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The campfire crackled and popped, adding temporary constellations of orange stars to the night sky. “Who wants to hear a story?” the scoutmaster asked.
“Oooo, ooo, ooo!” the Wordle Scouts shouted, distracted momentarily from their contest of who could hold the largest number of marshmallows in their mouth.
“Every morning, a Wordler sets out on a quest for the five-letter word that can protect Wordler Village for one more day…” the scoutmaster started. “Now let’s see. I could tell you about the day that Wordler 369 climbed a mountain. I could tell you about the day that Wordler 370 fought against a wizard. I could tell you about Wordlers who slew dragons, or travelled to the Ends of the Earth—”
“Tell us about Wordler 387,” said one of the scouts.
Blood drained from the scoutmaster’s face.
“Oh, yeah!” Another scout pumped his arm. “My brother and his friends like to tell stories about 387 while they drink and hang out behind the gas station, but they always stop talking when I’m around.”
“There’s a movie,” said another scout.
“A whole series of them,” another added. “The Wordle Quest After Dark series. But my parents have the streaming service on lockdown when I try to watch any of them.”
“Tell us about Wordler 387! Tell us about Wordler 387! Tell us about Wordler 387!” the scouts chorused.
The scoutmaster cleared his throat. “387’s quest took him to New Orleans, to a certain house of ill-repute, where he entered the parlor and asked to speak with the lady in charge.”
“Who was she?”
“What was she like?”
“What happened next?”
The scoutmaster sighed. “Not every story is fit for every listener. We’ll finish this one when you’re older. Come back in about ten years.”
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Art and Text ©2022 Greg R. Fishbone
Use #WordleQuest tag to share works using daily Wordle answers as prompts.
