The little wibble-wobble of his ass as he walked made it look as though a Beegee's song was playing in his head, but since he had a face like a slapped ass, disco music certainly wasn't on his mental playlist. He had all the game of a toothless fishmonger in a lime-green polyester suit. Tonight was his night though. Maybe. He slicked his hair back and opened the door.
He kicked the skull from his path and it clunked into another just beyond the doorway. It had taken him months to reach the tower. He squeezed through the rotting frame, climbing over and crawling under vines that spiraled in and out.
From the top, he could see his house—where the thickest vines had burst from the ground, suffocating the town and choking it into a twisted labyrinth.
“All things considered,” he murmured, “Betsy, the Evergreen Cup judges would have loved you.”
"Okay, but Mom said the winner has to clean up and put it away, so there!"
"Yeah, so give me the cards."
"Come and get them!"
Derek raced out the door with a handful of cards as Dillon lunged after him. The screen door squeaked before it slammed, rattling the cocktail glasses drying on the counter next to the sink.
Dressed in gown of gold and card symbol motifs woven neatly into the threads, Syndria lowered her head next to the ears of her Milgoun husband. In it, she whispered. “Game?”
He whispered his reply, “In 30 minutes.”
Syndria pumped her arms in victory and a smile rose across her face. Her attitude and smile created a lightening aura around her as she rushed away, the duty for the set up already in mind. The other councilors enjoyed the excitement.
The Title Match began. Harlin, the Grandmaster, against child prodigy Lester. The gallery followed the moves. Harlin, showing no mercy, opened using his King's pawn forward. Lester studied the board declaring he was going to use the “Macaroni defense.” Harlin, puzzled, looked up from the board and said “You mean the Benoni opening?” trying to correct the youth. “Nope” said Lester, fingering out a disgusting stringy booger from his nose, flicking it. Harlin immediately resigned and refused the hand shake!
The game was afoot but soon became out of hand. Mike and Michelle, head over heels in love, soon were heels over head. The juxtaposition of multicolored dots made for improper juxtapositions of their anatomies, as Mike and Michelle twisted and interdigitated to obey the variegated circles. Hand, foot, head, breast, and crotch all found purchase on the other’s body, as propriety faltered and debauchery flourished. Yet, the game continued. Finally, all the colored dots merged into white. Sex won.
Gerard, this took quite a turn—what started with playful tension slid swiftly into something far more tangled. I appreciate how you kept it tight while letting the chaos unfold. There’s humor beneath the heat, and a touch of absurdity that makes it all the more vivid. That final line, “Sex won,” lands like a curtain drop. Bold choice.
Children play with each other on the beach. For them, life is a game.
Teenagers play kings and queens, celebrities and princesses. For them, life is a game of make-believe.
Adults play projects, nurture dreams, and conquer frustrations. For them, life is a challenge.
Old people, tired of playing with life for many years, are now playing with death. They are old, their feet hurt, and for them, waking up, smiling, breathing, and stand up are their daily victory games.
Ricky’s first marriage turned into a busted flush. Second try against all odds he drew his way to 21. And the two kids were blackjacks no doubt about it. The rest of his life as for most of us a 50/50 proposition, some days red some days black. Round and round he spun. He believed in the big croupier in the sky but couldn’t ignore the recurring role of chance. Right ‘til the oncologist rolled his final pass. Snake eyes.
The little wibble-wobble of his ass as he walked made it look as though a Beegee's song was playing in his head, but since he had a face like a slapped ass, disco music certainly wasn't on his mental playlist. He had all the game of a toothless fishmonger in a lime-green polyester suit. Tonight was his night though. Maybe. He slicked his hair back and opened the door.
PROMPT: GAME
THE STREETS AND THE ROADS
We’d been going round in circles for at least an hour.
Passing the same streets and the same roads, and making no progress at all.
It was hopeless, and starting to become incredibly annoying.
Because if we kept playing Monopoly this frugally, no one was ever going to go bankrupt… 😎
The Gardener - 80mg of a game
He kicked the skull from his path and it clunked into another just beyond the doorway. It had taken him months to reach the tower. He squeezed through the rotting frame, climbing over and crawling under vines that spiraled in and out.
From the top, he could see his house—where the thickest vines had burst from the ground, suffocating the town and choking it into a twisted labyrinth.
“All things considered,” he murmured, “Betsy, the Evergreen Cup judges would have loved you.”
GAME (80)
We need to talk.
(Pawn to Queen's Knight Four.)
I just can't do this anymore.
(Knight takes Pawn.)
I need some time to figure out what I really want in life.
(Pawn to King Four.)
We're just not good for each other.
(Rook takes Pawn.)
We tried so hard, but...
(Knight takes Bishop.)
It's nobody's fault.
(Pawn takes Pawn.)
I know you're not happy.
(Queen takes Rook.)
I hope we can stay friends.
(Queentakes Knight.)
I'll call you.
(Checkmate.)
80mg - Game
Yes, I love writing thrillers
------------------------------------------
The game began with a single red rose on her doorstep.
Each day brought something new—cryptic notes, photos of her from afar, her front door ajar.
Kari knew it was Raf, her obsessive ex, playing a twisted game of cat and mouse.
She changed her locks, routes, and hair color—but he was always one step ahead.
Then one night, she heard his voice from the shadows:
“I always get what I want.”
The game wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
Ominous.
Starts cute, but turned creepy fast!
