The Idea-smithy

The player sighed
All these games, all rookies
It was tiresome

Time ’twas, to play the master stroke on the ultimate game
His inspiration was fueled by the insight that,

The culmination to creation was destruction.

He swallowed and rested, satiated

His last words read,

Who did you think you were kidding? I won anyway.

Her monotone, drained of exasperation, drawled

I can’t handle this anymore. I think we should stop talking. No more games.

A week later, much tempted, she thought

I didn’t say I wouldn’t call him though, did I?

Then she sighed and reminded herself that word solitaire was a game too.