Warning: Puns abound.
A curious figure, the letter y. Though g may constitute the end of everything, y sums up a good number of words. Most delectable when scripted calligraphically, it can drip and twist, splattered with a quill. It can stand straight and rigid or curl a whiplashed tail. The slide of its slash is often exaggerated to underscore its predecessors in a word—apparently being at the end of a term or phrase demands that the attempt is made of the last letter to merit distinction for the rest. Is it a vowel? Or does it weigh enough to be admitted to the ranks of consonants? At times it can be sharp, but very often it is rhetorical; we ask the question why so many times a day, it seems to supersede the importance of the remaining characters of the alphabet. Granted the letter y is not synonymous with the query, even if, together, they build the word. Imagine the confusion if everyone began asking, “Twenty-fifth letter?”