If you’ve spent any time digging through the corners of itch.io or the experimental side of Steam, you’ve probably stumbled across it. After School We Wonder in Space. It’s a title that feels like a mouthful, yet it perfectly captures that specific, weirdly lonely feeling of being a kid when the bell rings and the sun starts to dip. You’re supposed to go home. Instead, you’re drifting.
Most games try to give you a gun, a quest, or at least a map. This one? It gives you a bike and a sense of existential dread mixed with wonder. It’s a lo-fi, surrealist trip that managed to capture a very niche audience, but it stays in your brain long after you close the tab. I remember the first time I loaded it up—I expected a platformer. What I got was a meditation on childhood.
The game isn't just about "space" in the sense of stars and planets. It’s about the spaces between people. It's about the void of growing up.
What After School We Wonder in Space Actually Is
Let’s get the technical stuff out of the way first. Developed by Simeon Kondev (often associated with the "Sokpop" era of indie experimentation, though this stands as its own distinct piece), the game is a short, narrative-driven experience. It’s not meant to be a 40-hour RPG. You can beat it in the time it takes to eat a sandwich.
The aesthetic is heavily inspired by PS1-era low-poly graphics. Think jittery textures. Think flat colors. It looks like a memory that’s slightly corrupted. You play as a student who, quite literally, wanders into the cosmos. But the cosmos looks like a playground, a neighborhood, and a dream.
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Why do people care? Well, it’s the atmosphere. There is a specific term for this: Liminality. It’s that feeling of being in a hallway between two rooms. You aren't a child anymore, but you aren't an adult. You aren't at school, but you aren't home. You’re just... out there.
The Weird Mechanics of Drifting
The controls feel floaty. On purpose. Honestly, if the movement was precise, the game would fail. You’re supposed to feel like you’re losing your grip on reality.
One of the most striking things is how the game handles dialogue. It doesn’t use giant text boxes that explain the lore. Instead, you get snippets. Little bursts of thought. It feels like eavesdropping on a conversation from ten years ago. One player on a Steam forum mentioned it felt like "playing through a fever dream I had in 5th grade," and honestly, that’s the most accurate review I’ve ever read.
Why the "After School" Setting Hits Different
There is a cultural obsession right now with "Kidcore" and "Dreamcore." You see it all over TikTok and Pinterest—images of empty schools at night or bright playgrounds under a dark sky. After School We Wonder in Space tapped into this before it was a viral aesthetic.
Think about it.
After school is a transitional period. In many cultures, especially in Japan (which heavily influences the "vibe" of this genre), the "after school" time is when the real world pauses. The teachers are gone. The parents are at work. The world belongs to the kids, but it’s a world that’s about to end because adulthood is coming.
The game uses space as a metaphor for that looming future. Space is big. It’s cold. It’s empty. But it’s also full of possibilities. When you’re a kid, the future feels exactly like that. You’re wondering. Or maybe you’re wandering. The title plays on both.
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The Design Philosophy of Simeon Kondev
Kondev’s work often focuses on simplicity. He’s part of a movement of developers who reject the "more is better" philosophy of AAA gaming.
- Minimalism: No HUD cluttering the screen.
- Soundscapes: The audio isn't just music; it’s ambient noise that makes you feel isolated.
- Short Form: It respects your time.
In a world where every game wants to be a "service" that you play for three years, a game that wants 20 minutes of your life to tell you a poem is radical. It’s basically the gaming equivalent of a zine. You find it, you read it, it changes your mood, and you move on. But you keep the zine on your shelf.
Common Misconceptions About the Gameplay
A lot of people go into this expecting a "space sim."
Stop. It is not Kerbal Space Program. You aren't calculating orbital mechanics.
Actually, the "space" in the title is more of a setting for surrealist vignettes. You might find a vending machine in the middle of a nebula. You might talk to a giant floating head that reminds you of a classmate you haven't seen since primary school. If you go in looking for "gameplay loops," you’re going to be disappointed. Go in looking for an experience.
I’ve seen some critics argue that the game is "too short" or "lacks depth." I think that misses the point entirely. Does a poem lack depth because it isn't a 500-page novel? Of course not. The depth is in what it makes you feel, not how many buttons you have to mash.
The Legacy of Indie Surrealism
This game sits on a shelf next to titles like Yume Nikki or LSD: Dream Emulator.
These games don't care about "winning." They care about exploration. Not just of a map, but of a psyche. When we talk about After School We Wonder in Space, we’re talking about a branch of digital art that uses the language of video games to explore loneliness.
There’s a specific scene—I won't spoil it—involving a sunset that feels so visceral it almost hurts. It captures that "golden hour" light that makes everything look beautiful and tragic at the same time. Most high-budget games with Ray Tracing can't evoke that feeling because they’re too busy trying to look "real." Kondev’s game looks "true," which is different.
How to Play It Today
If you’re looking to dive in, you have a few options. It’s widely available on indie platforms.
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- Check itch.io first. This is the home of experimental indies. You can often find Kondev’s earlier prototypes here too.
- Steam. It’s there if you want the convenience of a library and achievements (though achievements in a game like this feel almost ironic).
- Browser versions. Sometimes small bits of these projects live in Unity web players, though those are becoming harder to run as browsers update.
Seriously, play it with headphones. If you play this with your laptop speakers while the TV is on in the background, you’ve killed the vibe. You need the silence of your own room to match the silence of the game.
The Impact on the "Lo-Fi" Scene
The game’s visual style—crunchy pixels, shaky cameras—has become a blueprint for a whole subgenre of "cozy horror" and "liminal exploration" games. You see its DNA in games like Voices of the Void or even some of the weirder Roblox experiences that teenagers are building today.
It’s about the "Uncanny Valley" of nostalgia. We remember our childhoods as being brighter and simpler than they were, but games like this remind us that being a kid was actually kind of terrifying. You had no power. You were small. The world was huge and incomprehensible.
Final Practical Insights
If you’re a creator, developer, or just someone who loves digital culture, there are a few things to take away from the staying power of this tiny game.
First, niche beats broad. By focusing on a very specific, fleeting feeling (after-school wandering), the game found a dedicated audience that still talks about it years later.
Second, aesthetics are a narrative tool. The PS1 graphics aren't just a "retro" choice; they represent the "low-resolution" nature of our memories.
Third, don't be afraid of brevity. A powerful 15-minute experience is worth more than 100 hours of filler content.
To truly get the most out of your time with this game, try to play it when you’re actually in that "transitional" headspace. Late at night. On a Sunday afternoon when the "Sunday Scaries" are hitting. Let the game’s weird, drifting logic take over.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
- Explore the "Sokpop" Collective: If you liked the vibe of this game, the Sokpop developers release small, experimental games every two weeks. It’s a goldmine for this kind of "alt-gaming" content.
- Look into Dreamcore Aesthetics: Search for "Dreamcore" or "Liminal Spaces" on platforms like Are.na or Pinterest to see the visual art movements that run parallel to this game’s themes.
- Journal your experience: Sounds cheesy, but this is one of those games that people often write about after playing. See what memories it jogs for you. Most people find themselves thinking about a specific person from their past by the time the credits roll.
- Support Indie Devs on itch.io: Small creators like Simeon Kondev rely on direct support. If you enjoyed the game, leave a comment or a few dollars on their page to keep the "weird indie" ecosystem alive.