Oblique, paltry, and qualify

Camilla's eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me of something?"

Nadine shook her head. "I wouldn't dream of it. But your fear makes me wonder what it is you have to be afraid of."

"Nothing," Camilla said, instantly on-guard but pretending to be calm. "I haven't a thing in the world to hide, from you or anyone."

Nadine smiled, showing her teeth. "That may be the case," she said, "but maybe you should be afraid of what people are hiding from you."

Camilla whirled to face her nemesis. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Nadine shrugged. "Oh, nothing. I was merely playing devil's advocate."

"Oh, you're in league with the devil alright..."

"CUT!" The director hurried onto set. "Brilliant! Ladies, that was wonderful. Marvelous. Astounding." For a soap opera, anyway, he thought.

Narcissism

Have I become less experimental as I've "progressed"? Am I afraid of standing out, of failing for being different? Do I now subscribe to the formula for success that I used to rebel against? I used to love being inside my own head, staring at the mental and emotional reflection of myself, so to speak. Now I feel so average in thought and accomplishment. What changed? When? Why? And how do I change it back?

Laggard and macrobiotic

What's the point of extending our story past its natural end? We're all in such a hurry to speed up our lives that we end up needing more time because we rush through what we were given. Seems like a strange system to me.

Iambic, jaded, and kibbutz

Our offbeat rhythms wear me out. I'm tired of sitting here and wondering when these tears will turn to pearls, when our memories will be spun of gold. Every day I weave the fabric of our lives together, and every night you cut the strings.

Gaffe and hackneyed

It's a mistake -- however common -- to think that any of our problems can be solved quickly or easily.

Dastard, ecclesiastical, and fabricate

I wonder if he believed in me. When he made those joking references to our future, I knew that would never be real for us. But did he see that for me anyway? Did he already know he'd be replaced, and that I would continue on my path the same without him?

These are the thoughts that ran through my mind as I entered the church for his funeral.

We'd said goodbye once before. I hadn't imagined having to do it again this way.

Beatific and cached

"No."
"Yes."
"No!"
"Yes."
"No way!"

Tina jumped for joy -- and hit her head on the low ceiling of the attic stairwell -- as she and her sister walked up to find the box full of their childhood.

"I can't believe Mom saved all this stuff. When did she have time to put it all away?"

Emily paused. "She didn't. Dad saved it."

Surprised, Tina said nothing, but they continued towards the old chest together. "Do you think my ponies are still in there?"

"I highly doubt they would have been thrown away. You insisted you wanted to be buried with them."

"I still do."

"I'll remember that."

Homologous and ablaut

Sabine:

We met because he spelled her name wrong. He was looking for Savine, but he found me instead. I lived on a quaint street in Covington, just down the block from Mainstrasse, where I often spent the nights out partying with my girl friends. He'd gone to Catholic school with Savine and had just moved back after a stint in San Francisco. He wanted to know if she'd like to go to church with him. I answered the door wearing raccoon eyes and a hickey.

Elocution

Despite my fear, I spoke clearly. He had come home late -- returning from her house, no doubt. I stood in the hallway, centered within the single ray of light that cut through the darkness. I knew he could see my body, but could he see my heart? I wanted to make sure. So I wore nothing to obstruct his view.

Sequacious and sepulcher

Follow me into this sweet slumber, this dark chamber of eternity. That is love, undying, immortal. Sacrifice oneself for one's love. You for me. Give up your life now that I have lost mine. That's how I will know your love, and we will stay together forever.

Dissever and sentinel

He stood guard as I took the saw into the shed and cut off my leg.

Later he helped me push fresh snow over the spots where blood had stained the old snow.

When they asked why I did it, I told them the truth.

Curio

When we selected our items for the time capsule, we didn't think about what story they would tell. We wanted to save our favorite things forever, regardless of what they might mean or not mean to anyone else. So we put in baseball cards and Barbie dolls, packs of gum and headbands. These were not our best things -- we wanted to keep our best things, you see -- but second best was good enough for those kids of the future. They wouldn't know the difference.

Incursion and caitiff

She flees from me, not because she is afraid but because she wants to torment me. There is no love, no respect between us. She wants me to adore her, to devote more of myself than just the few minutes before bed, the passing thoughts during the way. I have yet to give in to her demands. Until I do, we will always play this game of chase, and I will always lose. I know this, and yet I am hesitant. What is it that I think I'm holding on to? Pride? Freedom?

Valediction and bulwark

Leanne wondered when her friend would shed the shield she'd been wearing her whole life. Sandra was strong and beautiful -- and afraid. Afraid of happiness, afraid of people. She didn't want to depend on anyone, not the way her mother had. Because then she might fall apart if that person left, the way her father had. She held her feelings close to her chest but far enough away to see, like a poker player guarding a valuable hand. Though they'd been friends for five years now Leanne had never seen the cards clearly, but she knew they were there, had gotten a glimpse or two.

Cadence, eminent, and balustrade

Typical dream scene. Beautiful girl at the top of the stairs. Music swells in parallel to the racing heart.  Breath stops. People gasp. She's too lovely. Her hand hovers above the railing as she descends. An angel from the skies. Too cliche. Goddess from the heavens. No better. But still true. This is every movie, every song, every fairytale. This is love rewriting the day to be perfect. This is how memory will seal it forever. This is okay.

Reprobate and emollient

When the man on the street thumping the thick black book told Lucy she was going to hell, no one could console her. She moaned and wailed and clung to her mother's coat with white knuckles. Her father tried to explain that the man was crazy, like old Aunt Gertrude, and that nothing he said mattered, but Lucy had seen the man's eyes. They weren't cloudy or crossed like her great aunt's. They were clear, more clear than anyone else's on this earth. They were like the eyes of a cat who had lived forever and seen everything and knew all the truths there were to know.

Escutcheon and guerdon

The reward for a long, hard night of work, he thought, was getting to see her. He spent hours every day slaving away in the bowels of the ship, feeding it, helping it to digest, and turn that fuel into movement. The work put knots in his back, sweat in his eyes, aches in his bones. The only relief, he'd learned, was Sara. Every morning, after his shift ended but before the sun rose, he snuck into the hall of first class cabins and crept to the end of the row. There the captain's beautiful daughter slept. At sixteen, she was womanly of body but girlish of face, and the combination warmed his heart and gut. Through the keyhole he could see her resting on her side, one hand tucked under her chin, curly lashes shielding eyes bluer than the seas on which they sailed. All he needed was ten minutes of her to recharge. Then he slipped back down to the workers' bunks and passed out for the few hours he was allowed. It was a tough life, but with her around, he'd found happiness.

