Writing Exercise: Spelling Games

Image acquired from the Internet Hive Mind

I text with a sister every weekday morning. She homeschools and our little exchange gives her a bit of adult-time every day while letting me stay in touch with family. At the start of February 2022, she texted: “Good morning, we are trying to do a month of spelling for Feb. and to fix our sleeping patterns.”

As a writer and reader and tax preparer in the middle of tax season, sleeping patterns suggestions would be an exercise of speculative fiction on my part so decided my goal for the month would be to send her a spelling game every day we text. This means the goal was to find or create 20 spelling games. I decided the collected materials could make a good writing exercise – how to do spelling games to help your writing and vocabulary. Many of these games are available as small electronic apps and/or have teacher materials available online.

I’ve also gave suggestions of where these can cross-topics outside of the typical “English” subject, since that is important for teaching.

Twenty Spelling Games with Variations
1. Hangman – (See above illustration)

2. Pictionary – a great board game for the whole family. Where art and vocabulary meet.

3. One Letter at a Time – Change a three (or more) letter words to another word, but every in-between stage also must be a word. JUG-BUG-BOG-DOG
Variations: (a) Encourage the older kids to create base start and stop for the younger kids (my sister’s kids range from kindergarten to teens). (d) Another option is option is having a middle word they must go through, like LOG. (JUG – LUG – LOG – DOG) (c) Instead of an unspecified number of steps (with the goal of as few possible between the first and last word), have a fixed number of steps like 5, 10, or 20. (5 STEPS – JUG-BUG-LUG-LOG-DOG) (d) Fourth variation, have some of the steps have letters already filled in (PREFILL – JUG – _O_ – DOG)

4. Describe This – Take an item and write down the five senses, and each person going around gets to describe one thing (since this is spelling and not just vocabulary and art related, they have to spell the word). Can’t repeat senses until all five are used. At least three times around, so they start working on harder descriptions. Helps with art because you start to really LOOK at things. Can also help with panic attacks and sensory issues as a grounding exercise. In addition, it crosses with science in observation skills and describing an object.
Variations: (a) You might have the older kids be limited to scientific words and descriptions. (b) Other ways to make it harder for the older kids, their words must have a minimum number of letters and/or syllables. Ages 0-6 can have any number; 7-10 at least two, over 10 three or more. Or whatever age breaks work. (c) As a writing, instead of head-to-head, fold the paper into quarter length-wise, write the five senses, and fill in three columns. Then flip the paper over and write a paragraph of prose (or poetry) either with a creative writing description OR a scientific description. At least half the words on the front should be used in the paragraph. The prose paragraph could also be a product review, instead of a creative writing or scientific description, like for Amazon or a Google review. Writing reviews is a growing skill set many people are developing.

Sister texted: “The kids like that game idea, since it is similar to the group stories they write.”

5. Cyphers – Cyphers are the place where math and spelling met. Toss in history because the games (in newspapers) nearly always are quotes (which is also cultural indoctrination). After introducing the concept of cyphers, at the start of each history section, have a famous quote by a person in a cypher. I was thinking they read the opening chapter – you find a quote you like and make a cypher for it. Easy ones at first, where you just move each letter one or two spots in the alphabet. I bet a lot will be online, especially since this is a standard newspaper thing in the games section. A great time to introduce cyphers is WWII and/or discussing the Indigenous codetalkers (any code can be broken, so US used codetalkers from the Native nations including Navajo, Cherokee, and Comanche).

6. Scrabble – The most obvious board games for spelling is Scrabble.

7. Subtract One / Add One / Permutations – Start with a word and subtract a letter. Make a new work – you can jumble the letters to create a new word. If the remaining letters don’t form a word, then remove another until you get a word. Less points if you skip a level (Reverse for add one). Example: meant – name – man – am – a / (alternate path) meant – tame – mat – at – a. Starting words with common letters work best – I – in – tin – thin – hints. Math can be a related subject you call the game permutations, tying the concepts to matrix and multiplication.

8. Wheel of Fortune – Board game and video game. You can create your own if you want. Teaches common letters and the importance (and difference) vowels bring to the table. Cultural training in common phrases. Looking on Amazon (in Feb 2020), there is a board game, a mobile app, and a puzzle challenge book for the Wheel of Fortune. At the website, teacherspayteacher.com there are several Wheel-of-Fortune type games for free.

