I cannot stop thinking about Marathon

When I talk about Marathon on the internet, I hear a common refrain. It has lodged in people’s minds. They play for hours, watching time just disappear. Sometimes, people tell me they’re dreaming about the game. I’m dreaming about it too.

This story was originally published on Aftermath, a website that covers games, the internet, and labor.

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In my dreams, I am a runner. A worm prints my body and my consciousness is born into it, crystallized from caterpillar to moth. Rain beats down on my synthetic form on Tau Ceti IV, lightning striking mere meters from me. I duck in and out of buildings that look like they are made of candy. I am gunned down by shells that look like mine; I drown in blood as blue as painter’s tape. Then I rise again, silk from a worm once more. My alarm clock rings in Brooklyn. What I hear is Poppy’s voice singing, “in death we’ve just begun.”