Amatory, Lucullan, and nabob

I know that we are not kings and queens, and yet I cannot find myself fully convinced. The richness of your love is my kingdom. I am both ruler and subject. I am both sun and moon. You are the water and the earth. You soak me in, you give me purpose. You are my audience, I am your fuel. What could be more royal than this humble life we lead? You would probably be embarrassed to hear me gush on this way, but I know you feel the same.

Adulterate, affectation, and eminence grise

"Malmus the Great did not want anyone to know who was behind this mutiny against their king, so he disguised himself at every meeting, wearing a hood and speaking through spiced cloths. He stooped his back and enlarged his walk. He cackled like every good bad guy should."

"I don't think this is how the story goes, Paw paw."

The old man peered over his glasses at the young boy in the race car bed. He lifted a brow. "Can you read?"

"No..."

"Then this this how the story goes."

The boy pouted but did not protest further. Paw paw cleared his throat and continued.

What he did not mention was that he could not read either. Not because he was illiterate, but because his eyes had clouded over a few months ago, and the darkness had overtaken his vision much quicker than he anticipated. He didn't want anyone to know. He walked now instead of driving. He watched old TV shows he had already seen so that he could laugh at the right places. He leaned close to his dinner plate, pretending to cool them off with his breath, but actually smelling each item to identify what he was about to eat. It wasn't an easy life, this cover up of his disability, but it was his and his alone. He did not want to be a burden. He did not want to lose himself.

Frowzy and adduce

Miranda wanted to use my sloppiness as evidence of my apathy. "You can't even be bothered to pick up your boxers," she said. "How could I trust you to pick up our kids?"

She went on these rampages about once a month -- you know. I tried to ride them out, like a week-long storm in which I had no rudder, no sails, no engine, just me in a little dinghy holding on to the sides for dear life. Sometimes you come out a little wetter, a little more beat up than others. This time I didn't come out at all.

"I've had it," she said. For once she wasn't yelling. In fact, she sounded tired, even a little sad. She didn't look it, though. I did.

She left on a Wednesday. She picked up all my clothes before she left. I'm not sure what the message was.

Soiree, obsequies, and ensconced

I was the funeral-- no, at the gallery opening-- no, at a party. What party? I couldn't see anyone's faces. Were these my friends? My family? I didn't remember this place, this night. So why? Why now? Why was I remembering this? Or really, not remembering this? In reality I was lying in bed, dreaming, perhaps sweating and kicking off the covers, but safe. Only felt lost, adrift, vulnerable, because of Guei. Guei had put this memory in my head. Why?

Horripilation and sidereal

They walked down the street in silence, enveloped and embraced by the night. She noticed goosebumps rising on the skin of his arms, and she rubbed her hands up and down to ward them off. He smiled at her, but pulled away. They followed the stars, continuing down the road. She didn't know where they were going or how long it would take them, but she was ready to go anywhere with him.

Olfactory, intimation, and resplendent

Smells like shit, but shines like gold. Sometime truth hurts.

Footless and mot juste

The table was missing one leg. It had been for years, and yet still they did not throw the table out. As if they could not afford to lose even the one thing, broken and unusable though it was. This was how Hua Li's family thought of themselves too: needy, broken, unusable.

Addle, aquiline, and epicure

Claude had made a living from his nose. Literally. A bit hooked like an eagle's -- or a Jew's, his mother sometimes lamented -- Claude's nose had guided him through the finest culinary schools in all of Paris. He could identify any spice from just one whiff. He could tell you how a dish would taste -- too spicy, too sour, just sweet enough, not quite finished -- before taking a single bite. All because of his remarkable nose.

But after the accident, the scents had become muddied, his nose confused. Was that saffron, or sage? Pepper, or parsimmon? He could no longer distinguish one from the other, and he feared what this would mean for his career. No longer a head chef but a critic, how could his opinion be trusted? He was like Monet, painting even as he was going blind, or Beethoven, composing despite his deafness. But could he pull it off, as those gentleman had? Would he go down in the history books, or just go down?

These are the things he tried not to think about as he walked up the path to his daughter's house for dinner.

Gloaming and abate

We drove in silence, of course. I was anxious to see the city skyline, to feel a return to my normal life, my home. He seemed content listening to classic rock and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. I rolled my eyes whenever he started to hum or sing along -- he could never seem to find the right key -- but the closer we got to the city, the less angry I felt. By the time the sun was setting over the horizon on our left and "Angie" came on the radio, I was singing along with his warbling voice. He smiled and reached over to take my hand. It wasn't exactly an apology, and we hadn't resolved anything, but we both felt better. Isn't that what mattered?

Bivouac and hubris

We waited under the tent for the morning to rise. I don't think either of us slept. I listened to him breathe, a harsh raspy breath that set my already frayed nerves on end. I heard the crickets, and the leaves in the wind, and what sounded like the footsteps of wild animals as they crunched twigs on the ground. I gripped the blanket tighter around my body and wondered if our precautions would really ward off lions and bears. I don't know what he did, but whatever it was, it didn't involve me. His pride prohibited him from apologizing, obviously, but I thought maybe he'd make some small concession. Turn to me in the night, hold my hand, stroke my arm. But no, there was nothing, no reassuring gesture, even though he knew I was scared out of my mind.

In the morning, with a raging headache from the fight and the lack of sleep, I stormed out of the tent to pee, wash my face in the stream, and pack up our camp. He moved slowly, calmly, as if unaffected by me or our surroundings. I always envied him that, his composure.

Corroborate and execrable

Lacking the single eye, future weak with the pressures of other voices. This is where you make your stand. This is where you decide what you want and what you're willing to do to get it.

Limn, quandary, and genuflect

All the places she once had known as refuge became houses of mourning and turmoil. She could no longer turn to the open arms of her studio to paint her grief. Instead she fell to her knees and bowed her head, as if to say, Thank you, and I'm sorry, and I have faith, even though I don't understand.

Malfeasance, synecdoche, and plenary

You whisk away my words as if you resented me for being interested, but weren't you the one who shared the anecdote, who said, I am friendly, come talk to me. Or was that just meant to present an image of yourself that is different from who you really are? Did you wear a mask that night when I thought you so kind and lovely? Maybe we were all duped. Maybe I should let you have your silence. Goodness knows I don't need to waste my time.

Expeditious, alfresco, and bailiwick

Close your eyes and wait for the sound, for the crack of the gun, the gasp of the crowd. Breathe in, breathe out, but breathe quietly. Don't just take in the air; become it. Only then will you run as quickly, as easily as the wind. Only then will the ground let you float over it, and the earth spin towards you. This is the one thing you know, the one thing that is yours. Don't let anyone take it from you. Don't lose.

