Antonio had once downloaded three fitness apps in a single burst of inspiration from seeing ads in social media that can help reduce weight in one month.
All three now existed for the same reason: to send him cheerful notifications he ignored while eating fried chicken in front of his computer. At exactly 5:30 p.m., his phone buzzed again.
Time for your afternoon walk!
Antonio looked at the message, then at the half-empty bottle of soda on his desk, then at the bag of chips resting on his stomach like it had signed a long-term lease there. He tapped the notification away. "Tomorrow," he muttered.
He had said that yesterday too. And the day before that. And, if he was being honest, often enough to make "tomorrow" sound less like a day and more like a habit.
The room around him glowed with the tired light of his monitor. Empty snack wrappers scattered across the desk like casualties from a battle he had technically won but should probably feel bad about. His small electric fan shaking in the corner, pushing warm air around with all the determination of a dying soldier. Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, Antonio clicked furiously through a village-building strategy game.
On the screen, tiny citizens rushed between timber houses and wheat fields. Walls were being repaired. Roads were expanding. A watchtower rose near the forest. Numbers went up. Production improved. The settlement that had started as a muddy patch of misery was now thriving under his command.
Antonio leaned forward, eyes fixed. There, he said, pointing at the monitor with a greasy finger. That's how you do it. In the game, everything made sense. Work harder, get resources. Plan well, grow stronger. Defeat monsters, level up. Rescue people, gain loyalty. Even suffering looked efficient when it came with progress bars.
Real life was insultingly less organized.In real life, he was twenty-three, overweight, always tired, and so used to disappointing himself that he had started doing it casually. He knew what he should do. Eat less. Sleep earlier. Exercise. Spend fewer hours in front of a screen. Be more disciplined. Become the kind of person who walked into a room without feeling the need to apologize with his posture.
Instead, he lived in permanent negotiation with his worst habits. One more game. One more snack. One more day before changing everything as the saying goes there's always a tomorow.
Antonio clicked open his inventory, paused, then reached for another chip. Halfway there, he stopped. He stared at it. Then at his reflection in the black edge of his monitor.
He did not hate himself, exactly. The feeling was quieter than hate. More familiar. A heavy, dull disappointment that had moved in years ago and never paid rent.
He dropped the chip back into the bag. That's it! he said to the empty room, in the tone of a man about to accomplish something historic. I'm changing my life.
The room remained unconvinced. Antonio pushed himself up from his chair with a grunt that felt a little too dramatic for a simple standing motion. His knees complained. His back cracked. His soul, as usual, had no comment. He looked around for inspiration he went outside the house.
With the determination to change himself he went out even though he was struggling to just walk to the door he persevere then he said "Physical development." successful
His phone buzzed again. A food delivery app was offering a afternoon discount. Antonio stared at it in silence. You people move fast. As he opened the door suddenly a ball hit him in the head.
One hand over his face. Somewhere between the fitness reminder and the discount coupon, life had become a comedy written specifically to annoy him. The game music swelled softly in the background. On-screen, his villagers lit torches as night settled over the little town. The place looked warm. Ordered. Safe. Useful.
Useful. Antonio lowered his hand and stared at the monitor. That was the word, wasn't it? Not handsome. Not cool. Not impressive.
Useful. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to wake up in the morning and feel like he was becoming someone better instead of just spending himself to waste like the trash of society. He wanted discipline. He wanted purpose. He wanted to look at the people around him real or imagined and not feel envy at the simple fact that they seemed to know how to live.
In games, even the weakest characters could change. A nobody could become a king. A failure could build a kingdom. A fool could learn. A coward could stand. There was always a path forward if you kept going.
"If I got one real second chance," he murmured, I'd do it properly this time. The words came out softer than he expected. Something about hearing them aloud made the room feel different. Still. Too still. The fan stopped shaking.
The game music cut out. Then the monitor flashed white. Not bright like a screen error. Brighter. Wronger. The kind of light that seemed to push through his eyes instead of into them.
The white swallowed the room. Antonio stood so quickly his chair tipped over. What the! The floor vanished. Or maybe his legs did.
One moment he was in his cluttered room, blinking into impossible light. The next he was falling through silence so deep it made his chest hurt. His stomach lurched. His arms flailed. The last coherent thought he had was embarrassingly specific.
If this is how I die, I really hope nobody checks my delivery history.
Then everything went black.