Molly walked into the midst of a great squabble: There was but one cookie, which both kids desired. They begged her to award the prize to the winner.
"And what game are we playing?" she asked.
They shouted out, "Flip a coin! Thumb war! Rock, paper, scissors! Eenie meenie miney moe!"
"How 'bout this-is-how-the cookie-crumbles?" She neatly snapped the cookie in two, handing half to each child.
Hall, watching from the doorway, applauded. "Well played, dear!"
Great way of handling the situation
But fictional... In real life both kids would probably have been annoyed at having to share. Though half a cookie is better than no cookie!
Exactly, or the mom could’ve eaten it herself :)
We posted at the same time.
Perfect parenting here... this is the dream life :)
Married Life
“You’re always competing.”
“It’s just a game.”
“We were playing Scrabble to relax!”
“Still counts.”
“I said I love you, and you scored triple word!”
He grinned. “Love is worth 8 points.”
She glared.
He added, “But saying it means infinite.”
She threw a tile at him.
Later, she kissed him on a word: “forgive.”
He rearranged his letters. “Forever,” he said.
They sat quietly, board between them. It wasn’t a win or loss.
Just the best game they played.
80 words.
Funny, we're on the same wavelength, but you have perfect marriaging here!
April 11 Game 80 words
"Go Fish."
"Aw, man!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! I win!"
"Okay, but Mom said the winner has to clean up and put it away, so there!"
"Yeah, so give me the cards."
"Come and get them!"
Derek raced out the door with a handful of cards as Dillon lunged after him. The screen door squeaked before it slammed, rattling the cocktail glasses drying on the counter next to the sink.
"Boys! Don't run in the house!"
"We're not!" called both boys. "We're outside!"
80mg of GAME
.
Growth doesn’t come clean.
.
It asks you to
Go—beyond the known,
And trust the mess,
Make space for the stumble,
Errors are the architects of change.
.
I unlearn straight lines,
trace the shape of my own becoming.
Each fall, a footstep.
Each flaw, a map.
.
I don’t chase perfect.
I choose presence.
Systems shift when I do.
Design begins where control ends.
-
Call it failure—
I call it freedom.
I am not afraid.
I am G.A.M.E.
Dressed in gown of gold and card symbol motifs woven neatly into the threads, Syndria lowered her head next to the ears of her Milgoun husband. In it, she whispered. “Game?”
He whispered his reply, “In 30 minutes.”
Syndria pumped her arms in victory and a smile rose across her face. Her attitude and smile created a lightening aura around her as she rushed away, the duty for the set up already in mind. The other councilors enjoyed the excitement.
80 MG of the Game
The Title Match began. Harlin, the Grandmaster, against child prodigy Lester. The gallery followed the moves. Harlin, showing no mercy, opened using his King's pawn forward. Lester studied the board declaring he was going to use the “Macaroni defense.” Harlin, puzzled, looked up from the board and said “You mean the Benoni opening?” trying to correct the youth. “Nope” said Lester, fingering out a disgusting stringy booger from his nose, flicking it. Harlin immediately resigned and refused the hand shake!
80-word story—Prompt: Game
The game was afoot but soon became out of hand. Mike and Michelle, head over heels in love, soon were heels over head. The juxtaposition of multicolored dots made for improper juxtapositions of their anatomies, as Mike and Michelle twisted and interdigitated to obey the variegated circles. Hand, foot, head, breast, and crotch all found purchase on the other’s body, as propriety faltered and debauchery flourished. Yet, the game continued. Finally, all the colored dots merged into white. Sex won.
Gerard, this took quite a turn—what started with playful tension slid swiftly into something far more tangled. I appreciate how you kept it tight while letting the chaos unfold. There’s humor beneath the heat, and a touch of absurdity that makes it all the more vivid. That final line, “Sex won,” lands like a curtain drop. Bold choice.
80 words of a Game:
________________________
Children play with each other on the beach. For them, life is a game.
Teenagers play kings and queens, celebrities and princesses. For them, life is a game of make-believe.
Adults play projects, nurture dreams, and conquer frustrations. For them, life is a challenge.
Old people, tired of playing with life for many years, are now playing with death. They are old, their feet hurt, and for them, waking up, smiling, breathing, and stand up are their daily victory games.
Lewis learned early in life that you can infer a great deal about a man by how he plays a game. Is he a cheat? Does he win humbly and lose gracefully?
Lewis watched as his opponent tried and failed to slide a card up his sleeve, disguising it with a nonchalant drink of his whiskey.
Lewis simply smiled and kept his mouth shut. No matter how the game went, he’d already decided he had come out on top.
I'm trying to write happy pieces because we don't need more negativity right now.
Game
Timmy spun around three times with his hands over his eyes. “Odelay, odelay, here I come!” His excited voice rang over the picnic area in the park.
Where was Simon? Where was Dee? Where were the rest?
A colorful flutter of cloth by the bright green bush, the toe of a muddy shoe by the tree whispered secret place.
Timmy laughed as he ran toward his hidden friends. There was nothing better than playing a game in the bright sunlight.
Thank you for that!
Ricky’s first marriage turned into a busted flush. Second try against all odds he drew his way to 21. And the two kids were blackjacks no doubt about it. The rest of his life as for most of us a 50/50 proposition, some days red some days black. Round and round he spun. He believed in the big croupier in the sky but couldn’t ignore the recurring role of chance. Right ‘til the oncologist rolled his final pass. Snake eyes.