Her son in front of the glowing screen for twenty days, growing smaller. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t eat. The game fed him.
She tried to make him join her world again. Perfectly fried grilled cheese. Burgers with bacon and Swiss squares.
He kept shrinking.
One day he was so small, the screen absorbed him into the game.
There he was, armored, killing dragons, permanently questing.
She tried to call to him; he couldn’t hear. She took the mouse, moved the triangle till it stroked his hair, patted his back. The only way she could be his mother.
She missed his company, sullen as it was, and the triangle could not feel his strong arms and silky hair.
She played the game for twenty days, till she shrank herself into his world.
He wrapped her in his metal-clad arms for a moment, then turned to fight the next fiery dragon.