Misprize

Mizprized youth, I hang on so tightly, clenched fist around the last jewel of the Titanic. But maybe this does me more harm than good, maybe this is why I am "strong but young," maybe this is why no one knows my name, and my words are on a screen rather than in print. How do I shed the innocence I have tried so desperately to hold on to?

Otiose and waylay

He waits in the dark, eyes narrow slits seeking the light. He makes no noise; he does not wish to disturb his prey. His muscles are tense with excitement and anticipation. The moment is coming soon, and they will be spry, ready for action.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, the door opens, and light spills in. He is released. He springs into action.

"Oh geez, down, boy! Get down, mpmhhph, stopmhffm."

He silences her voice with his persistent licking.

"You crazy dog."

Grumbling, she rises to begin her day, willing or not. He leaps to the spot she has just left, circles three times, and then lies down in her abandoned warmth. She sighs, unable to resist him.

"Good boy," she says, patting his head and kissing the scruff of his neck. "You're a pain in the butt, but I love you anyway."

Circumlocution, aficionado, and legerdemain

As a girl I read of true love between two deceivers. Magicians, they called themselves. Thieves. And true to their claims, their story captivated me, enchanted me. Was this the first seed planted? Is this why I now spin my words to see what stories I can weave?

Plaudit, euphonius, and sobriquet

Clapping came from the darkness. "Beautiful," a man's voice said. Only the stage where she stood was lit; the rest was as black as the bow in her long blonde hair. She thought she could hear his feet as they padded on the carpeted floor. His sounds were getting closer.

Magdalena stopped playing and held her bow in front of her like a weapon. The viola fell to her side. "Who's there?"

"Oh, Maggie, don't be afraid."

He sounded familiar, frighteningly so, and he knew her name. She took a step back.

"Maggie, I won't hurt you."

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She didn't know his name or his face, but she knew his lies. She'd first heard them years ago, on the first and last time her mother had ever left her home alone. She'd heard them whispered between the dresses and the long pants in her mother's closet. Then his breath had mixed with the smell of moth balls. But the darkness he hid in now was the same.

Implacable

"Do you really think you couldn't have been happy here?" he asked. "Or was it that you couldn't have been happy anywhere?"

Tina stared at him and wondered where the hell he got the nerve. And the insight.

Officious

Maybe I shouldn't be so willing.

Rubicund

I realized with a small sense of satisfaction -- very, very small satisfaction -- that her perfect fair skin, normally glowing with otherworldly luminance, made her more susceptible to the redness of emotion. Blushing embarrassment, fiery anger, bleeding sorrow. Even with this color she radiated beauty, but it left her transparent, vulnerable, raw.

I sighed and put my arm around her shoulder. "Let's go get a drink, huh?"

Slugabed, donnybrook, and littoral

You used to be such a pain to take to the lake, the letter began.

###

Sarah was the one who decided we should go. She and I used to play there long ago, back when we were teenagers in Discovery, and she wanted you girls to know it too. In a way, that was where y'all were born.

Not even Emily was excited about driving an hour every Sunday morning to Discovery -- and she wondered what would happen to our souls now that we were abandoning church services. But your mother insisted that this was a better way of worship. "God has already told me everything," she said. "He understands that I need y'all more than he does right now."

I let her sleep in while I went to wake you girls up. The first time I thought I'd have to knock you out and carry you to the car. You kicked and screamed like a mad dog, though I think now it's because I interrupted some scary dream. Later on you were only grumpy and sullen, but that was normal for you.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled from under a hot dog bun of covers. Your leg poked out like a stringy onion.

Just like your mother, you always took longer than you said but less time than I expected. It was a maddening trait, but how could I be upset? I was happy to know that you would always share that with her.

Finally, after a long morning of grumbling and waiting, we got into the van and drove to Lake Caron. Like Sarah remembered, that place had a touch of magic, and even on your worst days, you and Emily had fun. Maybe it was like Sarah said: God knew she needed us, and so He made sure we gave the best of ourselves to her.

For five months this was our weekend ritual. What we didn't tell you was that those would be the last five months of your mother's life. We didn't want you girls to be scared. We thought we were doing what every parent should: protecting you. But when she was gone, I had no one to help me, no one to share the burden of protecting, decision-making, raising. Loving. And I guess my heart got scared -- like being surprised in the middle of a bad dream, it kicked and screamed. I know I was never the same after she died. I know I wasn't a good father to you.

I'm sorry.

Volte-face

I want to be sure. I seek certainty in even the smallest of decisions, so how could I accept anything less for the guidance and direction of our nation? We hear sound bytes, mockery, accusations, and accolades, but what is truth? Where is the seed, the germ of genuineness that will grow into the strong, stable tree of justice and betterment? If I look, I know who I like. But what are appearances? Nothing more than a mask. I need to know the person who wears it, their true nature, their true motives, their future actions. But no one has this crystal ball. And if they did, surely they would be using it for less noble ends.

Fettle

Walking hand in hand through the park along the river, on our way to see the fish, grey skies but sun in our eyes.

Capitulate, panache, and verbiage

You talk funny, the girl said with a smile.

I scowled. For your information, this is a priceless artifact. You cannot possible appreciate its esteem, its significant, its--

She began to giggle.

Oh for god's sake, how much do you want for it?

She felt around in her pocket. I have a dime.

My eyes nearly popped out. A dime?! For this? For my most treasured--

She giggled again.

I looked around the room. There were only a handful of other patrons, and none were headed my way. A tent full of dyed silk scarves and exotic plant life was drawing the crowd. This might be my only chance for a sale.

Fine, I grumbled. She handed over the coin and I reluctantly relinquished the headdress. She put it atop her small blonde head and skipped away. Her shoes flashed with red lights every time she took a step.

I dropped the coin into a purse hidden under my folding table. I sat back down. I grabbed the flyer that listed my goods and their prices. I fanned myself.

Edify and melee

"You can't teach an animal by lecturing, or threatening, or tricking," she said, running the brush over the mare's mane. The horse stood patiently under Jill's touch. "Dogs, cats, horses, even cattle are not wired the same way as humans. They need to be instructed through patience and companionship, through positive reinforcement and encouragement."

"You don't think people respond to that stuff?"

"Oh, of course they do. But with people, there are more options. If you find out that a child has colored on the wall an hour after it happened, you can still explain to him why it was wrong and he can learn not to do it again. Animals aren't that way. There's only that moment to teach them. If you miss it, you can't get uspet. You just have to wait and try again."

Scion and numismatics

Greed to collect the coins, big heart to distribute. One family in a tug of war of grief -- whose claim is more legitimate? Their son, his daughter. The Man pulling his purse strings tighter.

