known for its scorching heat...A lazy pet
lays unconscious, after a bowl of warm 
...TILE M For Murder... from a story by Charlie Fish
It's a hot day and I hate my wife. 
"We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.""I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman."
"My letters are crap." I play, appropriately, B3E1G2I1N1. With the N1 on the little pink star. Twenty-two points. I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something.She plays J8I1N1X8E1D2, with the J8 on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.
If only I had a D2, then I could play M3U1R1D2E1R1. That would be a sign. That would be permission.I start chewing on my U1. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play W4A1R1M3E1R1 for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U. As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out K5I1L1L1, or S1T1A1B3, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off. "My rack spells M3I1H4Z10P3A1." Plus the U1 in my mouth. Damn. The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window."I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died."
I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat. She plays S1W4E1A1T1I1E1R1, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now. "I am getting sweatier." It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word.H4U1M3I1D2 on a double-word score, using the D2 of J8I1N1X8E1D2. The U1 makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points.I hope she has lousy letters. She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more. She plays F4A1N1, with the F4 on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning. It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play Z10A1P3S1, with the Z10 doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying. I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous.My wife plays C3A1U1T1I1O1N1, using a blank tile for the N1. 18 points.
Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.
I play Q10U1A1K5E1 for 19 points.I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.
My wife plays D2E1A1T1H4 for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B3 that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax.I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching.