I don't know why I read video game news. I haven't played in years. In fact, I never replaced any of my game systems.
I clicked through a few articles, most of them about the next Assassin's Creed and the ongoing debate about female characters. When I clicked the next link, my past reared up to slap me in the face.
No, not literally. I just found myself staring at a cheerful graphic emblazoned with the words CRISIS CORE 7TH ANNIVERSARY.
It was the last game I had ever played. With such eagerness, I had anticipated its release. I had purchased it, and every day that week I played after school.
That day, I had meant to.
I remembered sharply the excitement I felt as I rushed home to play my game. I had played through Nibelheim, and I was so certain I would beat it soon. Instead of a digital triumph, a real nightmare waited for me.
I remembered the feeling of Laura shoving me against the trunk of a tree, her hand covering my mouth to stop me sobbing the names of our little cousins. Smoke filled the air and stung my eyes.
For a long while, I sat at my computer, staring at the image of Zack and Aerith. Seven years. The twins would have started high school this year. A bit too old for the rabbit-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I used to make for them with an Easter cookie cutter. Cora would plant her fists on her hips and chide them for being immature, but she would never give up her share of the snacks.
I would always be grateful for her survival, but I might never earn her forgiveness. I would have to be okay with that.
My hand trembled a little as I closed the browser window. I remembered Crisis Core as a great game, but I knew that I would never finish it.
I would have to be okay with that, too.
Author's note: I realize that I have taken something already painful (Crisis Core) and linked it to another trauma (the Hale House fire) to make a megazord of awfulness… and I don't even feel that bad about it.