Howdy Freewiters, and happy Tuesday to allš¤! Have you ever felt like what you have isn't working; like maybe if you had someone else's talent or tools, things would be easier? But then you realize.. all you really need is to sharpen your own skillsš¤?
Today, I bring you a nostalgic tale from childhood; a marble game we used to play and how my cousin swore I was using magic. Welcome to my Freewrite blogš.
We didn't need much - just a patch of dirt, a tiny hole dug with our thumbs, and one shiny marble each. That's all it took to declare war.
We called it bano.
And the rules? Simple. Sacred. Ruthless. You knock someone's marble out, you keep it. You knock everyone out, then sink your own marble into the hole, you win. No second chances. No do-overs. One flick. One shot. Glory.
I'd just won two rounds. Back-to-back. My pocket was heavier, my smile smugger. I was ready to go home a legend.
But Ken, my cousin, my sore loser of the day, couldn't take it. He stared at my marble like it had insulted his anscestors. He said mine was lucky. Said his was cursed. Said I had bewitched the game. And the way he looked at my marble? A challenge wrapped in jealousy.
And just like that, the others turned.
"Let's do one more!" "Final round!"
I stood there quiet, calm. Then dramatically, I held out my marble like it was the last piece of pizza.
"Would you like to swop?" I asked Ken, voice smooth.
He snatched it like it was justice. The others followed. Marbles were changing hands like deals in a back alley. Ken made it clear; he would use mine.
Then came the showdown. Ken crouched low. He flicked first. Smooth. Confident. He knocked one marble out, then another. He was on a roll.
And then it was my turn.
I crouched. Focused. A breath in. Snap! His marble, the one he said was cursed, shot forward, hit his like it was payback, and dropped right into the hole.
Ken froze. His jaw? On the floor.
"That was my marble," he mumbled.
"Yeaap," I said.
Thank you for readingā¤ļø.
Images generated with AI.