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The only sound Dennis could hear was his own heartbeat but he thought his eardrums might explode. He had given up wiping the rain out of his eyes and now he was running blindly though the soggy downtown Boston streets. It was just a game, he thought, but now the weapons were real and his friend was dead.
Friend? He wondered. “What was his real name?” Dennis screamed in desperation, but the city did not answer. In the on-line, gang-land style game, he had known the boy as Trojan, one of the best.
Dennis slowed down long enough to get his bearings and bent over in breathless exhaustion, his wet black hair covering his face. Wasn’t there a hotel down there? He spotted the dive, but there were no better options. Dennis made it inside and paid the clerk most of the money he had left for three hours in a tiny room.
He tried closing his eyes as he laid across the bed, but invading images of the game continued even now. It was all he’d done or thought about for almost a year. College was a thing of the past and so was his basketball scholarship.
Why not? He had thought when someone suggested they’d play in real-life. What did he have to loose, no one had beaten him yet? With his quiet religious upbringing he expected lasers or paint-guns. But that wasn’t what the others had in mind. Things were real now, too real.
Dennis stood up and looked out the dirty window watching the lights come on at the doughnut shop across the street. He could see a man lying on the curb covered in newspaper. I’d rather have his life, look what I’ve done with mine. I turned it into a game.
As the sun came up Dennis thought of his mom. He searched the small side table drawer, grateful to find stationary, yellowed with age. He began to scribble as fast as he could, she deserved an explanation.
A knock at the door, interrupted him. “Room Service!” not here, he thought.
Goodbye! He wrote.
GAME OVER!
Love, Your Son,Dennis (A.K.A. The Champion)
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