9. Word Jumbles – Where all the letters are there for several words. The solve area has circles for the jumble answer. A standard newspaper challenge.

10. Foreign Roots – This is more a research game (for people who like to go down rabbit holes). Take a word that breaks normal spelling or grammar rules and find out why. Things like goose becomes geese (from Proto-Germantic), but the plural of moose is moose because moose from the Algonquian language (the Innu people of Quebec Canada). This spelling game is very much tied with History.
Variations: (a) you can focus on Latin Roots to get a strong tie-in to science, especially biology and the naming of animal species.

11. Draw the word / Spell-Draw – Tree, running, red. Make the word into a picture. Where art and spelling meet. To create these pictures, the artist must concentrate on each letter.
Variations: (a) Nouns for the younger group, and verbs and adjectives for the elders. (b) If they get a vocabulary list each week, you could have them choose one word from it to spell-draw. (c) Use this concept to introduce concrete poetry (if unfamiliar with it, search for “concrete poetry examples” in the images part of an online search). Concrete poetry can describe the thing in poem, prose, phrase, or just writing the components parts. Like a tree could be Trunk, branch, life – OR green growing tall, hard rough brown, climbing reach sit – OR I never seen a thing as lovely as a tree (writing around the outline form of a tree.

12. Crosswords – They are available for all ages, and specialize in topics like history and science.

13. Boggle – Available in board and electronic game version.

Sister texted: “We like Boggle. They put it on the tables in the waiting room at the spelling bee.”

14. Tongue Twisters – Fox in Socks (by Dr. Seuss) is a book example. The fun part will be the kids creating their own after being introduced to the traditional examples.

15. Spelling Train – The last letter of the first word is the first letter of the next word. This concentrates on the first and last letters, which is how humans read. Zebra – armadillo – octopus – songbird – dog.
Variations: (a) theme (like animals); (b) number of syllables required and/or minimum or maximum number of letters in each word; (c) at least one (or more) words from this week’s vocabulary list before the train is complete; (d) a set number of words in the train (like 100 words required)

16. Word Roundups – A matrix of letters appears in a square, the object is to find the words from a list appearing below the square of letters. The words may appear forward, backward, going up, going down, or even diagonally. Newspapers often have a theme for the challenge, and the letters remaining un-circled will be the answer to the theme. This type of puzzle really concentrates on the letters of a word.

17. Rhymes With – Concentrates on words rhyming. Start with a word and see how many words you can come up which rhyme with it. Can be fun to discover words which rhyme which don’t look the same when spelled; and words which look the same when spelled and don’t rhyme. Overlapping this game with studying Shakespeare or historical poetry, can show where changes in pronunciation have happened in language drift.

18. Bananagrams – A spelling game available for sale.

19. Overenunciation – When speaking, concentrate on saying every pronounced consonant within the word. This is a speech therapy as well as a singing exercise, and helps clean up many accents. It also helps with spelling since the speaker, when writing the word, can hear all the letters in their head. When singing (and in many accents), the end letters are dropped. “Go(d) is goo…(holding ooo).” “I lo(ooo) yoooo. You R beau-i-fu.” Better singers include the closing consonants, making the song have clearer meaning. As a game, it is fun to use this when reading songs, poetry, or even plays. “I aM GoING ouT To THe SToRe.” Be prepared for the kids to use this as a teasing method for several days after the game happens – Overenunciation is a habit which is easy to develop.

20. Head Pop – This is a word association game. Come with a stack of words – the word is read and the group has to come up with an immediate response … and spell it. Apple – Red. Mouse – Cheese. You can have each child take a turn reading them with all responding or have each child respond in turn. The challenge is the words popping into the head might not be the easiest to spell – usually they are simpler words during quick association, but not always.
Variations: (a) Synonym – the word has to mean the same somehow. Apple – Fruit, would work, but Red would not. (b) Antonym – opposite meaning. Mouse – Elephant.

WRITING EXERCISE: Play a spelling or vocabulary game today. You can choose one of the above, hit the word puzzle section of the newspaper, or play a word app on your phone. Comment below on what game you played, and if you learned anything new playing it.

Flash: Naked Truth

Rating Mature

Work dragged all day. Every single customer it seemed needed to be the absolute worst humanity could be. Bryan forces the door to his room completely closed. He would have a devil of a time opening the ill-hung door later, but right now he has some privacy to rant.

