True Stories of John 16: Skyrim

The first blue rays of dawn are scarcely enough to differentiate the plains from the sky. I sprint under a sheet of fading stars, seeking openings in the grey cliff face. One opens like a black mouth. I am swallowed, and creep on my knees through shadows toward their fireplace. Their dog sniffs. It smells me. My bow-arm isn’t swift enough, and soon its masters follow. Two humans and an orc. That orc, the Bandit Captain, wears so much iron that I have to dance behind him for a hope of harm. He kills me six times before succumbing to a combination of lightning and mace blows.

Then came nine o’clock. The town dump was open. I rose from my padded chair and strained with my back. It was three minutes before I could bend to pick up the recycling bin. I’d spend the whole drive thinking what you could do with three minutes in that zany videogame.