Turning Thirty

He’s been here before. Déjà vu he’s heard it called. He never knew a time before it. It’s always been the same. Blue walls. Ghosts. Dots. Lots and lots of dots.

He had gotten dot-eating down to a science. It wasn’t a game anymore. Now it had become second nature. An invisible hand guides him, moves him along the maze, protects him from harm.

He munches on a key. A key? What kind of fruit is that?

Then something happened that never happened before. Numbers and letters appeared where walls and dots were before.

This was the end.

The glorious end.