Sweat coated Aaron’s hands as he gripped the controller. The adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire, and his heart pounded against his ribcage. His eyes darted across the screen, and his ears twitched, both straining to catch every minute movement. Both of his teammates were down, leaving him to face all three members of the enemy squad alone. One misstep and the game was over. Through the surround sound of his headset, he could hear the footsteps of the enemy coming closer. He could tell that they were somewhere in the cluster of short buildings and tight alleyways flanking the small field he couched in, but where would they emerge? All he could do was wait for them to appear, and hope that he shot first.
Movement: window.
Aaron’s fingers twitched. The crosshair of his sniper scope flicked to the right with a smooth sharpness, and a single, sharp clap rang in his ears as he pulled the trigger. One down. He could hear the other two coming from his left. Too close to snipe. Aaron switched to his secondary weapon, a powerful revolver, and crouched behind the crate that was his only cover. His second opponent came sprinting out of an alley, but Aaron was ready for him. Three bullets to his enemy’s head left only one standing. He immediately reloaded, but there were footsteps closing in behind him. Aaron turned on a dime and opened fire, but one bullet missed its mark.
Defeat.
Aaron put the controller down and slammed his fist on his desk.
“Dammit.”
He had been working for weeks to improve, but he still couldn’t pull off the kind of clutch plays that his best friend, Jordan, seemed able to do with ease. Aaron knew that he was a strong player – his high placements in ranked play and his well above average stats proved that – but he still wasn’t Jordan good. It shouldn’t matter. After all, he wasn’t trying to reach the pro level, or even close to it. But he was a competitive player, and so was Jordan. When they played, they played to win. Even though he knew that Jordan saw him as a good player, Aaron also knew that his friend didn’t see him as an equal. He could see it in the way that Jordan took on fights alone rather than asking for help, and hear it in his unnatural silence when Aaron made the wrong movement, or missed his shots.
Aaron didn’t want to be the best player. He wanted to be a player that Jordan respected. After all, he respected Jordan more than anyone. Aaron told himself that he would keep trying until he won that respect. Until Jordan started relying on him rather than making plays alone. Until he cheered Aarons moves, instead of going silent to avoid criticizing them.
Aaron started another match.
“This time, I’ll win,” he demanded.
He didn’t know that Jordan did things by himself because he was trying to prove to himself that he could. That the silences were out of frustration for having to rely on Aaron yet again.
Jordan started another match.
“This time, I’ll win.”
Flash Fiction by Dylan Foster
Illustration by Bonnie Lengele
Design by Bonnie Lengele