“Them's fightin' words.”
Noah Webster* #quote
I wonder if people who are really passionate about the environment both cycle and recycle. Anyway onto the flash fiction!
Barry rolled the dice and moved his game piece across the spaces. He picked up the card from the stack that matched the color of the space and by giving five single-word clues tried to get his team to guess what was written on the card. He tended to always give the best clues and get the most points. He'd seen every single card a thousand times over, and they had to make new cards sometimes since they'd play the game so much. Him so much more. The game, “Five Clues!?”, had tattered edges on its cardboard and the box, despite the care given to it, got some heavy bangs over the years. Barry remembered the times he played it in his youth, long before white hairs covered his head. And he wondered why, after so many years, he still played this dumb, old game with his family.
He looked around and saw all the smiles when his team scored a point, and the rest of the family eager for their turn, and he remembered why. Did his grandfather play the game with him for all the smiles? And how many generations of the family would play for all the smiles, no matter how repetitive the game got?