Tommia's Tablet

Turntiles by Tommia Wright

Silly short fiction for a Friday. There are some games worth playing, and there are some games where changing the goals makes them better.

Playing the Game

She was the one who kept score for a number of reasons. One, her aunt hated math. Two, her parents claimed she needed to practice her penmanship. Three, it let her control the game.

The lettered tiles on the board weren’t equally accepting any form of addition or payment from the ones lined up on her tray – four “I’s” two “O’s” and a “U.” Her aunt’s start of the game didn’t help, either: four three-letter words in a row. No matter, she thought, picking up an “o” and making a “go” on the board.

Her aunt adjusted her glasses, not that she looked through them, but never went anywhere without them. This was a game to be blamed on the sunny day, the lack of coffee and the absence of sleep. All of them were lies, the child knew, but played along anyway, sad to see yet another three-letter word set down.

The major goal of this game wasn’t the spelling – something the child did quite well with, thank you. It wasn’t in pursuit of the longest word or the highest-point word, either. It was trying to control the placement of the words to help meet another goal in mind, an “a-b-c version” of the chessboard she was learning to master, thanks to her uncle.

She finally covered up one of the dark blue tiles, setting her aunt up to claim the dark red one. If she did, and her aunt had the letters she suspected, then the score would be worth it. For once, the child’s silent wish was granted this game.

The two went back and forth as the sun began its descent. The cloth bag now empty, the child scanned the board and noted her tray, all the better to count the tiles remaining on the other side. The pesky 10-point tiles were always in the way. The score wasn’t in the child’s favor, not the way she wanted it to be.

Determined not to empty her tray first, the child settled for “it.” Her aunt let the opportunity go by, foiling any chance to claim ‘first empty.’ Back and forth, one-by-one the tiles left the stand, until the child had no choice but to claim ‘out.’

Glancing at the total, the child frowned as her score passed her aunt’s by the 10-point “Z’ – the lost tie robbing the child of a win.

Darts Thrown by Tommia Wright

First day of Spring and it’s snowing (and it’s Tuesday). Granted, there’s more rain in the mix this time, but I suspect the temperature’s warmer in Minneapolis than here today.

To paraphrase Paul Harvey, ‘Now, page 3’ of the Some Sense of Time, the story written in ‘four prompts’ from the artEast “Practice, Practice, Practice” work session two weeks ago.

• Part one of the story had its prompt based on a collection of watches.
• Part two had its prompt based on a collection of maps (different decades, gas stations, parts of the country and world).
• Part three consisted of keeping up with phrases called out in a short period of time. Some participants in the class came up with a great stream of consciousness story. Mine became an argument.
• Part four, based on a photo, will hopefully be available tomorrow.