“I don’t know why my debit card isn’t working.” … “I don’t know, maybe because it has no money.” He strips his vest and throws it in the dirty pile in the crack of space between his bed and the wall. Stocking the meats had been an entirely different disaster. He’ll have to go through the pile later and see if any were wearable for tomorrow since he didn’t have the time to get to the laundromat today.

“I need to talk to your manager.” … “No, you need to shut the fuck up.” The shirt didn’t pass the sniff test; it joins the vest. Bryan eyes scans the pile of clean laundry just inside the front door. One work shirt left. The pants were fraying at the hem but serviceable. He just needed a clean-enough vest.

His full-size mattress was only a little smaller than his entire bedroom, but at least the room had a door. He had to “pay” his mom extra to get the oversized closet by himself, but whatever.

“It’s a service dog.” … “It’s a rat that peed on the cart and the floor.” Bryan turns in the small space and leans against the wall to step out of his jeans and underwear. He needed to put another notch in the belt; even on the fast food only diet, he kept losing weight.

“Did you get the money?”

“Fuck!” Bryan screams, jumping around to find a glowing naked woman on his rumpled bed. “Daffney?”

“In the flesh,” the brunette smiles up at him. “Well, not really, but as close as it gets now.”

“You’re a ghost,” he says grabbing his flannel jacket off the wall hook to hold it in front of him.

“Yes.”

“And naked.”

“Obviously,” She shook her generous top assets, the glow bouncing from pale blue to a brighter red, really bringing out the color of her nipples. “The zombies stripped me before eating. I think the rule is you appear in the clothes you die in. Enjoy!”

Bryan backs until he hit the door. Not a long trip. He schools his face to the normal retail dead reaction he spends most of his days displaying. “Thanks,” he deadpans, trying hard to not to enjoy. Those jugs though, damn.

“You did get the money, right?”

The man coughs, sliding the jacket higher, before speaking. Eyes up on those black pools. Weren’t they blue before? “Yes, all $3,248 of it.” A sad commentary that her 23 years of life ended with only that much saved. Even sadder that it was over double what he had managed to squirrel away. “Thanks.” How does one politely look at a glowing naked woman? Bouncing. Why is she bouncing? How is she bouncing? The mattress didn’t have any spring. Fuck. “You seem happy.”

“All part of that state-you-die-in I think.” Daffney tosses her longish hair over a shoulder. “Doc Woods had me on happy pills, then the zombie drugged me before eating, and, you know, that relief of finally getting out of my home. I’m feeling very positive, even with the whole being dead thing.”

Bryan nods. “Good. That is good, right?”

“Wonderful!” Daffney rises to kneeing, the thread-worn blankets previously tangling her legs and hiding her choochie passing through her as she moves to pool below her body.

Damn, that woman was all that. Some rippling on the thighs, a few rolls across the stomach, but it just made her even bigger than life with her glow.

She frowns, considering. “It’s a bit of a downer, not having people see me other than other dead. And it isn’t even the undead, so I can’t haunt the zombies who ate me. Not that I should, they only did what we agreed to.” Daffney rises to stand on the lumpy mattress. “The biggest slap is I can’t mess with Beth or hurt Curry. I tried to punch him several times and nothing.”

“Now that would suck.” Bryan comments on autopilot, while arguing with himself. This is Daffney. Stop thinking about her that way Little Bryan. Don’t you dare. The glow rocks, says the less sane part of his head. Fuck, says the sane part realizing that it is losing the battle. The jacket fortunately hid most sins, like it did back in high school when they escaped to his room.

“Yeah. The only people who see me are other ghosts, and they don’t do much.” She stops her bounce-walking around on his mattress. “Wait … you can see me! That is so cool.”

“Fuck, my charm!” Bryan focuses on where he had kicked his jeans off. Was it in there or his wallet?

Daffney’s head tilts to the side, her black curls cascading. “Why do you need a charm, Bryan?” her voice deepening, echoing, as she asks the question.

“Um.”

“Are you a naughty boy?”

“No?”

“No?” The ghost of his only high school friend closed the space between them. “You were always good in school for some craziness but scared to go out at night.” Daffney drags a finger down his slim chest. “Now why is that?”

“Fuck.” Bryan reaches behind him to jiggle the door.

“What are you hiding?” she whispered, pressing closer, her breast flattening against his chest.

“Fuck.” the young man sighs as Daffney grips his hands to remove his jacket and tossing it behind her. It landed in the mostly clean pile.

