I woke up a bit hungover. Last night, I went out with Yanko. We drank.
He told me about a theory he had developed. Every person experiences a moment that crucially influences who they will become in the future. This moment most often occurs in childhood. It happens during a period when a person is most open to influences, and if something significant happens during this time, it permanently shapes the individual and determines the course of their thinking. It doesn’t even have to be an intense event—it could be something seemingly trivial. I disagreed. Yanko stuck to his opinion, and the debate continued. Suddenly, he raised his index finger high and said:
“I know what we need to do. We need to throw a big party. A proper night out. And invite everyone who’s been hanging out with us since the first year. And we all need to get drunk.”
Thankfully, he’s probably forgotten about it by now.
I had strange dreams again, as I always do when I fall asleep drunk. I was standing by the railway tracks. A train was moving toward me. I stuck out my right thumb and stopped the train, just like Uncle Vladimir used to do during the war. I got on the train and sat in an empty compartment. After some time, the train stopped at a station. I thought it was Novi Sad, so I got off. But it was a deserted station, and there was nothing visible except for cornfields. I looked around and waited for hills, maybe houses, to load in. I thought my brain was working slowly. But nothing appeared—just the plains and the corn.
Suddenly, a silhouette emerged down the tracks. Some consciousness was floating toward me. A tall figure in a long black coat, holding a large staff, which widened at the top into a dome covered by a plastic bag. It was Maxim. He didn’t even greet me; he just shouted:
“I’m going to poison myself with a mushroom—a nuclear one. Horror, Davy, horror. That’s what it is. Do you know the name of this horror? Children of the Corn. Yes. They think you’re not human unless you suffer. Their worldview is so simple. Endlessly simple. They connect to the collective consciousness every day at seven thirty p.m. and use their birthday as the password. Look around you. Do you see how vast their resources are?”
I wondered what was at the top of the staff, beneath the plastic bag. I woke up before I could find out.
I looked at my computer screen to see if Maxim was online so I could ask him what was under the plastic bag. Also, to see if Elena had reached out—had she returned from Skopje? Neither of them were online. But there was an email from Yanko.
Subject: “Hey guys”
Tomorrow evening, you’re all coming to my place, and we’re going out as soon as we finish drinking everything I’ve prepared. Just letting you know. Don’t skip, or I’ll have to deal with you.
See you at 8.
Always yours,
Y. Obradović
The email was sent to Elena, Sanya, Mirna, Maxim, Ian, Petar, and me. In our first semester, we all attended every lecture together, went out every weekend, and hit every freshman party. First, we’d pregame at Yanko’s, then head out to the city. Petar left our group quickly; he got into photography and started studying something related to it. Sanya and Mirna also left after the first year. Now, we only see them at Yanko’s parties.
Almost like a reply to that email, another email arrived from Ian, sent to Elena, Maxim, Yanko, and me.
Subject:”This time next year, we’ll be millionaires”
Hey peeps,
All right, time to send some packets your way. Here’s my fresh idea, uploaded in plaintext:
We’ve got, what, one year of school left before we get plugged into the Matrix of soul-sucking jobs? Lame. But here’s the deal: now is prime time to team up and create something epic before the grind locks us down. Think of it as our legacy—our LAN party, but, like, a creative one. Target deadline: June. That’s six months to level up and create something rad together.
My proposal? We build a game. Yup, a video game. Why?
- It’s hella fun.
- Games = $$$.
- We’ve got skills to pay the digital bills.
Now, let’s talk specs. I’m thinking a strategy or sim game—lean and mean, nothing graphics-heavy. Maxim’s our lone visual wizard, so we can’t exactly go full 3D FPS here. Instead, picture this: a slick interface, resource management mechanics, and some chill animations Maxim can prepare.
Roles:
- Maxim: UI/illustrations (basically, make it not look like Windows 95).
- Elena: database guru (store every player move, so they don’t rage-quit when their session times out).
- Dave and me: Flash wizards coding the core game logic (Flash is life, no arguments).
- Obradović: wildcard—maybe QA, maybe snack procurement.
The twist? It’s a browser-based game. Online games are the future (mark my words), so we keep it accessible, lightweight, and addictive.
Big picture: we build the prototype by May, drop it in the summer, and this time next year, we’re living the millionaire life.
Oh, and yeah, I’ve already got a killer idea for the game mechanics. I’ll outline it soon (spoiler: it’s awesome). But hey, if any of you have a better idea, let’s hear it. Just remember, the odds of out-geeking my concept are slim, so brace yourselves for an uphill battle.
Ping me back with your thoughts. Let’s make history, folks.
Peace out,
Ian
Maxim’s response:
Here’s an idea that came to mind. Ian is the main character, and the goal of the game is to hide the soda from the girlfriend. He has resources around the house where he can keep the soda. Now, he needs to gather more so it doesn’t run out. When it runs out, game over, it’s done. Also, he shouldn’t gather too much because there’s no space to hide it. Further, he needs to study the enemy’s behavior. When he guesses that the girlfriend will look for something in the attic, he needs to move the soda to the desk drawer.
Ian sent a short reply.
ha-ha
I joined the conversation as well.
Great idea, I’ll think about it and suggest something. How didn’t I think of this? This will be a breakthrough for us. A giant leap for us, and a tiny, completely insignificant step for the software industry.
Best regards,
David
An email arrived from Elena.
The breakthrough is that last semester we started working on paid projects, and now we’re working on our own project with no money.
I agree to work under the condition that you three won’t spend time playing football manager. And that you don’t build Rube-Goldberg machines.
Best regards,
Elena
I replied to Elena.
How can I not play? Okoronkwo is in his prime.
Best regards,
David
Elena wrote a short email.
There you go…
Best regards,
Elena