Undulate

Tina sat on the back porch, watching the heat undulating over the open grill. People chatted in large and small groups. Kids played together in the pool. Even the hot dogs and hamburgers sizzled in symphony. Only she was alone.
I shouldn't have come here, she thought. It was too late to correct the mistake, but she could still minimize the damage.

She pushed off the porch steps and stood, brushing her hands off on her jeans. A quick glance around confirmed that no one would notice if she left through the yard's side gate. She knew no one would miss her. With both relief and a touch of wistfulness, she slipped through the wooden door.

To her surprise, Adam was on the other side.

"Oh," she mumbled as she bumped into him. "Sorry, I--"

"Leaving?" he asked. His tone was neutral and a shadow hid his face. She couldn't tell whether he was happy or sad to see her go.

Proponent and benificence

She told me once that she believed the best thing you could do was help someone else. Be selfless. Gain nothing.

"What's in it for you?" I asked.

She gave me a look. "What do you mean? The whole point is that there's nothing in it for you."

"Okay. But what do you get out of it?"

Now she frowned. "Nothing."

"You must get something," I pressed.

"No, nothing."

"Then why would you do it?"

"To help someone else."

"No one does anything for nothing."

"It's not for nothing."

"What's it for?"

"For the other person."

"And what about you? What do you get."

Exasperated, she yelled, "YOU GET TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOURSELF! OKAY?"

I smiled. "So there is something in it for you."

Misprize

"I think you misprize me."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Look it up. And when you understand -- or more importantly, when you give a damn -- call me."

Tintinnabulation

A tinkling of bells accompanied Jill as she entered the barber shop. She smiled at Patricia, and Patricia smiled back. Jill sat in a blue vinyl seat and waited to be called. She flipped through a fashion magazine and pretended not to notice how silent it had become since she entered. She re-applied her lip balm.

I guess they heard about Adam's leaving...

Disconcert and vociferous

She watched them napping on the couch -- the man and his dog -- and smiled. He was so tender with that pup, so open and affectionate. The things he couldn't always be with her. Sometimes it made her jealous, but more so it made her hope. That someday he wouldn't feel awkward or self-conscious about embracing her, about expressing his love. And she liked to see him -- both of them, really -- happy and at peace like that.

Then some noise from outside -- a rustling of the leaves, a twig snapping in two -- startled the dog and he began to howl. The man rolled over, groaning, and the moment was disturbed.

She smiled anyway.

Kitsch and suffuse

Inspiration suffuses my body like a good night's sleep, mind racing, heart gentle and steady but strong, dreams carrying me from one world to another. I take someone's hand to follow through their thoughts and stories, and I wonder if they would take mine in return. I stare in awe at the small things that make their lives real -- the rancid meat, the useless trinket, the sturdy tree with its rotting core -- and I think about what I have painted, what strokes have brought my words to life. Am I a Monet, a Picasso, an O'Keefe? Or am I yet undefined and undiscovered, but someday destined to hang in the halls of a great museum? I could happily echo the beauty of what has come before. But I hope my name will be printed on a plaque somewhere, crediting not just me, but the people in my life who bled into my art.

Auspicious

He didn't stop running until he saw the robin. A quick flash of red amid the blur of green and brown. When he did see the bird, his favorite, he took it as a sign. This was the place to stop. It was a small cottage in extreme disrepair, but it looked warm and welcoming in comparison to where he'd come from.

Evanescent and hoary

I think I always believed we would get back together. No, I know I did. They said we "separated," but that is not really true. We no longer shared a roof, but we would always share a child. How can you sever that kind of bond? Even now, in death, he is with me always. In her face, her smile, the color of her hair, the way she tilts her head and frowns when she is thinking. I had a hard time facing him -- her -- at first. But now that some of the pain has dulled -- not subsided, not gone away, only lessened into something more bearable -- I cherish the little slivers of him I can see in her. Through our daughter, he can and will live on, and then through her children, and theirs. He may never grow old, we may never sit on a porch and rock back and forth while looking out over the fields of his youth, his home country, we may never hold hands again. But we will always have her. I will care for him, through her, in the way that I was never able to care for him in this life.

Regale and torrid

"You're asking me to believe that you never..."

Tina shot him a look. "Never what?"

"Never, you know..." He fumbled for a euphemism. "Got jiggy with it?"

She might have laughed if the conversation weren't so accusatory. "Well, I went out to clubs. Just dancing with friends."

"Guy friends?"

"Friends," she said firmly. She hated having to defend herself, but she wanted him to trust her again. Still, she had to draw a line somewhere. "But it never got out of hand. Never, you know, racy."

"Still a good Southern girl, then?" he asked with obvious doubt.

"More so than you, it seems." Her eyes gestured to the bottle of beer in his right hand.

He followed her glance, smiled without a trace of amusement or amity. "I had my first one five years ago. After a really bad day." Adam brought the bottle to his lips and drained it, then pushed back from the counter and stood. "Let's just say this one hasn't been the best either."

He breezed past her, leaving the eyes of whole diner in his wake.

Laudable, plaintive, and cosmopolite

Tina marveled at Emily's composure, her ability to put her own grief aside -- though this of all days should have been when she could express it -- and tend to those around her, to the friends and the distant family and the acquaintances who had come to take part in this spectacle. Tina liked large crowds, but only when she was anonymous within them. The shoppers at Rastro markets in Madrid, the tourists gathered on the lawn at the Eiffel Tower, the ever-shifting throngs in Times Square, New York City. These were the places she felt most comfortable, most able to slip out of the physical mold she'd been given and into the names and faces and lives of others.

Glower, immolate, and bevy

Sacrificial dove. I give her for the bigger picture, knowing that you have already photographed this sequence and I don't figure in. I scowl off to the side, my poor, bloodless white bird in hand. You said you didn't need her.

Admonition

I warned you not to come here. I warned you this land is mine. I warned you that I didn't want to see you again.

Now I need not worry. Now your face is obscured by dirt and blood. Now you will never come back, or go away, or go anywhere again.

I only had one bullet left. It was for safety, for protection against bandits or trespassers. You were both. You stole my heart, and then you came back here, to my land, against my will.

I warned you. Really I did.

Comestible

Tina stared in amazement. Food covered every surface in the kitchen. Casseroles crowded the counter, loaves of fresh-baked bread in a pyramid, meatloaf and cold cut sandwiches crammed between the answering machine and the toaster. Pies on the only two stools. And flowers, dozens of flowers, pink and yellow and red and white and purple, overflowing the sink.
"Where did all this come from?"

