Writing (fiction)
Scrabble (fragment)
There were no more pieces left in the little green sack. Augustus hid his trembling hands under the table to prevent Manuel, his fourteen-year-old son, from noticing the fact. A picture of them smiling and embracing was guarded by a picture in the center of the mahogany library, which witnessed another cramped departure in the living room of the house. For the first time, in over two years that they have been playing Scrabble, Manuel managed to have a clear advantage of 51 points. Augustus had only four chips left on the lectern, and he had his next word in mind. He forces himself to control his breathing, while trying to hide the smile that is forming and the terrible desire to let out a laugh of mockery and celebration, such as those that he came to enjoy as a young man when he played dominoes with his friends.
His son ran his index finger over the edge of his pieces, making them sound subtly, but with intent. This distracted Augustus and brought him out of his inner debate over which humiliating jokes he would finally throw, making their stares meet and collide, and he did not like the brightness that he saw born in his eyes at all.
Manuel began to empty his lectern, abandoning his pieces, one by one, next to a neutral word that was left in previous rounds. "Quiet," was the word formed on the bottom of the board. A teenage voice broke the silence before the bulging eyes of his father:
"Well ... you see, Dad ... Here would be one, two, three, four ..., plus five would be nine, plus one, two, three, four ..., for there would be thirteen. But ... down here I have this triple word, "explained Manuel, while moving the piece and let the prize box read," so, thirteen by three would be 39 points; and, as you know, by using all my seven letters I won the 50-point bonus ... Which means I've made 89 points ... and you've lost again, old man! He said mockingly.