that you have to turn off when the tune starts
to childhood. You have a chance to help friends out
by sending extra moves and lives. And then the game
sneaks up on you. You calculate the time it's taken,
knowing that you won't get back those minutes, ever.
Impossible level you're stuck at for days, weeks,
determined not to pay for added arsenal
of candy bombs. You thought you'd faced the worst,
and then you get to one with gel to clear before
the chocolate ooze takes over. Days! Days of it
whenever you had time to kill. Then finally. Finally, when
you think you'll have to play the corporate game
and drop the dollar just to make it through or give
it up completely, the little board goes wild, candy popping
everywhere, candy fish swim past. Enjoy it while
you may; the triumph will not last. You're only
in the double digits, novice Candy Crusher, sole arena
in which chocolate is an enemy, and no one
mentions tooth decay.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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