My father played H and G with a blank tile between. HAG, he said.
I’d thought HOG. I wish he’d played HOG. I could’ve gotten a double word score with GIZMO or WAZOO or ZIPPO.
HUG didn’t occur to me until the next day. He probably never thought of it.
Laura Nagle’s flash fiction and poetry have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Sunlight Press, HAD, Trash Cat Lit, and the Irish-language journal Aneas. Her translations from French and Spanish include Prosper Mérimée’s 1827 hoax, Songs for the Gusle, and Adela Zamudio’s 1913 feminist novel, Confidences.
Oh, nicely done.
Such a story told by one letter (and in only 50 words). Well done!
This is pretty great. Love all the saying in what’s not said.
Excellent!
Great piece, love it!
What a story! So much said and unsaid in those 3 letters.
Love this. There’s so much lingering beneath the surface.
Joyful.