Discomfit and moil

Questions that don't need to be asked. Don't I work hard for you? Don't I do all that you need me to? This is not my life, my heart, my soul. This is the bread, the roof, the meat. Why isn't that enough? If the results are the same, what do the motivations matter? I am concerned by your concern. I am annoyed by your annoyance. I am fearful of your fear.

Hirsute

Shag carpet.

She tried not to stare at it, tried not to think about the double entendre.

Shag carpet.

She quickly held a napkin up to her mouth to cover her giggle.

Shag carpet.

They had no idea that she and he... Oh no, she was going to start laughing again.

Shag carpet.

Maybe she'd get them a new one for Christmas. Or at least get this one cleaned. It seemed only fair.

Shag carpet.

"Lauren?"

She looked up. "Hmm? I'm sorry. I missed that."

His parents smiled at her. She smiled back. His mother said, "We asked how you liked our new shag carpet? It's very soft."

For a second, Lauren thought they knew. Was there a stain? Had they been too loud? What would they think of her?

Then the panic subsided. "It's lovely," she answered. "Josh and I were just remarking on it when we got in last night. We thought maybe we should look into getting some for our place."

Josh's father nodded while his mother beamed with pride. "Oh, what a good idea! We'll give you a business card so you know where to pick it up. They were so friendly and professional."

"That would be lovely. Thank you." Lauren took another sip of her tea, using the cup to hide her smirk. If only Josh could have been here...

Kaput

"I'm telling you, it's not gonna work."

"Just let me try!"

"You're gonna get your head blown off."

"You wish."

"Sometimes."

[pause]

"Okay seriously, it's not doing anything."

"Just let me..."

[fussing. then smoke.]

"Okay fine, it's broken."

"I told you."

Nugatory

The little gold nugget, the worthless trifle. The girl who haunts my dreams. The poison that she injects into each person with whom she speaks. Her words, like venom. Her laugh, the bite. Her touch, the sting. She will do you in.

She changes the nugget into the trifle. She is the poison.

Hibernaculum and foundling

Past the snow-covered field, deep in the woods of Granite Falls, there is a hollowed out tree stump where a sleeping beast lies. His skin is fiery red. His eyes are narrow and mean. His tail is as large as his body. His claws are sharp and fast.

Yes, in the midst of the winter, this baby fox rests alone, and waits for warmer times.

Somniferous and recumbent

The pup eyed the toy lazily. It was tempting, but right now he was more content to sit in the boy's lap than chase the stuffed cow around the room. He yawned, and it ended on a squeak. The boy sighed and petted the pup's head. "Looks like it's naptime," he said resignedly.

But he smiled and nuzzled into the warm furry neck. Curled against each other, boy and pup settled down for a nap together.

Postprandial

After dinner, I always try to avoid looking at Leonard's waist. He wears this big ole buckle, see, and after all that eating, it digs into his gut. So he rolls himself onto the couch and leans back as far as he can go, trying to alleviate the dig. But of course that doesn't work.

So he heaves up his gut and unfastens the buckle. Then his oversized gut can hang freely over his pants. It's a ritual, of sorts, but it makes me want to vomit most of the time. That's why I retreat to my room after dinner most every night. And I don't come back out until he's changed into his pajamas. They have an elastic waistband.

Vulnerary

Bravery heals, I think. Trust heals. Faith heals. Effort heals.

Everyone in our lives affects us in some way. Some leave transient marks, some leave scars. Some impress their fingers onto our skin, some smash their fists into our guts. Some are kind and lift us some, some are harsh and drag us down.

No matter what, we must always rise. We must believe that we are being led down a better path, being taught a valuable lesson. Every interaction can make us better, if we are strong enough to rise.

Stringent

Maybe I expect too much. Maybe I'm too hard on my friends, my loved ones. Goodness knows I'm too hard on myself.

Water, that which gives life, streams out most quickly when you squeeze it tight in your fist. But if you cup it gently and let it be, you can drink as much as you want.

Deipnosophist and causerie

Just a casual chat, he told himself. Nothing to be afraid of. A smile, a shake of the hands, the agreement, and we're off. He was pretty good at that sort of thing.

But Raymond Miller was sweating.

He'd gotten himself into a world of trouble with these guys, and he knew how they usually dealt with things. A few broken bones and a black eye -- he'd be lucky if that's all they had in mind.

He took another giant gulp of water. According to his watch he had six minutes before they showed up. Maybe he should call his wife, tell her that he loved her. Then at least she'd have a last happy memory to remember him by.

