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Save, Load, Return, Quit
 A story of gaming mechanics by James Glover 
Save, Load, Return, Quit 
Damn it! It was the fourth time he had done that test and yet his mark was lowerthan ever before, not to mention he somehow managed to alienate half hisfriends while waiting for the result. That was the biggest annoyance, the waiting.It took him ten attempts to pass his driving test, but at least he didn’t have towait a week between each go. Now though he had to suffer through the samemiserable week of crap weather and no prospects. He needed a break. The four familiar words swam in his mind’s eye as the world remained frozenaround him, that last ever present option both seductive and terrifying in itspromises. Attempt number two wasn’t so bad; he had failed, but he did make thereserve list, and things were going remarkably well with Sarah. He couldn’t bringhimself to accept it though, he needed a job, and in the current climate thatcould take a while, even for someone with his skills. Besides, he could alwayscome back, now he just needed to be as far away as possible. He reached farback, not even looking at the dates as they flashed past.
February 12
th
1990, Little Wadeway 
He turned inside out as the world past through him and then righted itself; apause; then noise. The excited babble and shouts of children crashed over himas he was pushed and jostled by their movements as he found himself in a muchsmaller body than he had been occupying moments earlier. He was stood in theplayground of Little Wadeway C. of E. Primary School and a glance downwardsrevealed that he was dressed in a bright red wax raincoat and a scruffy pair of Velcro trainers. How far back had he gone? Jack glanced around in an attempt to place himself, in time, rather than space. The weather and bare trees indicated that it was the middle of winter, and hecouldn’t see the portable class room in front of the school hall. Then there washis coat, how old was he when he had that again? Jack was adept atremembering the short-term timing of events, but he was unused to such foraysinto his more long-term past. Then he saw Robert Dean approaching from acrossthe playground and he knew exactly when he was.It was February 1990 and Jack was six. With hindsight he was amazed at howwell his six year old self already wielded his power, not only confidently retryingsections of his life, but more importantly knowing when to stick and when totwist. Somehow he had also realised – without a trial and error approach – thathis abilities weren’t normal, and that they were probably best kept to himself. Asa result, people often claimed that Jack led a charmed life, but in reality it waseasy to roll sixes when you could roll as many times as you liked. It was onlylater that his experience with computers provided an ideal analogy for his ability,and finally provided words for what were previously four nebulous options.
 
In this particular incident, Jack had needed fourteen rolls of the dice before hewas satisfied with the outcome. At the time he had agonised for ages, spendingborrowed weeks on family holidays skulking on the beach or in his room. Nowhowever the situation seemed inconsequential, and furthermore, Jack realisedthat he had probably suffered more trying to avoid it than he would have donehad he let things pass normally.Robert now stood in-front of Jack, his chest thrust forward and his body stretchedupwards; a completely unnecessary gesture of dominance, as even slouchedhe’d have towered over Jack. He stood up close, so as to exaggerate his need tolook downwards, “Where’s your ammynight?” he demanded while steppingforwards so as to force Jack back. Five minutes ago the posturing would haveseemed ridiculous; the aggressiveness of this six year old child still seemedhumorous to a part of Jack’s mind. However, in the immediate context thesituation carried a genuine threat, and the conflict between the two emotionsgave the encounter a surreal quality. “Well?” Robert pressed. The ammonite in question had been one Jack had brought into school thatmorning to show off, after having been given it by his Dad the previous evening.He had been immensely proud of the fossil, taking his father’s comments abouttheir rarity with all the exaggerated importance of childhood innocence. It was anattitude which seemed especially naive with hindsight, as brief obsession withgeology had lead to his twelve year old self building up an impressive collectionof rocks and fossils, including some genuinely rare finds; ammonites howeverwere not in short supply. Jack shrugged, “Ammonite,” he corrected, “I gave it to Mrs. K, she wanted it for adisplay.” Robert exhaled sharply, and shoved Jack