Disclaimer: Seriously, do we even need these? Anyway, I don't own Minesweeper. I'm not convinced anyone does.
By Evil Hunter
When Ron had sat down at his desk that morning, he had intended to write his research paper. He had intended to work all day, and even all night if he had to, to finish his term paper, worth pretty much his entire grade. He had intended to stay focused and alert and on the ball.
Most of all, Ron had intended to stay away from Minesweeper. The simple game with its enticing little boxes had wasted more nights assigned for study than Ron could remember. When he played the game, he didn't remember anything anymore. It was intoxicating, thrilling. The challenge of disarming all the mines was an unparalleled thrill for Ron. The brain-testing, the logical analysis, the guesswork and randomness and plain old good luck…
Before he knew it, Ron had a game open. 10 by 10 with twenty mines. A good start. He clicked. Half the squares became unclickable. He quickly counted the points. Seven 1s, four 2s and one three. Things were going well. He clicked again.
More and more squares disappeared, with either blank spaces or little numbers taking their place. His hair damp now, Ron pressed another box. Only it disappeared. He gulped. Clicked again.
He made a quick count. Twenty-two spaces remained clickable. Twenty of them, he knew, were mines. Two of them were his targets. He clicked again.
The little smiley-face above the action made an O with his mouth. Ron hesitated, and moved the cursor to an unclickable space. Sweat dripped down his neck and fell, stinging, into his eyes. Ron didn't notice, didn't care. He remained unblinking. He stared the 10 by 10 box. Only at the box. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Nothing…
Ron swallowed. One more box. One more, and it would all be over. The game would be won. And he would be the victor.
One more box. He saw it, lurking on the side, between what were probably mines. What were certainly mines. All he had to do was…
Flags appeared over the remaining twenty squares. The smiley-face gained a pair of sunglasses. The time registered 20 seconds. The world came back to Ron with a stunning focus. He blinked once, twice… then stared at the gray box in front of his. 10 squares by 10 squares… twenty mines… easy… enough… done in a moment…
At his desk, with an empty Word document and a little gray box open, Ron began to cry.
Thanks for reading the story!