The Sims: Makin’ Magic Or Your First Time Disassociating

twilight shimmered the screen, uneven shades 

of dark violet ached in pixels. everything 

was simple. but this night, the burglar lurked 

in rooms filled with genie lamps—you cheatcoded 

wishes with the same soft indigo tones from Tragic

Clown’s eyes. were you really relieved when 

you summoned fire, the ghost of your Sim 

blaring red with low-res smoke, Death sifting 

its soul; and the burglar slinked out, unscathed, 

with a sack of those gold lamps? or were you 

reeling through the screen to jagged graphics 

before you created it all again?