Playing Murder Mystery
I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room, and my son is sitting at the kitchen table, our eyes glued to our phones, trying to figure out who the murderer is.
“Mom,” he said. “Follow me in the game. I’ll show you a secret room.”
“Okay, sounds good,” I said, too trustingly.
I start following him.
“Wait,” I said, suspicious. “Are you the murderer?”
He grinned sheepishly.
“Should’ve known,” I muttered. “I’m not following you anywhere.”
Photo by Thomas Bjornstad on Unsplash
Playing Zombie Attack
“Mom, are you playing?” he asked.
“Yes, just for a little.”
“No! You can’t play.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t play until I’m the same level as you.”
“Come on,” I said, defeated. “This is the only game where I’m better than you.”
“You’re not better than me. You just play more.”
“Whatever.” I shrugged. “Just let me kill one more zombie.” I snipe a zombie with two shots.
“No.”
“Come on, just one more vampire.”
“No!”
“Just one more demon. One more demon, that’s it!”
He sighed. Then, “Mom, come over here! Protect me! There are too many zombies!”
“Wait, I thought you didn’t want me to play.”
“Mom, just get over here and cover me!”
“Okay, I’m coming,” I sighed. “I’m always saving your butt.”
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[…] He’s protective of me. He has my character follow his character in the game, and he leads me to a hiding place so I won’t get killed (when he’s not trying to kill me himself!). […]