Emily cleared off a small space next to a tupperware container of tuna salad and set down her purse. "The neighbors."

"We don't have this many neighbors."

"Well, the whole town. You know what I mean."

"Why?"

"So in our grief we don't forget to eat? Or I guess really so we're not burdened with having to cook after everything else we have to take care of."

Tina felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that only Emily had dealt with any of it.

"You hungry?" Emily asked.

They both stared for a moment, then burst into laughter.

Fop and gubernatorial

At Jimmy's Barber Shop we sat on the front steps while our fathers got their hair cut and our mothers got their perms, and we licked sweet sticky ice cream from cones, trying to get it all before any could drop onto our summer-tanned arms. Through the open windows we could hear the women gossiping and the radio broadcasting the governor's latest speech. "That man is a fop!" someone would cry. "Why the heck is he runnin' our state?" And no one ever pointed out the irony of a man in a barber shop criticizing another for caring too much about appearances.

Redress

I'm not sure what I came home for. When I was flying south over Arkansas, I thought it was for a funeral. I thought Adam played a part too. I thought it was for closure.

Now I'm wondering if it was to redress the past. Not the past as I knew it, but the past that I'd denied, the past that I'd colored with my stubborn teenage angst and my blissful physical and emotional distance. I think there was a larger plan, a greater force at work on me, like gravity, pulling me back down to Earth. To Discovery.

Chthonic

Young girl dreams of gods and goddesses with fickle hearts and awesome powers. Specialties. God of sea, god of sky, god of water. No one talks about god of hell. No one talks about hell at all, because they think, what could this young girl know?

For the same reason, she says nothing of the bruises, the closet, the stench, the cold.

She knows far more about hell than they ever will, but what she doesn't know is that this isn't how it's supposed to be. Hell is for the dead, not the living. Not her life.

Naif

He asked her to stand in the window so he could take a picture. She was naked, but on the sixteenth story of a building on the edge of downtown, she didn't think anyone would know. She took a seat on the bay window and looked out over the city. For a moment, she forgot she was posing.

Later that afternoon, she wondered what he would do with the picture. She wasn't worried about it, but she realized she didn't know his intentions. Would he keep it hidden between the pages of a book, or stick it in the frame of his bathroom mirror so he'd see it every day? Would he throw it on the table in his front hallway and forget about it, or would he sleep with it under his pillow, taking it out sometimes to look at while he stroked himself?

It was only a silhouette, but she knew that for both of them, the image itself wasn't what mattered. They would remember that morning, that surprise meeting on the street, and that feeling of finding each other's bodies once again. One last time.

Peregrination

Sometimes the mind wanders and the letters with it, traveling across the page in a slow, almost melodic way. You can hear their footprints as they sound out words and phrases. Rarely if ever do they know where they are going. But it is a pilgrimmage, not religious but most certainly spiritual. To what higher powers will they place their faith and trust in? I cannot believe that it would be me, and so I create other names, other people to stand in my place. They are the ones, I say, telling the story. I am merely a hand, a keyboard, a pen, the paper.

Berate

Karen bought a timer and thought this might solve her problems. Keep track, tally the minutes, quantify the progress. But the ticking distracted her, like the ringing of the bell when time was up jarred her out of any rhythm. She wanted a sort of mini-coach encouraging her to keep on going, not a drill sergeant yelling when she ran over her allotted hour. So she fished the package out of the trash and put the timer back in. She would return it next chance she got. In the meantime, she'd do her best to keep track of her own time, and spend the afternoon basking in the silence.

Foment and comity

There is an undeniable beauty in being one of many, of helping to form a greater shape, of being a dot connected to make an image. Those who cannot understand or do not wish to admit this aesthetic are the disbelievers, the stubborn individualists, the foolish and the forgetful. Most of our lives we wish nothing more than to stand out, but even that that means to be part of an elite group. For there is no one being greater than all the rest; there are only a few who embody the values of all.


Why lament being one of the few, or one of the all? Just be. Grateful, happy, proud, strong, ready. Alive.

Juju and Hobson's choice

Each of the six men glanced at the little statue on their coach's desk. It was a silly toy, a bubble-headed child's trinket from a country they didn't know and in a language they didn't speak. But from the first time Leftwich had touched it, they'd been unstoppable. The opposing teams had all been crushed, emotionally and physically, by this group's surprise force. The men were all in their 20s and 30s, and they did not want to believe in luck, superstition, juju. But could they deny the fact that they had been losers -- literally, they had never won a single game -- until Leftwich rubbed the toy's bulbous head in desperation?

They could not.

On their way to the court they all walked past the statue and gently passed a finger or two across the plastic surface.

Bruit

You broadcast your good deeds from across the globe, and I am left with your self of today and your self of yesteryears to reconcile. So proud, so angry, so done, so wanting to restore the relationship we once had. Is this a pattern? Two, or too many? I don't think of him much, but you are still here sometimes, and we flirt with intimacy like fireflies in the night. I can forgive but not forget, and it seems like you will settle for nothing less than both.

Aestival

Hot sticky summers cling to me like wet jeans, and you tug on them because you want what's underneath. We used to be this way, so free and full of laughter, like children with smaller hearts and bigger brains. Do you remember when it changed, when the world infected us with its disease? I think I must have caught it first, and you kissed me, and that was the end for you. Now we stand small and far apart, cold and rigid, just like everyone else. Pillars in this world, but supporting what roof?

Philter and knell

One death in this world, one death in another. But can they both live on? There was no striking bell, just the whispers of friends who wanted to keep the circle closed, keep the circle close. Love is not a potion, but a bond, a bridge between two souls. Have you walked across to my side lately? Have I been to yours?

There should be no blame. Only an agreement to meet in the middle, for the rest of our days.

Blackguard and supernumerary

Wish I could tell you how much I loathe you, but love you at the same time. Wish I could tell you how much you hurt me, but heal me at the same time. Wish I could tell you I didn't need you, but can't live without you at the same time. Wish I could curse your name, but call for you at the same time.
Wish all these conflicts didn't live inside me, battling heart against head, stealing time and breath and energy, wasting my emotion on you.

Lackadaisical

Stephanie was listless in the afternoon heat. Her head lolled on her shoulders, and sweat adhered thick locks of hair to her forehead and neck, but no one noticed since she was in the back of the bus. Everyone thought she was just resting, but once or twice she was pretty sure she had actually passed out from heat exhaustion. She wondered if you could die from that. Could she die right there on the bus, with her fifteen classmates, en route to Exhilarama? What would they do? Would they abandon their afternoon at the coasters and rush her to the hospital? Or would they leave her "napping" in the van and just crack a window to give her some air?

