best take that out back and throw it away. Cos if I got to get up and do it myself, you won’t be able to sit down at dinner.” She turned her face back to the grey glowing miasma of the TV.

“Yes, ma.” Mikey slunk from the room and moped back through the house and out the front door. The sun was starting to set. Mikey clenched his jaw and looked about, trying not to make eye contact, even with the air around him. His breath became shallow as he dropped his arms to his sides. The Game slipped from his fingers landing first on its edge, then falling, upside down, collapsing the little popsicle-stick dollhouse.

Mikey’s jaw quivered. He blinked quickly and repeatedly. But, still, a single tear escaped his eye, dripped down his face. He felt clammy, and ephemeral. It was like he could observe the color draining from his face, like wonder, draining from the world, paling. making his freckles stand out on his wan cheeks

like, drops of blood

on alabaster.

white