It’s a common gamer dilemma: titles we adore, yet for one reason or another, they gather dust in our digital libraries, their final boss battles unfought, their credits sequences unseen. We pour hours into exploring their worlds, mastering their mechanics, and falling in love with their characters, only to drift away before reaching the conclusion.
Whether it’s the sheer scale of an open world, the arrival of a shinier new release, an unexpected emotional toll, or simply a streak of bad luck, the reasons are as varied as the games themselves. These are the games that mark my shameful shelf of put-away classics that I actually quite doubt I’ll ever get around to clearing.
Let’s start off with a potentially controversial one:Odyssey, how I loved soaring through ancient Greece as Alexios, leaping from impossible heights and kicking hapless foes off cliffs. The world was stunning, the combat engaging, and the sheer volume of quests felt like an endless buffet of adventure.
But that, ironically, became its undoing. Every corner of the map held another tantalising objective, another question mark begging to be explored. Eventually, the sheer vastness became overwhelming. Other games came out, demanding my attention, and before I knew it, my epic journey to conquer ancient Greece was put on an indefinite hold.
And this has happened three separate times in my life, now.
Dragon Age 2 holds a curious place in my heart. Coming off the heels of a true personal favourite in Origins andpredating the sprawling success(that Ididactually finish) of Inquisition, it always felt like the middle child.
I genuinely enjoyed my time in Kirkwall. The combat was snappy, and the companions were, as always with that era of BioWare, wonderfully written. Love Anders, he can do no wrong. Yet, despite its strengths, it never quite ignited the same passion as its brethren. The recycled environments and truncated scope, when compared to the grand epics that came before and after it, gradually chipped away at my investment until I simply… moved on.
Okay, Ididtechnically finish1000xResist, but only with one ending, and honestly? I felt absolutely no compulsion to dive back in for the others. This game’s narrative was so powerfully delivered, so emotionally resonant with the conclusion I ended up with, that it felt like the definitive experience.
It was a rare instance where the journey felt so perfectly culminated in a single path that the idea of replaying it to see something different felt unnecessary. It wasn’t the happiest ending, but it wastheending to me.
Come on, are you everreallyfinished with Minecraft? Well, technically, you may be: travelling to The End and defeating the Ender Dragon will give you a credits sequence. And despite countless hours spent mining and building and griefing my husband, I’ve never felt the need or even desire to hit the credits.
For me, Minecraft has always been about the journey and creative freedom; the endless possibilities of its blocky world. The idea of a ‘conclusion’ feels antithetical to its spirit. My worlds come to ellipses, unfinished and left hanging, not full stops.
Farewell North is a beautifully crafted game with a poignant story, but its central themes hit a little too close to home. Playing as a border collie restoring colour to a Scottish island, you’re constantly confronted with narratives of loss and grief. Even hints of such, which hit harder than they should.
As someone who has experienced the heartbreak of losing beloved animal companions, the emotional weight became incredibly heavy. Each vignette, each memory uncovered, tugged at my heartstrings. While I admired its artistry and courage in tackling such sensitive subjects, I ultimately had to step away. It was simply too raw, too resonant with my own sorrows to continue.
Of all the games here, this is the one I feel most likely to go pick up and finally finish off.
My brief foray into Final Fantasy 11 was a testament to how much an interface and onboarding experience can impact enjoyment. As a newcomer, I found myself constantly battling with clunky menus, an unintuitive control scheme, and a general lack of guidance.
The world of Vana’diel felt vast and intriguing, but the sheer effort required to simply navigate it, let alone understand its systems and progress, was a significant barrier. It felt unforgiving and unwelcoming to anyone not already deeply invested or familiar with its quirks. Ultimately, the friction of the interface outweighed any desire to delve deeper into its undoubtedly rich world.
This one’s another technicality like 1000xResist, but it still counts! Ipoured over 80 hours into Persona 5back in the day, savouring every moment of its over-the-top story and exquisite battle mechanics. I reached the credits, feeling utterly satisfied with my grand adventure as a Phantom Thief.
Then, about a month later, Persona 5 Royal was announced, adding an entirely new semester, characters, and an extended ending. While I adored the original, the prospect of replaying such a massive game for what felt like a director’s cut, when I’d just finished it, never quite appealed. Maybe one day, but probably not.
Planet Zoo has a campaign mode, complete with objectives, challenges, and a progression system. And I’ve probably touched about two missions of it. My true joy in Planet Zoo comes from the sandbox. Give me an empty plot of land, unlimited funds, and a blank canvas, and I’ll happily spend hours meticulously designing tiny, perfect enclosures for my favourite animals.
Flamingos, with their vibrant pink plumage and elegant movements, are a particular obsession. The campaign’s goals and restrictions fade into the background when I can instead focus on creating the most aesthetically pleasing, flamingo-centric zoo the world has ever seen.
Dungeons of Dredmor and I have a long, complicated history. It’s charming, has oodles of wit and humour, and is a satisfyingly complex roguelike, but I have simply never had good luck with it. Every run seems to end in some spectacularly unfair, utterly crushing defeat. Whether it’s a random critical hit from a low-level monster, an unexpected trap, or simply stumbling into a room packed with enemies I’m woefully unprepared for, my adventurers in the titular dungeons rarely last long.
Despite its undeniable appeal and replayability, my persistent string of bad fortune has meant I’ve never come close to seeing its later levels, let alone its conclusion.
