That scarf was a ridiculous purchase, he said. I don’t work for you to buy gauzy strips of gratuitous fabric.
I don’t know why, she sighed, you insist upon these games
Because, said he, games are fun. His lips quirked up on one side. His eyes were dark
Not always, she said. Take chess, for example.
Racing is fun. Speeding around the track, outmanoeuvring competitors. I never liked chess. All that cornering the king. It’s unbecoming.
Oh I know, said she. She touched the damned scarf to a lit a taper and tossed it out the window as it flared. Oops. How clumsy of me.
His eyes grew wide and he rushed to the window to see flames rapidly licking the dashboard of his Aston Martin convertible.
You always forget that the real power on the chess board is the queen’s, she said, as he raced shouting from the room. Check, mate.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt is to write a dialogue poem.