One More Match

I understand those stories now—the ones about kids in Korea or China found dead in internet cafes after three days straight of gaming. Starved, dehydrated, blood clots from sitting. I never got it until I played League of Legends for sixteen hours straight last night, slept for maybe an hour, and immediately started another match.

I’m level six. Killed over a thousand things, got a hundred takedowns, won five games and lost basically everything else. My team was usually incompetent. Though sometimes that was me. I’ll admit that.

I mostly play Sivir because she works, but I keep getting distracted by Riven, this disgraced soldier with a massive sword and this look, like she’d say yes to some seriously bad decisions. She costs five dollars or seven hundred hours of grinding. I’m not spending money on a free game, so Sivir’s who I get.

I’ve got my headphones on, smashing away at whatever moves in this jungle while I watch something else on my other screen because pure League makes me want to dig my own eyes out. I keep forgetting which button heals me and which one sends me back home. Which is humiliating. But nobody’s watching, so whatever.

This is free on Windows and Mac. I’m apparently the last person to discover it exists. You’re supposed to laugh at me now. I’ll be here for a few more matches before real life finds me.