Microsoft’s Tragic Mistake

Because I’m half-gamer and half-writer, I have to weigh in on this.

A giant crane called DRM, operated by a questionably well-intentioned worker named Microsoft, hit a large building with a wrecking ball. Some of the building’s inhabitants cried out in rage at this invasion of privacy, but though several others felt the tremor, not all came to see what happened.

Sadly, because Mr. Microsoft was listening to the latest album from his favorite band, EA, and staring longingly at a photo of his secret lover, Activision, he didn’t hear or see the people he was hurting.

He swung the wrecking ball a second time. Thousands and thousands more rushed to see what was happening, and those thousands also raised their voices in alarm. Alas, Microsoft would not, could not see or hear them.

Microsoft swung once more, sighed, and put down the photo of Activision. He realized something wasn’t quite right. He paused EA’s comforting melodies.

Microsoft looked, and he saw hundreds of thousands of people shouting from the building he was destroying. They were running. Straight out the building, thousands ran to nearby safehouses. The closest was called Playstation 4, to which most fled; several also sought safety in PC and the small, yet promising safehouse, Wii U. Tens of thousands fled. Hundreds of thousands. Microsoft gazed over at Sony workers graciously accepting the refugees into the safehouse. He looked back at the building he was demolishing.

Heart pounding and tears forming in his eyes, he read the crumbling logo on the front of the building he had smashed.

Xbox One.


Pitched Battle

Armies clashed… no, they shattered. No, no, that’s ridiculous. Armies slammed together… yeah… slammed together like bloody blue and orange magnets, cracking on contact and falling apart a chip and a crack at a time.

Two great generals… wait, why must generals only ever be great? Generals watched each other from either side of the battlefield… no, they’d be focusing on their troops. Generals barked… no, shouted commands at their men and women… no, shouted commands at their troops.

One side was clearly outmatched. Their troops fell like a thousand screaming bowling pins… bowling wasn’t a thing back then. They fell like a thousand screaming rocks, crushing each other but never the advancing enemy.

That makes no sense. I’ll just pitch that battle and try again.


As the oak toppled with cracks and snaps I pushed against it. It slowed. I pushed against it with both hands. It slowed further, nearly stopped. I tried to right it, but grass and daffodils withered at my feet faster than the tree moved. It moved, though, slow, creaking. I spared a look down. Plants were black in a sapling-sized radius around my feet. I reached out further, further. I was so close. Finally the old oak stood upright, reconnecting to its stump with several pops.

Then it stopped. It creaked. It groaned. It started falling toward me. I pushed. Nothing happened.

I strafed to the side as the oak slammed into the foliage I’d killed to keep it alive. Its darkened stump sat dead at the edge of a twenty-foot circle of blackness.