I found this on an old floppy disk and it dates back to my last summer as a high school student. My broken brain forgot a lot of things back then and so I came up with this idea to keep things focused. The cat often slept on the board and moved things round, but to be honest I never did get anything done with the board.

Sometime in the summer of 1997

The Board

 On top of an air filter sat the Scrabble board, but there were no wood tiles on this board at all. It was topped with strange unrelated objects that puzzled the normal observer. There were capacitors, which are small cylinders that you see on computer parts and such. The capacitors were plastic coated with numbers running down them. There were no set sizes for the capacitors and they were in three different colors; light blue, black and white/gray. Then there were dollar signs of silver metal, around twenty of them and each was escorted by a nail of dull gray iron-like metal. Then there were two forms of switches, the first was black and gray resembling steam engine locomotives, the second was white with blue ends. They looked like bugs with their little silver feet up in the air.

One half of the board was dominated by the black capacitors, in three groups. The back line was composed of the four gray and black switches and only the larger capacitors, varying immensely in height from half an inch to an inch. The next line was half large and half small capacitors. The front line which had mostly small capacitors and two large, was set in such a way that it looked as if the large capacitors were commanding the small.

           

The next row was like the first row of black, running from corner to corner of the board was a series of nails, pointed end to the black, and gray and blue capacitors. The rest of the board filled out with the white switches, dollar signs, capacitors and nails. It filled nearly every square. The nails looked as if they were facing the black capacitors, they all lay down on the board like the slender body of warships. This was clearly were the line had been drawn and on either side of it, combatants were ready to kill.

         

All this may have looked like it followed a strange order that made no sense, but to the practical eye it was a detailed chart telling every aspect of the summer, charting every day. The black fleet represents the time given to do a thing, the opposition what that thing was; teachers work, or chores to be done, books to be read. To the mind’s eye it was a naval battle that had waged for two weeks of utter rage and still fought onward. To the mind’s eye the board was a blue ocean and to the mind death was in the air. The black fleet was the fleet of time. Its smallest ships were days and its larger capacitors weeks. But its four black/gray battleships were tools that were used like computers. The other fleet mainly represented essays, except for its blue frigates (small capacitors) which represented pages by the hundred.

           

In the mass of ships a story was unfolding like the pages of a map with its details like that of history itself. However, there were suspensions of reality. Some things were too large, like the guns on the battleships. They were 20 inch canons, monsters, four inches wider than those on the battlers of World War II. The armor of all the black fleet was unusually thick and heavy to account for a kill ratio of nearly 3-1 in favor of black. It all made perfect sense to the man that used the board, but others just could not understand and ignored the board as a strange decoration.

         

On the bridge of the Relenomiks, one of the black battle ships, stood Phoenix, the mighty admiral who was in command. His name was not Phoenix, for he had no name at all, but was “The Phoenix.” They called him that, because they had found him in the ashes of his mother’s body just minutes old. From that day he was called Phoenix, Son of Ash, as his father had not been found. Phoenix grew in to a big man, heavy and strong with a badly torn black uniform and a book with iron clasps in his hand. Big pieces of his uniform were missing and the rest was a mass of re-stitched cloth. The black material was surprisingly clean for its condition. The man himself stood tall and proud; looking with his gray eyes at the board in front of him, much like the one that sat on top of the air filter.

         

“Three detachments of seven frigates are at the ready my Admiral, as like the three that stand now on the front and second line,” said a captain in full uniform not as clean as the admirals, but not torn.

         

“We will hold position as we are, Caleb,” said the Phoenix, returning his salute with an arm completely free from uniform and laden with heavy muscles.

         

“But sir. . .” said Caleb

         

“Caleb, I have smelled the salt in the air twice as long as you, felt it on my skin like a foul chemical. I can taste the burning of men and death in every breath as my ships slowly lose their armor and my men are put to death. I need no less to stand on land then you but wish as many of my men to reach it as soon as possible. I will not sacrifice them no matter what.”

The admiral was still as calm as if he had been enjoying morning coffee in a favorite chair. Caleb looked at him with wide white eyes then sniffed the air. It was worse than the admiral had said. Other than the smell of unwashed man that had been accumulating for weeks there was a faint odor of dried leaves. The smell was like cinnamon, almost; it smelt clean. It appeared to be the admiral he looked beaten but strong, he made every effort to remain so. Caleb looked at his uniform, not but a month old  and painted with a mist of black dirt as Phoenix in his 5 year old war stiffened uniform looked as if it was a new suit that had been tattered by clean rocks and rosewood.

         

“Can’t you smell the victory we would have if we could now force our way forward. The battleships would plow through their line and the frigates would finish them off. It would be simple.” Caleb paused looking at the expression on the admiral’s face. It was still unmoved

         

“I smell death” said Phoenix. “but I will move two battleships up in good time.”

         

Caleb frowned. “Yes sir,” he said.

         

I shook my head realizing that I had been staring at the Scrabble board for some time. You see, I try to put my anger on the board and forget about it in real life. It does not always work, but it helps. The board has always been a special way to let go even when I see the odds against me.