“Well, that is definitely something that shouldn’t be hidden.” Her eyes turn completely black staring down on his dick.

He had been teased for a lot of things in the locker room but not his dick once puberty hit. Daffney gently grabs a hold of hardening member and pulls. Her touch goes beyond cool to downright icy, but his dick has never minded the cold before. In fact, her touch makes it harder than he had ever been before with anyone.

Looking up again to meet his eyes in wonder as she continued to stroke his dick, driving his lust to try to break up the debate between his sane and not-sane parts. “I can touch you. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Ye…muph” his response drowns when Daffney grabs his head with her other hand and pulls him down for a kiss.

After a few moments, he opens his mouth for her questing tongue and closes his eyes against her glow. It was everything he dreamed about during high school and never acted on, only better, because both of them knew what they were actually doing. He moves his hands to her broad hips and up to her thick waist, the right hand traveling further to find her heavy breast and starts kneading it. Daffney moans in approval. Bryan takes a moment for a deep breath before plunging back in.

She’s a ghost, the sane part of Bryan’s brain pokes in. You’re kissing a ghost.

“Shut up.” Bryan mutters as he spins Daffney around and presses her against the door.

A threshold. The not-sane part of his mind notes. The one he normally tells to shut up. The one that started talking to him when he turned sixteen. That is going to be solid for her, not like the wall. Keep her here.

Will do.

“No way,” the woman moans as Bryan lifts Daffney up to nibble at the blushing nipples. “Not if you keep that up.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about but took her words for approval, working harder at the task, sucking with his mouth on one nipple, plucking the other one with his free hand. His sanity wondered how he was holding this big woman up with one hand so easily, then she wraps her legs around him, freeing up both hands.

Sanity gives up the argument when Daffney guides his dick into her channel.

The not-sane shudders, giving way to emotion, feeling, and non-thought.

Need. Want. Moist. Cold – make warm. Ah, warm. She so warm. Good. Deeper. Push. More. Stabilize. Door. Press in harder, harder. She is screaming. Good. Come on. Come on. Go over girl. YES! More. More.

Mine, the not-sane claims. They fall on the mattress together as the second organism hits them both.

(Words 1,409; first published 2/27/2022)

Series – No Regrets, All Dead

  1. Prepping a Meal (Zombie Version) – Link to 1/25/2022
  2. You Have Mail – Link to 2/6/2022
  3. Naked Truth – Link to 2/20/2022

Flash: Ann Kirlin draws

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

“Knock, knock.” Kirlin said, pretending to knock on the frame of my open door. She came in and flounced into one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. “Tippitt.”

She left it at just a name. I was impressed she made it nearly four weeks before coming to me. Her predecessor hadn’t made it a day. The one before that set a record of forty-two days, but that was because she had been in quarantine with COVID for four weeks.

I closed my laptop and moved it to the left, then laced my hand and waited, appreciating her efforts at colorful business attire. The bright red shirt with the embroidered bolero jacket matched the rose clips holding back her hair. The red against my pale skin would look like death; I squashed the envy.

“Don’t get me wrong, he is absolutely brilliant, but he is also absolutely infantile. My two-year old has a better grasp of reality. Really Dr. Gallagher, how come he doesn’t drive you crazy?”

Time to explain the care and feeding of the development teams, especially the Green and Yellow ones.

I moved my scratch paper over and picked up a pen to fiddle with. “I don’t manage what Tippitt does. It makes my life easier.”

“What? You’re the vice president for development.” Kirlin waved her hand around. “The best ever according everyone in the department.”

“Really, well, that is nice to know. The metrics says the turnover is down.” Nil since I took over three years ago, except for the administrative assistants and that is only because I had a special project I was working on with them. “And patents are up, so I’m glad to hear word on the street that people are satisfied.” I sighed, “Except you sound like you have an issue.”

“It’s just Tippitt being Tippitt near as I can tell. But … Tippitt!” Hands got thrown in the air. “Like yesterday, the calendar popped up saying to remind him to call his mom about her birthday. Like a scheduled reminder.”

“Did you remind him?” I smiled, knowing what normally happens.

“I not only reminded him, I nagged him, and eventually grabbed his phone, opened it and called his mother and handed it to him when I got back from transferring David to daycare.”

I didn’t comment about her having the ability to open his phone.

“I take it, that was effective?”

She rolled her eyes. “He was still talking to her when I clocked out. But, man, why couldn’t he just call her on his own?”