Stephanie thought it was an interesting question, but they'd be more interesting if they weren't about her.

Chichi

In college, Sandra drifted from me. She saw which girls got the guys (not us) and which stayed at home on Friday nights working out the hardest problems from calculus class (us). I can't say I necessarily blame her; certainly I'd thought about taking that same path. But I tried to remember that this was short-lived, and that we had the rest of our lives to think about. While she painted her nails and maxed out her credit cards on shopping sprees with the girls down the hall, I worked at the library and put whatever I didn't need for food and books into a high-interest savings account. Maybe she had more fun, and maybe I was boring, but looking back, I don't regret my choices. I stayed true to who I was. She lost herself, and I don't think even these past ten years has helped her find herself again.

Enervate

Enervated by day, energized at night. I am no bat, no monster, no owl, no creature of the darkness. I am simply turned around. Not human, but namuh, a backwards woman, unable to live in the ways that the billions before me have done. Someday I will grow young, but for now, my feeble bones ache with the pains of the elderly. I cannot wait to remember the things that will happen to me. Until then, I will lie here and wait for the night, for my time to roam.

Exalt and provenance

According to legend, she says, we all come from dust. At first there was nothing: no universe, no planets, no life. Then one day, the nothingness got bored, and it exploded, and there was dust. The bits of dust got lonely, so they clumped together, and they served as the foundation of all of us. They became moons and asteroids, and they began to fly around the nothingness, which with dust in it became space. Occasionally these groups of dust would collide, crashing into each other and bursting into flames. That is how you and I came to be. We are stars. We burn brightly because of the dust we once were. We may be revered by others, but we ourselves are humble. We know our origins, and we praise them. To dust and nothingness, from whence we all came.

Vexillology and tittle-tattle

Marcus was not a subtle man. He liked what he liked, and he had no interest in anything else. At parties he prattled on endlessly about flags, their histories, their nuances, their relatives, their design and construction. Carolyn thought his vast knowledge and ability to articulate it might not have been so dull had he only been an enthusiast of something other than flags.

Spoony and asperity

You think that what you feel is good, great, real. You think that you have it under control. You think you can feel almost uncontrollably in love and yet still keep your wits about you. You think so much you almost believe you think more than you feel.

Then something like this wakes you up. Something like this happens, and in fact it keeps you up at night. You toss and turn and you fret and you wonder what you did to deserve something like this. Something like this changes everything, even while your feelings stay the same.

It's cruel reality. Because sometimes love can't overcome something like this.

You're going to have to see what happens. You're going to have to trust. And you're going to wish you didn't have to.

Obeisance and vituperate

She always found fault with me. Probably since birth. My eyes were too small, hair too course and wavy, voice too loud. Though I tried for years only to please her, I feel that I never quite succeeded. Sure, we had our moments, times when people would look at our mother-daughter duo and say they wished they had the same. But those were few and far between, and sometimes fake. After that party or picnic, we might argue in the car about the television shows I watched or the way I read late into the night. Bad for your eyes, she said. Bad for your attitude.
I realized I could never win, so eventually I stopped trying.

That's when I started being happy.

Sapient and brummagem

What Elliot taught me is that my games were foolish. He was wiser than I knew, and much, much wiser than he knew. I thought he was too young to understand the way I was stringing him along, but I guess he had to have some smarts to accumulate that much money. All my flashy clothes, my sexy moves, my high-minded discourse -- he was immune. And not because he wanted to be, but because he couldn't keep up. Ironically, that's how he taught me.

I loved him. I didn't think I did, but of course that's the kind of thing I would realize too late. I ran circles around him, the most wonderful man I had ever met, and so he walked away.

I think it's too late to change my tune. I don't much feel like singing anyway.

Pusillanimous, sesquipedalian, and egress

"I had every right and reason to leave," Tina insisted.

"Of course you did," Adam agreed. "But slinking away without telling anyone was pretty damn cowardly. And stupid. And thoughtless! How were we supposed to know what had happened, if you were okay, if--"

"I told Emily," Tina protested.

Adam stopped.

That was the problem, wasn't it? It wasn't that she'd left, though obviously he wished she hadn't. It was that she'd chosen Emily over him. In the end, she hadn't loved, or trusted, him enough. That was what had hurt more than anything else.

Adam took a deep breath, and then started walking away.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't answer. He just kept walking. And Tina realized that his silence spoke louder than his shouting had just a few seconds ago.

Extol and quondam

"You used to worship me," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, you used to be worth worshiping," he said.

Diadem and panoply

Sometimes he dreamed of her. She was a vision in white, satin and lace, a wreath of gardenias crowning her hair.

Sometimes she dreamed of him. He stood tall and strong against a backdrop of brilliant sunlight. He wore a suit of armor. But he was not her shining knight. He was protecting himself. From her.

Melange and sempiternal

Something different.
Well, she thought, that's what I asked for, but I think this is a little much. She glared at the heavens.

In the past several months, a string of boys had passed through her life, ranging from sweet to weird, tall to fat, interesting to embarrassing. It was a good mix, certainly a spicy variety unlike any she'd tasted in her life before, but she kind of missed the normal, everyday boy she used to have.

Move on, her friends said.

But where to?

Vituperation

Tina scoffed. "I almost wish my father had shouted."

Instead, she recalled, he had gone into bouts of raging silence, something no one could really understand unless they'd experienced it. His face expressed the meanest of feelings, while his eyes registered nothing. Being in the presence of such a passively furious man had kept her and Emily on edge, as if a switch would flick at any moment and activate him.

And sometimes it did. His violence was never directed at them, or anyone really, but when he threw things, when he punched doors or walls or counters, he didn't pay attention. He might hurl a blender, or a pad of paper, or a knife. His choice in projectiles was as indiscriminate and random as their trajectories, which meant she and Emily never knew what might go sailing through the air, or when, or if it would accidentally hit them. Because he was careless.

So yes, sometimes Tina wished her father had been a more predictable kind of drunk, more angry than sad, more reckless than aimless, more absent than ever-present.

But it was what it was, and now it was too late.

Gamine

Your mother was the most beautiful woman in Discovery. I can say that without bias because she won the Miss Discovery pageant when she was 18. Of course, the mother you knew would have had a fit if you or Emily had ever wanted to participate in anything quite so shallow and meaningless. But at the time, she was less mature, and beauty and boys were her whole life.

Normally she would have had nothing to do with me. We were as different as two people could be. She ran with the popular crowd, I did the Science Fair. We both loved football, but me for the sport, she for the players. In fact, she was dating the star running back Trevor Anderson when we met.

