“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!
Five Clues!?
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?
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