RichardLizzieTomLisaSerendipidyNorval JoePlanet ZThe old dictionary sat open on the table, pages fluttering as if alive. Clara turned it into a game, pointing at random words and weaving them into stories for her little brother. Tonight, she landed on orchestra. She closed her eyes and described violins tuning, drums thundering, a conductor ready to give the charge. Her brother listened wide-eyed, as though he truly heard the music filling their small kitchen. When she finished, he clapped, the applause soft but sincere. Clara smiled, feeling deeply appreciated. Sometimes, the grandest performances happened not on stage, but in the quiet corners of home.
Twist my words, he said, play the game. Come on, do it. She replied she had the orchestra waiting. He laughed and said you can’t do it. You’re not strong enough. She remained silent. He continued to laugh and twist her words. She felt like saying, come on, do it, but she didn’t want to miss the right moment. He turned away to face the closed window. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. So, yes, she thought, she was strong enough to play the game. She dumped the weapon in the lake and the silencer in someone’s trash.
We’d forgotten what rain was like; then we went on holiday and endured an endless drum on the caravan roof. A storm had knocked the electrics off and my phone was dead.
Everything felt too far away to leave our dry little sanctuary.
The windows steamed up and I wanted to sleep but the table we sat at was also my bed. They felt like desperate times we’d found a dictionary and tried to make up a word game.
The power returning felt like a miracle.
Then the sun returned too just as we loaded the car to go home.
When I was growing up YA was a gentler read. Tom Swift, Nancy Dew, Harder Boys. Now reflexive of the times we live dystopian death match 2000 is in vogue. Lots of dead youth. So not one to miss out on trends in emerging American fiction I have chosen a tale I’m calling The Dictionary Games. Dozen seniors locked in a library. Their only weapon a 1909 Webster’s Dictionary. The shelves are layered with deadly traps and the librarian is packing a Smith and Wesson. The sole survivor gets a free ride to Harvard and seat of the supreme court.
They sat down on a musty threadbare couch. The filthy walls were bare except for a single curling photo of a girl and her older brother.
“That picture is you and your brother.” Mandi pointed. “Why’s he smiling, and you look unhappy?”
Bobbie blushed. “That was years ago. Patrick was playing his game with me and was proud of himself.”
“What game?” Mandi asked.
Bobbi blushed and shook her head. “He knows I’m in charge now and he can’t mess with me anymore. That’s why he likes the Black Knights. They’re all about persecuting and dominating other people of power.”
I really should charge for my services, but then again, didn’t someone once say if you truly love your job, you’ll never work a day of your life? And it seems somehow wrong to charge for something I’m happy to do for free.
My clients are happy too. They tell me I give a five star service.
It’s nice to be appreciated.
But, nothing in life is ever really free. There’s always a price to be paid on the day of reckoning.
You make a deal with this devil, and some day you are going to pay with your soul.
“How about a game of Scrabble?” suggested Harry.
Everybody groaned inwardly.
Harry always wanted to play Scrabble, and Harry always won.
This time would be no different.
“Juxplunk!” Harry proclaimed triumphantly; “And on two triple word scores too!” He quickly totted up the score… “I make that a hundred and sixty eight points!”
“That’s not a real word Harry.”
He sighed and thumbed through the dictionary.
“Juxplunk: The sound of a pebble falling down a well.”
He snapped the dictionary shut and stuffed it down the side of his chair.
We knew he was lying, but it was his dictionary.
I had an handheld Electronic Football game growing up.
Well, my brother and I were forced to share it.
We were forced to share a lot.
My brother would take his turn and run down the battery.
Then he handed it to me.
I wanted to replace the battery, but my parents were cheap.
So, I left the game on the counter.
My brother would wait until night and swap the battery with one in a smoke detector.
And it would give its low battery beep.
My dad would get out a step ladder and replace the battery,