It was a Saturday night at the old drive-in. She and Trevor were there to see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid -- supposedly -- and I was working to earn money for college. I poured drinks and popped popcorn and walked everything out to the cars. Well, Trevor had ordered dinner for them and I came by with it, but they were necking in the front seat with the windows closed. I tapped, and your mother drew back from Trevor as if she'd been slapped. I tried not to laugh, but I did smile, because boy did your mother look beautiful when she blushed. I gave them their food and went back to my station.

Later your mother told Trevor she had to go to the bathroom, but she came to talk to me instead.

"It wasn't what it looked like," she said.

"You don't have to explain nothin' to me," I replied.

She sort of bit her bottom lip, a habit of hers when she was nervous. "You won't tell my papa, will you?"

I'd forgotten that her father was a regular at my father's barber shop. I shook my head.

"Oh, thank you!" she said. "Thank you so much."

She started to walk away, then turned back. "Hey, you wanna grab a burger sometime? On me."

It was a silly question, but a miracle that she asked. I said yes, and we made plans to meet up later that week. I didn't want to let her pay, but I had a four-year degree in my future, so we went Dutch. I think that actually pleased her, though. She was so used to guys doing everything for her, whether she wanted them to or not, and I let her be independent. Free.

Well, you know how it went from there.

Malinger, insensate, and supernumerary

At first, I thought Claire might have been faking it. She'd been clashing with her new boss, a young kid from the city who thought he knew more than all of us Discovery folks combined, and I knew she'd turn a papercut into an amputation if it would get her out of work. So I didn't think too much of it.
After that day, she never mentioned the pain. I think she didn't want me to worry. Maybe she already knew it was too late. Later I learned that she took over-the-counter drugs to manage the pain -- going from 1 to 2 to nearly 10 a day.

Here the handwriting faltered, and Tina felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes.

I wish she'd said something. We might have been able to do more if she'd spoken up sooner. I'm not a fool, I wouldn't have told the girls. But together, Claire and I, we were a good team. We could have done something, I'm sure of it.

I would have done everything -- anything -- to help her get better.

Anodyne and tatterdemalion

"Help me!"

"Adam? Adam, what on--"

"Help me," he pleaded again, pushing at the door open with his back. Jill squinted at the object in his arms; it looked like a dirty sack of flour. Then it whimpered.

"Oh my God." She rushed to help him, opening the door and ushering him into the kitchen. "Put it on the table."

Adam gingerly lay the poor creature in the middle of their dining table, shoving placemats and candlestick holders out of the way with his elbows. "I hit it with my car. I didn't see it. I've kept it as still as possible. It's not dead, right?"

He stepped aside as Jill moved in for a closer look. The poor thing couldn't have been more than a year old, she judged. Well, being young would help its odds of recovery. She began her examination.

Adam hovered around the table, watching anxiously as Jill lifted the pup's limbs one by one, pressed gently against its ribcage, and held open its eyes to examine its pupils. He bit his lip and wondered if he should offer to help, but he knew she would ask if she wanted something.

After working over the pup for a few more minutes, Jill stepped back and let out a deep breath. "She's lucky. Her back leg is bleeding and might be broken, but otherwise she seems fine. We can take her to the vet tomorrow."

Adam didn't speak, but he bent down to look into the puppy's eyes. With two big black patches on her face, she resembled a small panda, shivering and wet. He put a hand on her belly, careful not to apply any pressure. Jill was bandaging the wound on her back leg, and he could tell the pup was scared. He didn't say he was sorry, but he was sure she knew anyway. Even in her weakened state, she stretched her neck and licked his arm.

"She'll sleep on the couch," he said.

Jill tied off the bandage and nodded.

She helped him set up plush bedding for the puppy out of pillows and quilts, and then headed for the stairs. "Are you coming to bed?"

Adam shook his head. "I'll sleep here with her."

"You really shouldn't. If you accidentally move her in the night, she could suffer more damage."

"I didn't mean on the couch," he said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

Jill opened her mouth to argue with him but then, remembering the many times she'd slept in a stall with a sick or troubled horse, she thought better of it. "All right. Good night."

Adam didn't answer. He sat down on the floor next to the pup, who nestled into the makeshift bed and sighed. Jill went upstairs and gave them one last look before flicking off the lights.

Mephitic

"Attitude like poison," Ma said with contempt.

Madeline rolled her eyes. "Wonder where I got it from," she muttered under her breath.

Fiduciary

"He left you the house," Emily said quietly.

Tina gaped at her. "Are you kidding me?" There was no reply. "You can't be serious. What the hell would I want with this house?"

Emily fidgeted with her tea bag, swirling it around the mug. "I think he wanted you to stay here. In Discovery."

Tina wanted to throw something. The urge was just one more gift from her father that she didn't want. She forced herself to remain calm. "Well, whether or not I do, he's not a part of that. It's my decision."

"I know." Emily thought of another man who she suspected might have more to do with Tina's decision than their father, but she kept that name to herself.

"I don't want anything of his, Emily." She shook her head. "There's not much I can do about his blood, but the rest of his things are yours."

Emily thought about the conversations she'd had with her father in his final days. She thinks I don't know her, he'd said. But the truth is, she doesn't know me. I already know I'm going to die with things that way, but I don't want her to.

"Think about it," Emily said. "Give it some time."

"I don't need time, Em. I don't want this house. Plus you've been here all this time. It's rightfully yours."

"He gave me everything else. I'll be fine."

"That's hardly the point."

Emily stood and took her tea to the sink. Suddenly she had no taste for it. "Tina, don't be so goddamn stubborn. Where else are you going to stay, anyway?"

Tina was silent. Her sister never spoke that way. And she had a point.

Puerile, antediluvian, and cupidity

"Money and status can't be the only things that matter to you," she insisted.

"No, of course they're not," he said. "But I have everything else I want. I have you, we have Evan, we have this house and our health and all that stuff. So I'm working for the rest."

"But in working so hard to attain what you don't have, you're neglecting the things that you do. Maybe you can't have it all, Jack."

He snorted. "Of course I can."

She noted that that he used the first person, whereas she'd been speaking to a general collective "you." Sighing quietly, she walked to her dresser and began to put away the laundry she'd brought up. "We don't need anymore money, you know."

"Need isn't the issue," he said. He stood up from his desk and walked to the side of her dresser, facing her while she worked. "Don't you remember what it was like growing up? Always wanting something you couldn't have, couldn't afford? Wearing last year's trends because they had finally gone on sale. Admiring the popular kids whose parents gave them anything and everything?"

Grace swallowed but said nothing. Yes, she remembered. But they were so far past that now, in their beautiful white home in River Oaks, with their Mercedes and their Lexus SUV, their maid service. Why couldn't he get past the past?

