Sitting on its charger, her phone sounds the bleat of a fainting goat, the novelty alert weeks past its best-by but Jinx can’t summon the effort to change it. It’s a dead game, frozen in silicone, and once she’s played it through, she’s played it forever. Three months later and Jinx has ditched them all- Lode Runner, Prince of Persia, Archon, a dozen others she can’t even remember now-and is patiently eking out her fave at the rate of no more than one new level a day.

Lemmings is worth it, the best of the bunch of archaic video games that Tyler hooked them into back when lockdown looked like only lasting till the end of term. Of course, what would be even better is if she could just put a pin in her progress each session, but the game dates back from before genius programmers thought up the whole “save game” concept. Listed down the page in chunky blue capitals, it looks like Egyptian hieroglyphs or notes a Russian spy might keep. She’s lost screenshots before and, besides, there’s something about having all the level codes written down in her own hand that feels comforting. Jinx screenshots the end-of-level infodump before carefully transcribing the next level code into her notebook, just in case. (See also: toilet paper, hand sanitiser, unsullied dreams.) We don’t know why. You’re shopping for reasons, but we’re fresh out of those. You’re reading this for answers, or clues at the very least. Because if you did know it, if you weren’t just alive but old enough to play the game on your Commodore 64 or fledgling PC or, hell, the original Amiga version, then you’re here on another mission. But if you’ve played the game, it’s been on an emulator, right? Appreciating the retro graphics and simplistic mechanics, shaking your head over the clunky controls and wondering how people sat still for shit like this for so long, wondering that even as it winds you in and whispers its second-hand nostalgia right into your cortex-if nostalgia can be the right word for a time you never knew. It was a big deal, back in its day-sales and rankings and countless obsessive hours eaten up chasing the quickest time, the highest percentage, level after addictive goddamn level. Just a handful of pixels, though, and not a one of them ever turning red. overalls? Onesies? Athleisure wear? Who can tell from a handful of pixels? Marching in lockstep as lemmings do, right over the edge of a cliff, or into a bubbling green tank of acid, or mangled by one of the gear machines.

Can picture the little dudes, with their shock of green hair and blue. You likely know the game by now, or at least know of it.

Perfections by Kirstyn McDermott