“Have you ever dealt with your geniuses before? I am not talking about smart people or high IQ people, but people who when you give them two and two, you will get an orangutan.”

Kirlin snorted at that example. “No, not really.”

“You don’t manage these types of people. Just guide them.” Glancing down at my sketch, I saw yet another attempt to solve the problem I ran into for my private project. Three months and I still haven’t figured out how get the water tension at the scale needed for the miniaturization. I might need to corner Kolbash. “For Tippitt, and most of the others, I just give them the space to do what they does. Less headache and a whole lot more accomplishments results. It isn’t the easiest thing in the world to explain to the board, but it gets the work done and keeps the ulcers away.”

“So you just let the five teams go their own way?”

I pulled the sheet off and crumbled it, tossing it into my little stack I go through during my four hours of play on company time. “Not exactly. Like I said, I guide them. Sometimes as intense as you did with the phone call to keep them on project, and other times, well, I hope it doesn’t get bad.”

“And how often is Tippitt bad?:

“Oh, you just had to ask.” I tapped the pen on the pad. :Umn, so you know how some people have a green touch and can grow any plant?”

Kirlin took one of my balls of paper and started to smooth it out. “Sure.”

“Well, Tippitt has the fecal touch.” She frowns at my drawing and reaches for another. Part of me wanted to keep my project private, but I had reached the point any consultation could benefit me. I pushed the pile to her. “Anything he touches can and will become a shitstorm unless handled properly. But, on the plus side, just like things growing wonderfully in shit, what comes out the other end just might be something beautiful. Or really smelly.”

“How smelly?”

“You worked in security.” I pointed at two drawings she was comparing. “Condenser but the scale is mircons.”

She nodded her understanding.

“You remember the OSHA visit a couple months ago because of complaints from neighboring companies about an afterhours light show?”

“Yes. Sumpter and Niemeyer had to escort the inspectors for two days.”

“Well, someone,” who I later had a long talk at, “told Tippitt the lights weren’t bright enough on the panel for people to distinguish.”

Kirlin raised her eyes to mine. “What … what did he do?”

“He figured out how to increase the LED luminosity by a factor of three.” I rubbed the back of my head, remembering that headache. “With no change in wattage or significant change in equipment.”

“That isn’t possible!”

“Yeah, I wish.” I shrugged. “But, new patent! Well, two. And a visit from OSHA that had me in meetings with the board for a week. Shitshow and flowers.”

She laughed. “That sounds like Chuck.”

I did not comment about her using his nickname.

“Yeah, I have an ongoing bet with Pantuso that if I can have customer give me a legit complaint about how dangerous gravity is for their instruments that Tippitt,” or Kolbash over on the Yellow Team but she doesn’t need to know we got two crazies regularly endangering the building, “will invent anti-gravity or null gravity.”

“I can see that happening,” she pulled a pen out of her messy bun, “Love the man.”

That is what I am hoping for. Matchmakers are us. Happily married couples stayed with companies that took care of them and their families. And keeping someone happy who adds to the bottom line to the tune of hundreds of millions every year was high on my priority list.

“So, what are you trying?” I tilted my head to see how she was changing my design.

“If I understand the problem, the water surface tension is creating blockages because water molecules bond differently at the micro level. But if you change the shape, like this …”

Oh, I am liking her art degree a lot.

(words 1,127; first published 12/6/2023)

A Match for Green Team Series

  1. Ann Kirlin transfers (1/16/22)
  2. Ann Kirlin draws (2/13/22)

Flash: You Have Mail

“You got mail.” Bryan’s mother yells as he tries to rush from the front door to his bedroom before getting dragged into his family’s daily drama.

Well, that was a new way to get my attention, he thinks as he goes over to the pile of unpaid bills, second notices, final notices, advertisements, announcements, and other pieces of postal paper tilting off the table inside the front door. He digs down one level to find it. While there, he pulls out all the circulars, political ads, and other non-money crap so that the pile wouldn’t fall over anymore, and took the lot to his room for final processing and junking. The junking took seconds, just a look-through in case he grabbed anything wrong or something fell between circular pages.

Leaving thick white envelope. Just his name and address. In the upper corner where a return address normally would go is an anime emoji of a cat smiling. Daffney? She always signed her texts with that. What did she need to send through the mail? How did she even know his address? They were just internet friends since graduating high school, and he had been evicted from at least six places since the last time they physically met up.

