She said as much every time that they played.
“I don’t like this game.” See? She said it again, ergo they must be playing and they were. I know this because my first statement was proved instantly true by her statement, and because in this particular work of fiction they are playing the aforementioned game.
Mysterious was her opponent for they had not yet been introduced. Could it be a lover? An ex partner for whom she still has feelings that make her wish to fall to her knees, rend her garments and beat her chest, perhaps very similar to the description of the inconvenienced scribes and Pharisees of biblical times? This would be an absolutely excellent guess, and one that would see you receive a medal or certificate to prove your astute excellence in this matter. Let us venture further and find out:
Her opponent laughed. It was a hearty, deep, booming laugh, the sort that a big bearded thespian might produce if his name was Brian Blessed. It was not Brian Blessed, for he was unavailable to star in this work of micro fiction, and by unavailable I mean demanding an extraordinarily high appearance fee for a work less than 500 words. So it is not him.*
*Brian Blessed’s agent comments: due to similarities here clearly described that represent the above and aforementioned Brian Blessed and his patented Big Booming Laugh™, the fictional character whose role has not been filled cannot be described as having such a laugh.
Her opponent laughed. It was a laugh of generic timbre, undistinguishable, unrecognisable and uninteresting, like a frog wearing moccasins and pretending to be Belgian. It was definitely male, because I’m running out of words. He laughed because he clearly enjoyed the game, and relished her obverse feelings towards said game. Being an heartless ex is looking like a good bet for our mysterious male opponent man.
Her eyes welled up. Tears began to flow.
“I SAID (sorry, caps lock) that I don’t like this game!” She said, even though she just said that she said, I still said ‘she said’ in case you weren’t paying attention.
He just laughed and said: “Then why do you insist on playing this with me?”
She looked at him. He looked at her. She looked at him. He looked at her. She looked at him. He looked at her. She looked at him. He looked at her. Things were very quiet, things were getting quite intense. He picked up the dice needing an eleven to win, but he rolled two fives! Alas and woe for him as he landed on square 99, which was an elongated green snake’s head, and he slid back down to square 26. He was distraught, she was delighted as she rolled two sixes and won the game and the respect of her peers and a trophy the size of Elton John, and Brian Blessed was none the wiser.
© Kris Blackburn 15/08/2015
With special thanks to the lovely Rachel at FindingRachelsWay who kindly and inadvertently provided me with a title when she was trying her very best to change the subject.