← Past days Daily practice · 6 Oct 2026

Unnamed feeling

The skill: Conveying a strong feeling without naming it.

A supermarket at closing time, seen by someone who has just fallen in love. Don't mention the other person.

Results

Only 1 answer that day: not enough players to rank, so there's no winner.

Joe Mercurio

Speaking into the cash register as he rang up her groceries, Arthur apologized that a 7pm closing time was just store policy. "You'd understand that if I make an exception, I'll have to make an exception for everyone."

"Of course," she said. "I rushed here right after work. Thanks for letting me check out."

Arthur tore the receipt off from the cash register and handed it to her. White dress, white shoes, white apron, bare hands. "Nurse?" he asked.

"Neonatal," she said. Arthur looked puzzled. "For babies born premature," she added, immediately blushing as she realized she had presumed his ignorance.

"I'm new here at Yale-New Haven hospital."

Arthur said, "Welcome to New Haven then," and extended his hand.

Anne became a regular customer, always entering the store just as the clock ticked 7pm. Arthur would catch her eye, smile, and announce to the empty store: "Ten minutes to closing."

Took part Report

The classic · Unnamed feeling

Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. “What has been happening to me?” said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown!... But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn’t at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came—when it was absolutely necessary.... Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly—something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.

Katherine Mansfield, Miss Brill (1920), public domain.

Notice: Loneliness, shown through the tenderness she spends on a worn fur stole. Notice “no, not sad, exactly.”