“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“It has to be done, doesn’t it? Yes.”

“And I vote yes, too. Henceforth, the making and distribution of all video and computer games is forbidden. Whoever is in possession of one will be declared a nonperson and be dealt however is necessary. Video games are the root of society’s problems today and we - will - take - it - NO - LONGER!” a woman’s voice rang through the chamber, barely heard over the thunderous applause.

Mark stood in front of the display stand looking at a box. A woman with a green face and thick green braids stared back at him, enticing. He glanced around. No one was noticing him. This was what he had come for. The milk, the batteries, just an excuse so he could lay hands on this. He reached for the box. His hand trembled. He hesitated.

This is what I want right? he thought.

Of course it is. Pick it up. a voice answered in his head.

Without further delay, he snatched the box and tucked it under his arm. Walking toward the cash register, a wave of surreality swept over him. A woman examining balls of yarn casually glanced at him as he passed by, almost knocking him flat with her eyes. The disgust in those eyes stunned him. A pair of elderly men discussing bows paused to grimace at him. A stockyboy in a blue apron scurried past him, eyes downward.

Why are all these people acting so strange? he wondered.

You know why, the voice answered.

He supposed he did.

At last arriving at the check out, he carefully placed his purchases on the counter.

“You got any ID for this?” the clerk said, indicating the box.

Mark blinked. “You need ID for a computer game? Since when?”

“Since two weeks ago. ID now.”

“Why?”

“Are you blind as well as stupid? Can’t you read the notice over there?” the clerk jerked his thumb over his shoulder. A sign hung over the cash register, white words engraved in a wooden plaque.

Mark squinted at it. “Why do they make important stuff so fuckin’ small?” It read:

Computer games prohibited by law to anyone under 21 years of age. Must present ID on purchase. -Federal Communications Commission

“Why should I care? You got ID or not boy?” the clerk demanded.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Mark pushed his driver’s license at the clerk. The clerk glanced at it, handed it back, and gave Mark the receipt.

“Have a nice day,” the clerk sneered.

When Mark got home, he dropped his other purchases on the counter and went into the living room. He booted up his computer, ripped open the box, and started installing the game. A strange noise came from the CD-ROM drive, like a lawnmower starting, and the screen flickered.

Mark shook himself awake and blinked at his monitor. The installation was complete. He must have fallen asleep, he decided. Strange that the screen saver didn’t come on though. He felt a pang in his throat and walked to the kitchen, looking for something to drink. Even though it was morning, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and all but ran back to his computer. Strange. I didn’t start the game, did I? But there it was, graphics playing their endless loops, cheesy music repeating in the background. He settled into his chair, clicked on multiplayer, and soon lost himself in the game. Beer slopped onto his lap. He didn’t notice.

A week later, the mailman was surprised to see a fence of waist high yellow tape surrounding hte house. A bulldozer stood on the front lawn.

“What in the world...?” he muttered.

The mailman had a vague feeling that he should leave, but his duty was to deliver the mail. Twenty years of faithful deliveries; he wasn’t intimidated by yellow tape and yellow machinery. He cautiously stepped over the tape and hurried up the sidewalk. More of the tape criss-crossed the door, along with the word CONDEMMED printed halfway up it. The bulldozer roared to life behind him. Startled, he pitched the mail on the porch and ran.

Mark heard the motor start outside, but didn’t notice it. He was too involved in the game. He had never felt so alive, so powerful. Surely the 30 bucks for the game was the best money he’d ever spent. Something collided with the side of his house, making the walls tremble. Mark didn’t notice. A large chunk of plaster from the second story floor fell into his lap. He didn’t notice. The green face grinned from the monitor, leering at him. He couldn’t notice that either, now.