The Beautiful Life of a Slime

I was woken just as moonlight began to spill through the gaps in the tree’s shadow. I’m on the night shift today. It runs from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m., the most exhausting of our three shifts.

I’m a slime, a wage slave at a game company. I have more coworkers than I can count, but even there are fewer of us than there are crazed players. They outnumber us by a landslide and can stay online far longer. To deal with them, we have to work in three shifts, or we’d all drop from exhaustion. We get no pay, no days off, and nobody treats low-level workers like us as human beings. They call us one thing: monsters!

I’m crouched by the roots of a palm tree, yawning nonstop from lack of sleep. The shadow is doing me a real favor, covering me completely so the players can’t spot me and letting me sneak in a little more rest. The shadow is still young and only knows how to play. It follows me around wherever I go, paying no attention to the direction of the light. I’ve gone to great lengths to look after it, but I never adopted it. I’ve decided I’m not raising anything else. Back in the beginner village, I once raised a beautiful stone patterned like a rainbow.

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