I ran faster, the stitch in my side forgotten. I felt exhausted and frustrated at how serious this seemingly innocent game of tag had become. I mean, no game of tag has ever existed for two hours, and being anxiety-prone isn’t helping each time I spot a fellow player with impish intent all over their face. When the game started, we were all amateur bloggers, trying to make friends in the otherwise unfriendly world of the Internet. How did it become such a stressful game of every man for himself?
My heart nearly stopped in my chest as I turned a corner and met a dead end; a huge wall of wood spanning about twenty feet in width and length barricaded any other hopes of hiding. Someone had generously graffitied “BLOGGER’S BLOCK” in big black letters across the wall. So this is how it ends, then. But then I heard footsteps, getting louder at an even faster rate than my growing apprehension. When I whipped around, I stood face to face with another runner in the game. It was a girl with long brown hair, braces, and an unexpectingly friendly smile. She reached out, tapped me, and whispered, “tag!” I immediately fell unconscious.