When she was ID-ing his body and sorting through his debts...

Treacle

The little boy's eyes shined in the dim light. He'd snuck into the kitchen and found where his parents had hidden his stash. Now Halloween would really begin.

He unwrapped piece after piece of candy and chocolate, and one by one devoured them. Soon there was nothing left but the trash and some crumbs. His tummy was round and full.

He went back to bed smiling. He knew he'd be sick in the morning. He always was. But it was worth it, for this moment now, this pure and perfect joy.

Plus it got him out of trouble with his parents. How could they punish a vomiting boy?

Wiseacre

I wish I knew what to do. I always have the questions, but rarely the answers. Maybe there isn't anything to be done, as some have suggested. Maybe it's a matter of time, of patience, of maturing.

On both sides.

Ex cathedra

Jacob was a cop. There were a lot of things he could do as a cop. He could arrest criminals. He could ticket speeders. He could remove abused children, spouses and parents to saftey. He could do a lot of things to help keep people safe. But he couldn't heal them if they were already hurt.

As his wife lay bleeding from the gunshot wound in her chest, Jacob pressed a hand to the great red spot and sobbed, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Amanda.

I'm sorry I'm just a cop.

Extirpate

This parasite has burrowed deep in your flesh, and the only way to get it out is to... if only I knew. Answers escape me in this field, of emotion and friendship, this realm in which I've long succeeded. I feel like I've lost you, like if I don't stay away I'll lose myself too. Can you understand? Or have you already forgotten all the pain, all the lies, all the manipulation?

Quail

A wave spends a long time sailing the open seas. Sometimes in search of other waves, sometimes in search of stillness and peace. Day and night, the wave moves around the world, riding the highs and the lows, sure that someday it will know where it belongs.

Once I knew a wave that found its shore. She was so happy, and she fought the tides and the winds to stay there, with her shore, its white silky sands, its protective half-moon shape. I used to visit her there, and just watch with a smile on my face as she lapped at the shore time and time again.

Then others came. They were jealous of me, and of the wave, of the tranquil joy we had found. They brought their junk, they set up camp, they left their trash. They poisoned the shore, turning white sands dark, changing the shape of its curve with their interference. And the wave was no longer happy.

With great sadness, she decided she could not return here. She would find another place where she could belong, someplace that wouldn't be found and disrupted and ruined. Someplace more stable, more lasting.

So we said our goodbyes, this wave and I. I'm sad to see her go, but I would have been more sad to see her stay. We all deserve someplace to feel happy and safe.

That's why I'm leaving this shore too. Maybe one day it will be beautiful again. But maybe it won't. I can't take that chance.

Flout and persiflage

We used to sit in the mall, Jenna and I, and watch the stupid teenyboppers go by. In their matching Lindsey-meets-Avril-meets-GAP-meets-Laguna Beach attire, they looked like mass-produced clones out to take over the world. Weapons of choice? Plaid minis, Ugg boots, cell phones, and too much makeup. It was like a bad school uniform. School of How to Blow Your Youth and Your Life. Or something.

But Jenna made it bearable.

Before she came along, I was like the only one who could think for myself. All my classmates looked up to these robo-girls, even if they weren't one of them. I never felt jealous or sad -- maybe just a little perplexed -- but I won't lie: I was really happy when Jenna came.

Then one day she showed up at the mall, and she looked just like them. I mean, not the plaid mini or Uggs exactly, but the same idea. The same uniform, the same hair, the same blank expression.

She never told me why, but I suspect it had to do with the new girl Christine. The cool girl Christine.

Jenna became everything we said we never would -- and she'd been more adamant than me! -- and I was left alone, on the bench by the ice rink, watching her and Christine and their gang of stupid teenyboppers, and wondering who would mock them with me now.

Snickersnee

Close your eyes. Pretend this isn't happening. Pretend it isn't your arm, your hand, your knife. Pretend this is a movie. Pretend it is just a chicken. Pretend it will not hurt and it is truly for the best. Pretend you will not remember when it's over.

Comport

Underneath her veil, the widow held her head high. In all black, she was the perfect picture of mourning and respect. She gripped her dignity as tight as her pristine white handkerchief, which had yet to wipe away a tear.

She ignored the whispers. The way the men glanced at her with pity. The other women, some of whom were crying. They would miss him, and the jewelry, the trips to Europe, the penthouse apartments in Manhattan.

