by Sumitra Singam
This new board game, pristine, will restart everything between us. The plastic wrapping peeled off with a squeal, the scree of the box lid sliding against the base – a tight fit only once. Your hand, a zebra against the setting sun and the venetians, stampeding as always. You fling the pile of tiny plastic figures essential for the game into the under-the-sideboard vortex where sharp-fanged, scurrying creatures seize them. I contort myself, reach my vulnerable fingers into that dark space, plead that the game is now unplayable. “This is the game,” they hiss.
Sumitra is a Malaysian-Indian-Australian coconut who writes to make sense of her experiences. She’ll be the one in the kitchen making chai (where’s your cardamom?). Bluesky: @pleomorphic2 & sumitrasingam.squarespace.com
Photo Credit: Alfred Kenneally on Unsplash
