No prompts used.
Challenge: The story must include a character who is the worst at something, the POV must be second person and the story’s wordcount must be 333.
You look at the cartridge. You were always the worst of the family at this game growing up. You always wished that you could just smash the cartridge and remove it from existence. Yet here it is, still in existence, still mocking you by being in your sight.
Sometimes, you wonder if it is haunted. If there is a spirit that has a bone to pick with you trapped inside. Maybe the cat that had been run over that you left be when you were six was living in it, still holding a grudge for abandoning it when it would have needed help. That sure would serve you right, right?
Right?
No one in the family wants the cartridge nor the ancient game console anymore, so you take it to the local video game store and sell it. For quite a lot more money than you expected, actually. Something something retro boom, apparently. Anyway, you almost wave goodbye to the cartridge and the console when you walk past their spot at the window when you leave. Best not to try your luck.
When the store is broken into next night and the cartridge and console go missing, you chalk it up to a crime of opportunity and that retro boom. But you donate the money you got to charity, just in case.
You hear nothing about the stolen cartridge and console for about a week. You even forget them for the most part, more than happy to shove the memories of the entire childhood of humiliation that it brought you somewhere where your mind will not reach them. You sold it, no one in your family cares. It is no longer your problem. That’s it. No need to worry, at all.
That is, no need to worry until you find a console of the same make next to your newest console, plugged into your TV (somehow; you did not even know it could be plugged into it) and that game’s cartridge slotted in…
WindySilver 