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VI. The Sims 2

PC

I type furiously. Motherlode. 50,000 Simoleons instantly.
Over and over, I type this cheat until more than 1,000,000
show in the corner of the dashboard on the screen. What’s the
point in making them work if I can make them millionaires
with one single word? My Sims never worked. It wasn’t fun if
they worked.

Another simulation of life. Except I could control someone
else’s rather than my own. I was the creator. The PlumbBob
above their head radiating green light. Pulsating with the life I
had endowed them.

I manipulated every aspect of their appearance. Their eye
color, skin tone, hair, body type, clothing. I spent 90 percent
of my time filling my computer-generated world with young
adults and teenagers. No elderly and no children. They all
came out the same way. Woman and man. Skinny and
muscular. Beautiful and handsome. Society’s standard.

I built their houses. Mansions with pools. Designer furniture.
A dream home. Society’s ideal.

Yet with all these riches, my Sims never lived a fulfilling life. I
was never really good at the true purpose of the game.
Working to make a living, form a family, grow old.

Rather, these extensions of my own flesh just existed to love
and hate one another. Buy all the latest fashions. Form love
triangles. To WooHoo. To be perpetually young and reckless.

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