By Emma Raymond
During the summer, when I was eleven, we played marbles on the school field at lunchtimes. My technique was good, better than most anyway. You had to gauge how much force to use according to the length of the grass between you and your target. That was what I understood and my opponents didn’t.
Once, on a day that was too hot for football or cartwheels, a crowd gathered around my adversary and me. I chose my weapon: clear with orange spaghetti swirls. There was a hush as my smooth, gleaming orb hurtled towards that of Chris Winch. The satisfying clink of glass on glass. I stepped forward, swinging my bag as though careless, to claim my prize, a sphere of iridescent green.[Read more…] about Losing Game