Owl avvie1 copy 14

Winter Galaxy

United States

Half of being a good writer is grammar, and the other half is a healthy mix of patience and insanity. Welcome to my collection of thoughts, the product of sitting in a cozy blanket typing while rain pours outside. Not really, but I wish it was.

Message to Readers

How do you all interpret the parts of the game?

A Game of Life

May 13, 2015

FREE WRITING

1

There's a game we used to play. If it were a board game, it would be old and dusty now, but it was a game of light that lived in our souls. There wasn't a surface to play on, just the earth and land and sea and whoever chose to seek them.

The players ranged from few and far between. There was no age limit, and everyone started in the same place, but depending on your chances, some had different advantages. Some were greedy and cheated, others played fairly. The game wasn't fair, not everyone loved it, but barely ever wished to leave. 

Most players played with pieces, different knick knacks, but some chose to play with nothing. They were the happiest players, as my mother would say, because they didn't have to worry about all those pieces. Keeping them, obtaining them. Just distractions. The ones with playing pieces got these cards called a "Joy Card," but I didn't like how artificial they were.

The rules were simple starting out. Sometimes others taught you how to play, some read the instructions, and some who had lost the instructions had to figure it out on their own. But as the game progressed, more and more rules were added, even though there wasn't a goal. The new rules were painfully restricting, although I knew it was to keep the game fair. But it wasn't, always. My mother always said to follow the rules, always. 

As the game progressed, my mother had to leave. I didn't like it, because then she couldn't give me advice on the game and play it with me. I was burdened with rules, all the rules digging into me, but I listened to what she had said. It was hard not to break one every now and then, honestly, and the other players sometimes corrected me. They always left to join a different game, though. I wished my mother had just joined a different game, but she had stopped playing for the day. It got more complicated, and over time, I had gained my own advice from trial and error. As the night grew later, though, I had to say goodbye to the other players. I was good at that game, and others missed my counseling. But I was a morning person, and it had gotten too dark for me.

There's a game we used to play. If it were a board game, it would be old and dusty now, but it was a game of light that lived in our souls. There wasn't a surface to play on, just the earth and land and sea and whoever chose to seek them.

Print

See History
2

Login or Signup to provide a comment.