Sliding a finger to pry open the flap, Bryan dumps out a key and a sheet of paper with an address and a line saying “Locker Number 117.” The number matched the number stamped on the key.

“Girl, what are you playing?” he says pulling out his phone and immediately texts that exact question to Daffney. While waiting for an answer, Bryan snaps a picture of the address, has his phone read it and run it through the map app. The address is identified as a business and a second tab opens showing the hours of operation. Another two hours until close and the map app says it is less than ten minutes from where he lived.

Why not? I need to get food anyway.

He yanks off the vest from his retail job, throws it on the pile of mostly clean clothes in one corner of his miniscule bedroom, and picks up the flannel jacket hanging off the hook by his door. After the sacred check of Key, Phone, Wallet, Charm, Bryan heads back out to the bus station. His mother yells something to which he just responds “Out!”

He isn’t sure she was yelling at him, her most recent boyfriend, or one of his half-siblings. Still, his answer stood. And there was no second yell he heard through the closing door, so it wasn’t that important.

The bus ride takes more like thirty, making it full dark by the time he arrives, but a fast food is at the stop, a few doors from the storage facility. Bryan picks up some burgers and a drink from the dollar menu, then beats feet down the sidewalk, feeling the night crowding, until he safe inside the lit locker area, nodding at the attendant as he passes. Juggling the bag of food, he checks his phone. Daffney hasn’t responded yet. He shoves the bag under his arm, places the phone in his pocket, running a finger over the charm he keeps there and sighing in relief upon feeling the active hum, and then pulls out the key.

Inside the small wall locker is a box about the size of a shoe box. The dingy box has been crushed, uncrushed, taped, retaped, duct taped, and had a mismatched lid firmly mashed on.

“Really, girl?” Bryan shakes his head, lifting the lid. The box is stuffed, a pristine white letter on top with a pile of well-handled money underneath. The numbers and faces on the bills look different than normal, not the ones and fives he is used to. “What the fuck?” He pulls the letter out, shoves the lid back on the money, looks around to make sure no one noticed his reaction, then shoves the box back in and relocks the wall locker.

Dear Bryan,

If you are reading this, I’m gone. Sorry about that, but we’ve talked about it enough it shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Oh, girl.” Bryan feels a sob catch. They talked a lot in high school while in detention, less so since, but their lives hadn’t gotten better since graduation.

It was painless and don’t worry, the body will never be found.

The money is yours. It’s not much but it’s everything I got. You know Beth stole everything and Curry broke what she didn’t steal. No way was I leaving them anything to find. They took enough from me.

Good luck. Maybe this can help you get out of your situation.

I’m out of mine.

Daffney

PS The locker is paid for until the end of the year. Empty it before then.

“What did you do?”

He willed the letter to make new sentences, reveal new information, but nothing.

The money would need to go somewhere his parents would not find. They weren’t as bad as hers were; they never actually hit him.

But still.

He’ll come back for it tomorrow first thing in the morning and run by a bank before work. A different one from normal. Because sure as the undead walk the night, his mother would ask for “her” chunk if she found out about this windfall. And each time she asks, her chunks keep getting bigger. even though the bills never seemed to get paid.

(Words 847; first published 2/6/2022)

Series – No Regrets, All Dead

  1. Prepping a Meal (Zombie Version) – Link to 1/25/2022
  2. You Have Mail – Link to 2/6/2022
  3. Naked Truth – Link to 2/20/2022

Flash: Transport to Equity Part 1 – Eleven

Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash

“They’re at it again.” My brother said through a downturned grimace and a glance at Jordan cradled against my shoulder. He slipped into our room, leaving the door partly open – it couldn’t be fully closed thanks to lowest bidder government contracts on the platform. Front door seals fine, as required for all space habitats, but the doors within the units, not-so-much.

Wiping the baby’s mouth after he finally released a hearty burp, I responded with a raised eyebrow and a half-shrug. “When aren’t they?”

Holland tucked his tablet away before whispering in my ear. “This one feels different.”  He lifted Jordan out of my arms and grabbed the burping cloth. With a quick meeting of eyebrows and a light touch to the three-month-old’s mouth, he asked if dad had feed him at all today.

I nodded to the single empty bottle, answering the question. Yesterday, there had been one empty and two filled ones on the box we had between our bunkbeds and the crib. With only one, that meant our stay-at-home dad had actually done some his official job as caretaker and managed a couple feedings today.

