BounceX hates you. It may be filled with inviting abstract shapes in warm, romantic tones of burgundy and maroon, but there is no love here. It may offer shiny blue orbs of points that make a satisfying “bwing” when collected, but it doesn’t want you to collect them. It hates you, and it wants only to stab your bouncy orange face against a radioactive triangle so your death will leave scorched earth for decades to come.

You will hate BounceX. You will hate it the way you hated Flappy Bird, the way you hated Super Hexagon, the way you hated QWOP. You will hate it because you could do well at this game, you know what you need to do to reach that next orb, but you will fail to do it. You will bounce one millisecond too soon and hit a descending deathangle. You will misjudge a gap and smash to pieces on the ground. You will earn two points and see the third floating one leisurely bounce away, but what’s that? Wind.


I’ve clawed my way to five points in BounceX, so I can tell you what happens next. Thumbs worn and bloodied, you start over. BounceX always gives you the first point free; it’s always in the same readily-available spot just to your upper left. No hazards block your path. Nothing to stop you from that tantalizing “twing” of +1 point.


You use the only two controls available—tapping left or right—to move your always-bouncing orange ball avatar up a level. Suddenly the stage has changed. Where last you encountered a decathlon of triangle hurdles, there is only a ledge. An empty, safe ledge that boosts you higher. Your starting pad fades away and becomes a potentially deadly fall; you bounce up again to another safe spot.

Breathe. Notice a blue score orb on the right side of the screen. Survey the torrent of purple dangers showering the path between you and +1. Take your time to line up your next bounce…

And burst upon a tiny, insignificant triangle on the ceiling. So small it’s almost cute. So sharp it shatters your ball, and dreams of a high score, in one instant.

BounceX_GauntletYou start over. Grab the first +1.

Everything changes again; ceiling triangle is gone. The gauntlet is shifting.

This time it’s an elevator with wind pushing you towards death. Next time a nuclear fan blocking your escape. Always +1 just out of reach, always “just one more” echoing even before you’ve fallen.

Because you know you will.

You start over.