The Checkpoint You Can Never Reload

Some games let you save anywhere. Others push you forward, checkpoint to checkpoint, no reloading the last ten minutes because you made a stupid choice. Shenanigansen’s webcomic We Go Forward uses exactly that structure to map a human life—and the fit is uncomfortable in the best way.

It plays out as a side-scrolling life simulation. You pass through stages: childhood, friendships, first loves, losses. Some things you pick up. Others you put down permanently, and the game doesn’t tell you it was the last time. There’s no inventory screen to check what you’re still carrying. You find out later, when you reach a gate and realize you left something irreplaceable at a checkpoint you can no longer reach.

The format does all the work without editorializing. A video game expects failure and retry—it’s built on the assumption that you can go back. Life has the same interface but removes the option. You only notice the asymmetry when someone or something is already gone.

I’ve thought about this—the moments that registered as ordinary until they weren’t. A last conversation I had no idea was a last conversation. A place I left certain I’d return to. The game had already moved me past the checkpoint before I understood what I was leaving behind. Only forward. Even when forward is the hardest direction available.