Well, the widow did not feel sorry for them. She had been in mourning so long now -- nearly fifty years -- for the man she'd fallen in love with. The young man with ambition, who'd proposed with an IOU for a ring and sincerity in his eyes. She'd lost him to the skyscrapers and the board meetings, the profit margins and the on-site evaluations, the shareholders and the secretaries.

This funeral was for another man, a man she didn't know. But she'd heard lots about him, so she almost felt like she did. That would have to be enough. Enough for her to put on this show.

Maybe later tonight she would cry -- or smile -- as she put away his things and took out the ones she loved most, the ones that belonged to the man she'd married.

Besmirch

Two great hawks soar in the sky. They reign through terror. They shriek with delight. They prey upon the weak, the timid. They scorn any creature who does not ally with them.

Down in a modest nest in the woods, a little sparrow watches their flight, quieted by secrets and regret.


(Birds of a feather stick together. Why am I surprised?)

Restive

Simply put, the horse refused. Carolyn tried everything she knew: hay, carrots, sugar cubes. She even left the stable completely open all night and camped out behind a bush, hoping to catch sight of the stallion sneaking a midnight stroll. Nothing. This horse was the stubbornest she had ever met. Since setting foot in his stall he had not come out. He barely ate. He drank his water with disdain, as if continuing to live and breathe was itself an imprisonment. Carolyn had never known anything like it.

And she was concerned. Not just because the Crabtrees had purchased him as their new breeding stock. Not just because he was supposed to produce a litter of colts and fillies to rival the fastest and sleekest of racing horses. Not just because she might lose her job if she couldn't figure him out.

The first time she had seen him run, she'd fallen in love. She'd been nearly sixteen hundred miles away, in a dusty trailer with a small black-and-white television with bunny ears that barely worked, but even from that distance, through that static, she could see his spirit as he streaked across the race course. There had never been -- and might never be again -- a horse with so much potential. Whether or not he lived up to it, it was in him, and it would never die.

But now, he was letting himself die. At this rate he would perish in a matter of days, quickly atrophy until he couldn't lift his tail much less his head. He still had pride -- oh, she could see that. But his spirit, that was what was missing. His will and drive to run.

What had happened to break his spirit? That was what Carolyn had to find out. And she had to find out fast.

Disseise and aggrandize

The feud began as a simple land dispute. One family pitted against the other. One wants to expand, the other simply to survive. Simple farmer against simple nobleman. Whose blood will be spilled?

Doesn't it really matter. It's a tragedy either way.

Postulate

He was a scientist. He didn't have time for speculation, for guesses. He worked with facts, to produce results, to change history. Nothing smaller would do. Nothing less.

When he was out to lunch with Helen, seated al fresco in the warm April sun, he explained this to her, the artist, the lover of the unknown. She'd listened patiently, smiling, fascinated by his determination to believe, to convince. Whom, it didn't matter. He was passionate, he was earnest, he was emphatic. She could see it on his exquisite face. She wanted to paint him, but she knew he would object. He didn't indulge her in frivolous fancies like that.

When he finished, she asked, "But what is science without hope? Hope is uncertain, but hope is possibility. What is science without possibility?"

He stared at her for a moment, then turned away to contemplate the sidewalk. He didn't have an answer. He was a scientist. Scientists always have answers.

Eristic

In the heat of the moments, I can't let things go. It's a tug of war, but I don't think you see that I'm trying to pull you towards me, not push away. Never push away.

Can you forgive the differences, the disputes, the destruction? It can all be repaired, just a small dose of understanding, and a measure of future prevention. We don't have to be this way. We aren't this way. This isn't us, not usually, not really.


You're really very much like her. Maybe that's why this will work.

Vanilla

This singular way of looking at things, and I can't seem to shake you off that tree. You swear it's the only way, the only thing for you. You're right, I cannot understand. But does he really? Or does he just tell you want you want to hear? Don't get me wrong, I don't love vanilla either. I want to taste every flavor this world has to offer. But I'm not so stubborn about my favorite. And I accept that the time is not always now.

Haggard

His sign says he's not a bad guy -- well, actually it says that he's not a bad girl, but the people know what he means. The question is, do they believe him? With his scraggly beard, his bloodshot, half-closed eyes, his stench and his shake, what evidence do they have? He holds out his cup, empty of coins but full of hope, and waits for someone to take a chance. Where are the risk-takers? Where are the fools?

Maybe I know why he begs on the street. Maybe I'm not a bad girl either. Maybe I just make bad decisions too.

