//------------------------------// // The Binge // Story: Mind Games // by LongStoryShort //------------------------------// Today was the day. The games had been set. The cola had been bought. The chips were in place. The HayStation and JoyBoy were cool and ready to go. Button Mash swaggered into the room with triumph. He had twelve hours of the remaining Sunday left, and he had all night to spend it. And what better way to do that than going on a game binge? “Tonight is going to be awesome,” he remarked. And with that, he picked up his controller, and pressed the start button. Hunger was the first thing Button felt when he awoke. Then thirst, then exhaustion. The sensations in his hooves were gone. Oh, great, he imagined. Button began a short exercise that got them working again. He started with his back hooves, which wriggled after five minutes. He bucked his legs to fully stretch himself. Then he worked the energy below his waist to his upper body, which began to shift. It was like trying to come back after a doctor had given him laughing gas for a molar extraction. After ten minutes, his forehooves regained their senses, and his feelings were returning to his face. Though arduous, this was the fun part. He began to make inappropriate and smug expressions to regain the strength in his eyes and mouth. Button made the look of a champion, a pimp, The Most Interesting Stallion in the World, Buck Norris, and Freddie Haycury. Ponies were going to come to him just for a glimpse, he thought. With that, he had full control of his face. He rose to his hooves, and he was a champion. He had completed a long journey, a journey that took him from the beautiful city of Colombia to the hunter-riddled and clicker-infested land of Equestria. He had taken on the mighty Psycho Manticore, vanquished the legendary Colossi, obliterated the undefeatable Reapers (the ending still sucked), and sent Ganondwarf back to whence he came. He made friends. Ellie, the filly that he swore to protect as the salvation of pony-kind. The Shopkeep, who taught him the lesson of being richer. The Medics, whom he was still thankful for even though they kept reviving him in the middle of the left hallway of Operation Metro. And Dogbeef, pony’s best friend in the Equestrian Wasteland. Best of all, he had performed feats nopony had known possible. He had dived the depths of the dystopian Rapture. He learned the definition of insanity, became a shadow in the midst of a pirate and nature-dominated jungle. He had taught his enemies fear, knocked them out one by one, used green tinted goggles that made a photo-negative recharge sound, becoming  an expert lightbulb assassin in the process. He himself was taught fear; he experienced it firsthand in a forest with a child-consuming entity, in a dark descent while escaping the physical embodiment of his regrets, and aboard a mining ship where everything had gone to Tartarus. He realized his true potential as the Dragonborn, stolen sweet rolls, gotten advice on how to avoid taking arrows to the shin,  found a spherical entity with a yellow eye that wouldn’t stop talking about the joys of space. He had been around the block, gotten yelled at, jacked chariots, and constantly got called up by that stupid bucking cousin of his, Roman, to go bowling in Cantertrot. These were his finest hours. Nopony was going to take them away from him, and nopony was- “Button! Have you been playing video games all night?” *sigh* “No Mom!” “Well, get up! You’re going to be late for school if you don’t come to the kitchen!” I swear I will slay you when the time comes, he thought. I dare you, son of mine. What? He cried, without letting a peep. You can read my mind? Of course. One gains the ability to read his offspring’s thoughts over time as a parent. Now, come to the kitchen. Yes, Mother. Walking into the kitchen, Button was met with his mother with the discrepancies in her hair sticking out and her mouth small. Someone must have had a busy night. He couldn’t blame her, though. When your husband was working at an arcade that had night shifts, a mother had to do something to entertain herself. As far as Button knew, her mom was probably getting off of herself while his dad was working. He was worried that one of these days, his mom would drive herself over the edge when she couldn’t find  new ways to pleasure herself.  Eventually, she would have to turn to hi- “Button. Mind in the present?” his mom asked. “Yes, Mom,” he answered. Good, she thought. I was worried he would keep  thinking about my private life forever. “Button? You don’t look so good,” his mom commented. Just now, she had noticed that his eyes were red. “I know.” “Button. Are you really sure that you weren’t playing all night?” “No.” “Do you know what happens when you go on binges like this?” she asked. “What can?” he replied cynically. Button’s mom sipped the cup of coffee on the table. She knew the looks of an all-nighter. She knew what was going to happen afterwards. “Well, mister, if you play video games too long, you’ll start seeing  things.” “Like what?” “Bad things.” “Superbad.” “Like Superbad superbad?” “No. Much worse.” “Tell me what happens!” She slipped from her chair, and put a hoof on his head. “There’s a fine line between what you play and reality, my friend,” she remarked. “When one sees the other side too long, his mind may not come back.” She motioned her head downwards, and put her mouth next to Button’s ear. “The abyss also gazes, Button. Know that,” she warned. Button’s eyes were wide open. His form stood stock still. His mom swore that his legs were about to shake. He’s getting the point, she thought. The fear sets in, the mind flows faster, and the boy starts looking behind him wherever he goes. Then he laughed. “Pfft, ha ha! Nice one, Mom!” He grabbed his sack lunch off the counter. “See you after school,” he finished. He made sure to kiss her cheek before dashing out the door. She sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. She slowly trotted back to the table, and took her seat. Why don’t I get enough me time? she wondered, as her head fell backwards, then brought itself to a violent rest on the surface of the table.