She remembered the first game they made. cradle cakes, a crawl through a dungeon of milk before the baby made it to the planet of cheese. The following year they tried a first person shooter, but that blew up in their face. It was only after some hesitation that they tried a dancing game. Epsilon tried to make it touch only, but they ended up with some basic pad moves. That was what haunted them, the necessity of subjecting amensia’s white wash to their childhood. Epsilon personally felt like a Ballard character, trying to make memory into a mould and then squeeze the little razors of ABA out. Monsie on the other hand had little problem cultivating an anti controller habit, it was merely that she arrived at ideas slightly behind the competition. The competition were a conglomerate of Korean game makers that produced software in days they took months through.
Months though were something they had. Pennies from the app store had commensurate their pregnancy and a flow of 50,000 us had come in, Korean competition or no Korean comp the apps did sell. Monsie waited on her hormones through the crisp clip of virtual keys. She and her infant were in unison when it came to the various metaphors the compiler puzzled as they waited for their latest app to finish. The baby had done something to her programming, during the periods she wasn’t sick a new found concentration had come over her and her drawing had improved too. The infant kicked and squeezed gently, she looked down and then saved her emacs just when the first compulsion hit her a wave of vomit came through her and tablet discarded she made it to the commode.
Vomit drenched the water stayed while she cleaned herself in the shower and watched the uv’d food stuff drop to the tile. Exhaustion came out of her waist and up her torso over the belly well for a second the other one absorbed it like a shockwave and then groggily she climbed into bed. She put the covers over herself and dreams came in the air not bothering with ears they went straight in through the forehead.
Baby x was in a crypt in the park. Silence, the uncommon, Kim down a well, the baby carriage, clouds, that park in taipei, orchids. Pause?
Squeeze the rag doll to make it move. She finished her doll app. The little thing blistered through harried platforms like Charlie Chaplin in a crack rock. She pinched it’s jaw expanded and swallowing a billboard, it vomited, but she felt fine.