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Puzzle Season

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Zilker wasn’t a puzzler.

When his parents signed him up for the tournament, he shrugged.

“You used to love puzzles when you were little!” his mom said.

He did.

Back when puzzles meant quiet Saturday mornings at the kitchen table.

His dad always let him place the last piece.

Now here he was.

Across from Zilker sat Vail, local champion.

“Try to keep up,” Vail said.

3….. 2….. 1….. GO.

Vail’s hands flew. Pieces snapped into place.

Zilker picked up a single blue-sky piece.

Where did it go?

He placed it down. It didn’t fit. He flipped it over. Still wrong.

Vail slammed his hands on the timer.

The crowd cheered.

Zilker had barely finished the border.

For the rest of summer, he refused to touch a puzzle.

His mom left a box on his desk.

He shoved it in his closet.

Until one day, at the library, a flyer caught his eye.

PUZZLERS WANTED!

Have you ever wondered what makes a puzzle… a puzzle?

Call 555-PZLR

That evening, he picked up the phone.

“You found the flyer.”

“Uh….. yeah.”

“Then you are ready. Flip it over.” Click.

On the back was a maze.

He grabbed a crayon and traced through.

At the end, an address.

Puzzle Hall was an old warehouse.

Dusty windows, unmarked door.

Inside, puzzlers trained.

Amy worked multiple puzzles at once on a conveyor belt. Every time she finished one, candy dropped down.

Curtis faced a tangled mess of blocks.

“How can they be so good?” Zilker asked.

The Master Puzzler folded his arms. “What do you think they’re doing?”

Zilker watched Amy complete a puzzle without looking at the box.

“They’re not solving puzzles,” Zilker said quietly.

“They’re making them.”

Weeks turned into months.

Pieces with curves that bent wrong.

Edges that turned where they shouldn’t.

Zilker flipped them, rotated them. Nothing fit.

Amy’s candy kept falling.

Curtis never stopped.

But Zilker’s pile of misfits only grew.

Late one night, Zilker picked up a piece he’d tried a hundred times.

It didn’t fit anywhere.

Then he stopped trying.

He sat with it.

The piece transformed.

He placed it down.

It fit.

Zilker signed up for the World Speed-Puzzling Championship.

Vail smirked. “Ready for another loss?”

The timer started.

Vail moved with mechanical precision. He never paused.

Zilker was almost done. His last piece didn’t fit.

Until it did.

He placed it for himself.

Zilker won.

Back at Puzzle Hall, the old man took off his glasses.

He was blind.

Zilker said nothing.

The End.

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