Now my brother and I don’t actually talk much. We are twins and have our own twin-speak. Facial expressions, body placement, long stares. The words just leap between us without talking. Strange, I know, for fraternal twins, but we developed it out of self-preservation before we even started talking. For him to actually speak, in hearing range of our parents, about our parents, indicated how shook he was.

I’m better at reading our parents, so I go to the door and watch.

In the background, I feel Holland rocking Jordan, talking to him with our twin-speak, keeping the kid quiet so he wouldn’t have our scars. Internal, not external. Our parents don’t abuse us, just yell and scream a lot.

At eleven, we are learning in our Ed civics courses that scars and abuse comes in all shades, but Holland and I agree we aren’t ready to report our parents because if we do, they’ll separate us. All of us. Jordan, Holland, and me, Georgia. Flung from one end of the solar system to the other getting therapy and new life assignment tracks. Never to cross paths or connect each other again. And that isn’t going to happen. Not ever. It’s the three of us against the world, starting with our parents.

They are arguing about rent. Mother’s job as an asteroid mineral assessor puts her toward the top of the food chain. Earth is mined out and needs everything it can get from its solar system colonies. Plus the pressure value to release humanity to the stars also needs a ton of substance. Between those two source demands, the asteroid belt had been getting a workout for decades. Mother and dad met while working on the same team. Dad is only so-so at finding things, but Mother was the second best in the solar system hence all our family’s special privileges.

The Population Center okay’ed them for unlimited children in the hopes her skill could be passed down. Both Holland and I have half our Ed track devoted to a life assignment as mineral assessors, and we are already showing “promise”. Based on what Holland and I can read off our evaluators, our “promise” has them crossing their fingers and toes that when our mental flip-flops to abstract thinkers happens during our teenage years, nothing will break in our heads. They have our life planned out for us.

Mother hated being pregnant and was thrilled to have twins for the first one, figuring she met her quota of replacement and then the extra the Population Center wanted. Dad wanted more, especially since you can’t be a primary stay-at-home caregiver once a minor reaches twelve, so he turned off the family’s contraceptives without telling mother last year.

That was a huge blowup. Holland and I didn’t speak a word at home until Mother’s morning sickness ended.

Dad wants better quarters; he always wants better and more. He thought with the baby we would upgrade to four rooms. With a three-room quarters, we rub elbows with other people who can have more than one child. All the gifted. The desired. The wanted. With a four-room quarters, we would be in the middle of the higher administrative crowd. Management. Dad is the child of management and wants that level of respect and power again. He also doesn’t want to work for it.

Our Ed civic courses has a lot to say about social responsibility. Having only one child until the population is under control. About not wasting resources. And working for the betterment of everyone.

Dad wants to be the everyone that everyone else is working the betterment for.

Mother is lying about not having the money to get better quarters. Since I feel the breath of a baby sleeping, I wave Holland to come over. My older brother, by nineteen minutes, puts the baby into his crib and joins me.

I motion with a sidetwist of my hand, Mother’s lying.

The two of them hate each other. A lot. But they hardly every lie to each other. They can’t keep their stories straight when they are screaming at each other, so they don’t bother with falsehoods.

But mother is lying.

“They didn’t give us a raise this quarter.”

“They didn’t give you a raise for the last four quarters!” We don’t have anything to throw in the family room, otherwise dad would have tossed something. “And yet they gave Kesha and Merick raises.”

Dad kept up with everyone from his old unit. He networks hard, even now, in the hopes of making management when he is required to return back to work.

“Because their unit found some gold needed for the breathing modules.” Mother bit her lip.

Truth. One of her biggest tells. She bites her lips while trying to think of a way to present something in a better light.

“But I did get a raise. The cost-of-living. And that extra bonus for the pregnancy.”

She’s hiding something about that extra bonus. She pressed her hand against her stomach.

Holland points out she pressed her hand against her stomach starting with the cost-of-living increase.

I agree, both of these things are being hidden on some level. Is she hiding extra income from dad? Like Holland and I do with the odds-jobs we do around the station. “Possible.” Holland nods strongly.

“Which barely paid for the twins extra Ed classes.” Dad got us into some beginning management courses; ones where we taste every job on the station, from the air scrubber rebuilding to the food vats. I go in two hours early for my internships and Holland stays two hours late; that way dad is only left with Jordan for six hours.

I still haven’t figured out how my brother and I survived our infancy; maybe dad and mother were less crazy back then?

Dad’s arms swing wide. He isn’t hearing anything right now. “Nothing for me. For us, I mean. We need you to get more bonuses.”

He switched on the charm.

For him, it is a full-on switch. Holland and I are trying to master that technique having seen several of the management instructors use it too. Only theirs is warmer, more continuous. But somehow lesser. Dad’s is a bright, room-filling, monstrosity. Behind me, I feel Jordan stir – be still – Holland and I motion and think toward the baby until he settles.

Dad grabs mother’s hands and she lets him. She always gives in when he smiles instead of yells. Everyone does. He just can’t control his temper and keep the charm up long enough to be successful at management.

“You can do it. You are the best.”

Mother licks her lips instead of biting. A grown-up seduction thing where they are going to go to their room or one of her lying tells?

“I can’t, Manny.”

Not a lie. Not exactly.

“Of course, you can. Do your magic, get Withrow to help, he is the best with the scopes.”

“You don’t understand Manny, there isn’t anything left to find.”

“What?” Dad strung the question out.

“I mean there still is, but there isn’t much left. Green sector, where Kesha is assigned, is maybe a decade out from the rest of the belt.” Mother shrugged her pulling-herself-together-and-being-determined-shrug. “We need to switch to the Oort’s to get any new big wind-falls.”

“I am not moving to that cold, light-forsaken nightmare. None of the stations there have more than five dozen people.”

“I’m not really interested either. It is a temporary solution.” Oh, mother is making eye contact, hard, sustained eye contact. This is what Holland was feeling that was different. Mother has a plan. “I’ve been looking around there, after hours, just to see. Aside from the planets and dwarfs, I’m not finding much. Maybe four decades at the rate humanity is chewing through stuff.”

“That should be fine. You and the other assessors will have plenty of time to find more stuff.”

“You are not listening Manny. There isn’t anything left to find. It’s all trash. Dross. A missed rock here and there, maybe. Our lifetime, what is already in the production line will keep things going, but not for our children.”

Wait, is that mother caring about us? Considering us? Holland and I stare at each other for a moment before returning to watching our parents. We had agreed that mother is giving all sorts of parental vibes, her standing between us and the monsters of the world.

No one besides her and dad is allowed to harm us.

“What are you saying?”

“If we want to protect our children, give them any future whatsoever, and especially our children’s children, we are going to have to immigrate, and immigrate really, really far, because Earth is going to implode in sooner than later and take anything within reach down with it.”

Dad shook his head. He is looking for a lie in her eyes and is not finding one.

There isn’t one to find. Mother is as truthful as she ever gets.

“No. That isn’t going to happen.” His deep voice rumbles firmly, trying to make his own truth.

“Manny, it is. I turned in my first ever report today that my sector is cleared. Completely cleared. As time goes by, more of these reports will accumulate. Withrow gives management about five years before they start to collate the metadata into the doomsday document.” Mother pulled her hands out of dad’s. “He applied to immigrate two years ago, about the time we stopped getting all those bonuses you liked so much. He is leaving next month.”

Dad shook his head, no-no. He is trying to deny it, twist it. Somehow make it palatable.

Holland and I join hands. For a second our eyes met. We agree. He has to believe. Our attention, all of it, return to our parents.

“Yes, and if I could I would be on a ship beside him.”

“I knew you had an affair with him.” Dad grabbed at the thought and tried pushing anger to it.

Don’t you dare go there dad, listen to mother.

“No, Manny. Me and Withrow? Please.”

Dad chuckled, acknowledging that impossibility, his anger dissolving despite his determination to find some way to fight the truth.

“But as an assessor team, he and I could name our planet and our price. Problem is no one would take me with a divorce. They don’t allow immigration for people who can’t maintain a stable relationship.”

So that is why mother has stayed with dad. I knew dad needed mother’s skill to stay anywhere near the status he wanted, but mother? She has planned to immigrate for a long time.

“Good thing you have me then.” Dad smirked.

Oops, mother gave dad power. He is going to use it before he thinks things through.

Holland squeeze my hand. Yes, I squeeze back, we need to break them up. Now. Dinner time?

Together we move to ask for food, saying we completed our Ed work. We hadn’t, of course, but we normally did it when trading off Jordan’s nighttime feedings.

(first published 3/6/2022; words 2034)