Playing Under a Star Called Sun

John Sangster

2024-08-15

I’m about to play Under a Star Called Sun. I take an empty document and begin to write. I am afraid, but I told myself that I want to do this.

The music starts again, little electronic beeps. The words flow naturally now, from some place deep in my heart. The last time I heard this music, I was crying. I need to say so much more, but the words are stuck in my throat. I start the game.

I’m in the spaceship again. The door to my room locks behind me. I want to go back in, to slip under the sheets and drown in this feeling. The game doesn’t let me, and I know that I can’t let myself either. My hands are shaking now.

I know the game hasn’t changed, but I notice cracks in the wall that I swear weren’t there before. The ship is older now, its skin wrinkling and bones growing brittle, but its powerful heart still beats. The description says that it was made for LIMINAL magazine’s GLITCH series, and I’m afraid of what other things I might find there.

There’s two people I think of when I play this game, their memories melting into each other now. I want to remember. But walking to the mug of coffee and progressing a little further through the game seems impossible. It’s late. My eyes strain.

I check on the plants in the greenhouse. I check for bugs. I check the moisture of the soil. I check the dust on the leaves. And when no one’s around, I hum to them. I want to end this little essay this way, I think. I can’t tell you about these two people. I don’t think I’m making any sense.

She says, “I’m so excited to see you again.” I have to pause for a moment, short but bittersweet, a moment that smells like rain. This game is achingly personal to its creator, Cecile Richard. The dialogue is addressed to “you” - not you, but “you.” I will never know them.

I pause at the stairs. I know what comes next. The last time I played this game, I had tears on my cheeks, but here I started sobbing. The music swells again, like it always does when I come here. I’ve never been to these places, but they are so full of memories, and walking here again is…

The game’s relived memory deteriorates with my own. “What did your voice sound like?”, the dialogue asks, and now it’s not talking to “you” anymore, but to me. Cecile’s “you” is replaced with my own. I change a word in this essay, one of the only changes I make, and the moment becomes “bittersweet” instead. One day, I’ll forget what it was before.

One day, the memory will be so distorted that I won’t get to see you anymore. The room feels cold now. I don’t want to believe this. It’s hard to focus on the game anymore. My sentences have been short, my paragraphs have been barely four lines. I don’t usually write like this.

One day, I’ll get there and I’ll hug you. And I’ll say that I missed you. I don’t know if these are the game’s words anymore, or my own. You loved this game so much.

Until then, I check on the plants in the greenhouse. I check for bugs. I check the moisture of the soil. I check the dust on the leaves. And when no one’s around, I hum to them.

Under a Star Called Sun by Cecile Richard is available on Itch.io at https://haraiva.itch.io/under-a-star-called-sun