The chasm looked insurmountable.

Slick with the grime of underground moisture, the maw gaped like a hungry, leering mouth. Eli swallowed hard. Was he crazy to even consider a jump? The opposite ledge, where he would land if all went well, loomed ghostlike in the distance – thanks to the flickering torch hung much too far.

Awful game design.

Or maybe he was the problem? The broken one who just couldn’t cut it. His buddies had posted about all the loot they found on the next level, and here he was. Trapped by a basic platforming mechanic. A loser who couldn’t even clear a damn dungeon chasm.

Feeling the knot of tension tightening inside, Eli shifted his eyes to the green vine that grew overhead. It crawled along the ceiling stonework like a fungus, sprouting wispy twigs here and there. Could that be the way through? The vine barely looked graspable, much less reliable to hold his weight. But he considered the corollary. On his last attempt to leap across, his avatar fell so short of the ledge it seemed idiotic to try again. Yet, the story appeared to call for it. Traversing this chasm was the way forward. This would be his seventh attempt at a jump, and he dreaded a repeat lackluster performance.

The plunge. The death. The GAME OVER screen.

Enough self-doubt! Eli thought. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. Forget the stupid vine. It’s a red herring anyway, despite being green. This chasm was not some puzzle he must solve to prove his intellectual worth. It was a test of his perseverance and finger dexterity, all in the service of moving the story forward.

His story.

Eli walked as far back as the screen would allow his avatar to go. One by one he stretched his limbs, readying his 16-bit body for some spritely action. Once he felt ready, he closed his eyes to regain focus.

This is the one. I can feel it.

His eyes sprang open. This was it!

Buoyed by the burst of hope, he sprinted towards the ledge and, at the last possible nanosecond, heaved his body forward in a mighty leap.

The abyss yawned beneath him, hungry and grateful.

© 2025 Mike Rusetsky