Extradite

If I could, I would give it up. I would send my heart away and let someone else deal with it. I would surrender, and embrace the relief of no more responsibility for my own happiness.

But I can't. I can't take less than I deserve. I can't fill in all the dents and scuffs on this poor organ. I can't be so strong all the time.

Not anymore. Not without help.

Seasonal affective disorder

This has nothing to do with winter. These lids, pregnant with tears, are not related to the weather. You ask then, What? Why? And I don't know what to say. Because it seems to clear to me. I cannot be okay, not yet, because nothing has changed. Not overnight, and not, truth be told, in over a year.

Toady

She covers you in the prettiest deceptions, so you let her. It's not wool over your eyes; it's the richest silk in all the lands. She can afford that. She is rich. She buys you, your affection, your devotion. But when the sweet words and the shiny things stop pouring in, where will you be? What will you think without her charms to cloud your mind? And what will she look like to you, naked but for her lies?

Incidence

It happens all the time, but now I know better. See this smile? It's a fake. Every morning I comb my hair, wash my face, brush my teeth, and then stick it on. Then I'm ready for you. I'm ready to take on whatever you've got. Judgment, hypocrisy, denial, anything. Try me. You can't fool me anymore.

Pollyanna

I will ignore your tripe and keep this smile on my face. Nothing you say can get me down. Because you are just a fool on a hill, and someday you will fall, and I will be standing here on solid ground, where I have always been, even when my heart is in the clouds.

Calumny

My hand struck her cheek, and for an instant both our skins were on fire. Her eyes winced in pain. Mine went wide with surprise.

She covered her face and kept staring at the ground. "I deserved that."

It was harder to be mad when they admitted their guilt.

"Damn right you did."

Harder, but not impossible.

"I'm sorry," she said.

I believed her, but that didn't fix anything. "Yeah well, next time you get the idea to spread rumors about me, be sorry first. Then maybe you won't do it."

Shaking with righteous anger, I strode away, leaving her sobbing into her palm. A part of me hurt, for doing this to my best friend. But then the rest of me remembered what she'd done to me, and then it wasn't so bad.

Vouchsafe

The king looked down from his throne, high atop a pillar of gold, at the little girl with tattered clothes and hungry eyes. He smiled kindly, if not perfunctorily. "And what can I help you with today, young lady?"

"I have come to ask you a favor," she replied. She looked down while she spoke, and the king thought her appropriately shy for her age and in his presence.

"Perhaps I could grant it," he said, holding back a yawn.

"Beg," she whispered.

He frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, m'dear. I did not hear you. Repeat your request."

She lifted her head up to face him now, and he saw that the hunger in her eyes had been replaced with fire. "Beg," she said again.

He rose in a rush of anger. "Why you--"

He never finished his sentence. Instead he began to fall, tumbling down from his throne, plummeting to the foot of the tower. Before any of his guards could react, his body had crushed into the marble floor. When they rolled its remains over, there was a small clean hold right in the middle of the forehead.

They whirled to look for the girl -- at the girl -- who had done this. But she was gone.

Rathskeller

Underneath the main floor of the Drunken Skull, three men sat around a wooden table with mugs of cider and ale. One was the Skull's owner, a portly man with a walrus moustache and small beady eyes that made him look rather like a chubby rodent. He was drinking the cider. The two with ales were bounty-hunters, although ironically criminals themselves.

--

And I like cookie bunnies :). <--- from Andy

Aphelion

When Mercury reaches its aphelion in the seventh year after the Great Drought, the Savior will be begin the Journey. Those who act against the Savior cannot be promised Passage. Only the Savior can offer deliverance from the Drought. But the Savior cannot succeed alone. The Savior must not forget that all men have their limits. To exceed them, one must be willing to open mind and heart. Only by letting go can the Savior hold on to everything that is dear.

Sequacious

She bit the cap of the pen as she studied the squares. She furrowed her brow in concentration. After a moment or two, she gasped quietly and made as if to write something on the paper with her pen. Then she frowned and put the pen back in her mouth, her face once again the perfect picture of problem-solving. The other people in the Metro car watched her, silently rooting for her to figure it out, or else solving the last few squares themselves.

"Estupida americana," the woman had muttered as she passed.

Since that day, Nancy had always carried a Sudoku puzzle labeled "DIFICIL" with all but six numbers filled in.

Eldritch

Bleeding is believing, and last night I had a hole in my throat. We walked through that diner like we owned the place, and I didn't say a thing. How could I?

Maybe for Halloween I should pretend to be the girl I've always wanted to become.