backwards before storming off.It was a lie, of course; he could feel the ammonite in his coat pocket, but Jackwasn’t keen on capitulating, even when it no longer mattered. The rest of the lunch-break passed with Jack watching those around him withdetached interest. He contemplated joining in the various games, but felt too self conscious, and could only do so half-heartedly. He had read this book before, andwhile re-reading it was revealing new ideas he has missed the first time round,he could no longer engage with the story, and could instead only dissect itstrictly academically. The return to class wasn’t much better, lessons in trivialitywhich he was thankful he didn’t have to fully engage in. When, after an hour of simple board work and listening to facts of dubious simplicity, he was able towrite freely, he took perverse pleasure in over analysis and unnecessarysymbolism. It would have been written off as arrogant and pretentious inuniversity, but he didn’t care, that was the point. Unfortunately the work wasn’tmarked at the end of the lesson, and Jack doubted he’d be sticking round longenough to wait for the books to be collected in.Heading home was a stranger experience than he had expected. His firstsurprise was meeting his Mum outside of the school. Not only had he beenexpecting to walk home, but he was struck by how young she looked, and waseven more disturbed when he realise that he had dated women who can only
 
have been a few years younger. What surprised him most though was how hisMum greeted him, “Hello Jack, did everyone like your ammonite?” she asked, aslight sing song tone to her voice. It wasn’t a million miles removed from herquestions about his interviews, but was somehow more... not patronising, but...well, ‘motherly.’ The adult Jack realised that she was asking the question purelyfor his benefit, not because she was interested in the answer herself, butbecause she knew Jack would be. He hadn’t noticed their relationship shiftingover time, but with the comparison it was striking.“It was fine,” he said, showing about as much interest as his Mum probably felt.“Yeah, everyone thought it was really cool,” he perked up, trying to give his Mumwhat she expected, “Mrs. K said I should start collecting them and make amuseum.”“You can ask Dad to get you a Trilobite next.” The house surprised him. He had moved out of his parents’ house shortly afterfinishing university, and had spent much of the preceding years in universityaccommodation. However his parents had stayed in the same house; hismemories of it weren’t tarnished by age. Firstly, his small stature madeeverything feel so much larger, especially in comparison to his London flat.Secondly, he was surprised how different everything looked, old furniture he hadall but forgotten about, and wallpaper that was long since torn down. Mostdisconcerting were the various pieces of decor which he remembered from apoint at the end of their long years of service, previously worn out and tattereditems looking fresh and new. The house felt simultaneously dated and fresh withonly a few old antique pieces of furniture remaining consistent. He moved up tohis room.His bedroom felt the biggest throwback. Before his re-load, his room in hisparents’ house was fairly empty, decorated simply such that it may easily beused by guests. The room he stood in now however was cluttered, the floorlittered with discarded toys and the walls covered in bright wallpaper illustratedwith cartoon characters. Here however he remembered most of the items clearly,and as such the change wasn’t so much of a shock as a chance to indulge innostalgia. Old friends examine and explored with the same hands which firstplayed with them all those years ago, and fond memories broke through thecynicism which formed a cautious barrier around the new mind controlling thehands. By the time Jack had found the box of Lego he was no longer engaging innostalgia, but actively playing, the self consciousness which had been inhibitinghim earlier now shed. It wasn’t a case of retreating into his childhood, but it waswithout the vague guilt which accompanies play in the face of responsibility. Thiswas silly, especially as he effectively had infinite time. Tiredness crept upon Jack more quickly than he had expected, and by half pastseven he was already feeling tired, and it didn’t feel unwanted when his Dad toldhim to head off to bed. Tiredness and exhaustion both seemed to be propertiesof the body, rather than the consciousness, and Jack found he could theoreticallygo weeks without sleep if he kept shifting to a point at which he wasn’t tired. Ithad been in the weeks immediately preceding his GCSE exams however that he
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