"I want to make sure Evan never has to feel the way we did, Grace. That's all." He kissed her on the forehead and returned to his desk.

And all Evan wants is for you to be home, she thought. But instead of saying it, she rolled up another pair of socks and dropped them into the top drawer.

Emolument and contemn

Tina watched the way Jill navigated the diner, greeting neighbors and strangers alike. Her smile and interest were genuine, that was easy to see, and she never made anyone feel like they were second-class. In fact, her attention gave people the impression that they were the most important person in the room, even the wait staff.

It was a skill -- or maybe a compassion -- that Tina lacked.

Palaver, gustatory, and troglodyte

"You guys think Doc Larry's is good, but y'all have no idea. You should taste the food in Europe, Em. It's so fresh, so well-seasoned, so exquisitely prepared. Delicioso." Tina smiled at the memory of the small bistro in Barcelona that she'd frequented, with its blue tiles and beach view. "Puts Doc Larry to shame."

Emily stopped stirring, but her sister didn't notice. Emily waited, waited for Tina to snap back to the present, to Discovery, to the kitchen where she sat on a stool humiliating her with words and memories and selfishness. But Tina never caught on.

Emily sighed and wiped her hands on the towel. Shaking her head, she carried the bowl to the sink, and dropped it. The porcelain cracked, and the shards rained against the stainless steel.

"Em!" Tina leapt up, alarmed.

"What do you think we are, Tina? Cave-dwellers? You think the places you went, the people you met are so much better than where you grew up? Than the people who raised you? Then fine, go. Leave again. We don't need that attitude here."

"Emily..."

"No. No, I've indulged your condescension long enough. I'm your sister, but right now, you're a stranger to me."

With that, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tina gaping.

Tutelage, dapple, and meticulous

Throughout her life, Jill found solace at the stables. Happy or sad, angry or mellow, she need only walk along the stalls of horses to find equilibrium in her feelings. Each magnificent creature spoke to her, not in words but in their eyes, their breathing, their spirits. She knew they needed her, but she sometimes wondered if they realized how much she needed them too.

Today she paused briefly at two or three stalls, rubbing Caleb's nose and checking Janie's teeth, but Jill knew where the real work would lie. Her newest charge was a one-year-old Appaloosa who had been purchased by a Houston oil magnate for his teenage daughter. On principle, Jill had no problem with the situation, but she had to shake her head when she thought about the details of how this filly had been selected. "Poppa, I want that one! She's the prettiest," is really not the way to choose a horse. There were too many factors -- breed, age, training, purpose, and most importantly, temperament -- that should have gone into the equation, and hadn't.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Jill approached the stall. "Good morning, Avalanche," she said brightly.

The horse kicked at the stall door, and Jill jumped back. "Okay," she said. "Apparently you want to do this the hard way. Again."

Condign and laconic

"Adam, wait!" She jogged to him, ignoring the glances of the departing guests. When she caught up, she swallowed hard and tucked her hair behind her ears. She hadn't figured out what she'd say when she finally got to him. "Hi."

He stared at her as if she'd spoken some alien language, or recited the alphabet.

After several seconds of continued silence, he started to turn away.

"Adam--"

"You didn't have any words for me then," he said, his back to her. "And I don't have any for you now."

Okay, I deserved that, she thought.

Mazy, interpolate, and indigent

The mind corrupts the heart in its search for distraction, like a sinister old maid whispering rumors in the ear of an innocent girl in love. The girl knows nothing of riches or excess -- except for that of the heart. Her passion overflows and she thinks of her boy endlessly, but now these soft-spoken thoughts creep in like spells, poisoning her love. The cure is to beat them, to run ahead through the maze of her mind and cut them off before they can reach her heart. Can she do it? She will have to try.

Forlorn, Cockaigne and harbinger

Elov is said to be a place of extraordinary comfort and happiness. No one there cries or fights, no one is hungry, no one gets sick. The water is as deep and beautiful green as an emerald, the sky like sapphire, the mountains a beautiful onyx. We used to hear tales of the perfection of Elov, but I realize now we never heard about its people.
Elov was abandoned centuries ago, when the Helations came to look for slaves. The Elovians had to flee, taking precious little with them. What they didn't know, however, was that they could not survive anywhere but on Elov. That place was so pure that it had ruined them, and the other homes they tried to create poisoned their bodies and souls.

The Helations did not stay on Elov, for they had no use for more dirt or trees. They wanted people, hands and backs to do their work for them, while they exercised their minds instead. They left Elov, and alone and unused, it has lay in the middle of this solar system, waiting for the next people to arrive.

Capacious and glutinous

We sit in this room, just you and I, with everyone peeking in. But they can't hear us speak, they don't know the true content of our conversation. You tell me this is too sticky, too hot, too much for you. I ask why you are sitting all the way over there.

Can we share this space, make it both our own and each of ours? Can we be happy in this room, with everyone on the outside, and just our private words?

That is the question we all live and die for. That is the journey.

Choler and malediction

Losing steam, unwilling to blame outside factors, not wanting to blame myself. Can't fathom other way, especially not this close to the start. Angry at my sloth, my fear, my inhibition. Already been watching it meddle with other parts of me; already cursed and cursing. This can't end before it even begins. Too many people are watching. Not to mention, my heart is on the line.

Cogent and renascent

"You don't know anything about me," Tina whispered fiercely. "I thought you did. In fact, I thought you were the only one. But you either forgot it all, or you never knew."

Adam stayed quiet as she began to shake, not daring to touch her or even speak. He wanted to -- God, he wanted to -- but he felt it would be unfair. He could see how hard she was trying to keep her composure.

"I was so stupid," she said, more to herself than to him. "I came back here thinking I could... thinking things would be the same. Thinking I hadn't lost anything, or anyone. But my father died, my sister's getting married, and you're... Well, you've moved on."

Had he? He wasn't sure. But now was not the time to mention that.

She looked at him now, and he was taken aback by what he saw in her eyes. Not fire, not hope, not any of the things he usually saw in those emeralds. Just the opposite, in fact. He saw that she'd given up.

"I came here for you," she confessed.

Now Adam began to shake.

Dilatory and verdure

"This was the one thing Mom loved," Emily said, wiping her brow. Her soiled glove left a trail of dirt across her freckled forehead, and Tina had to smile.

"Yes, it was," Tina agreed. She looked at her sister for a moment, pressed her lips together in thought. Then she sighed. "But do you love it?"

Emily surveyed the lawn where she had labored for the past six weeks, working to nurture these stubborn bulbs into blooms that her mother would have been proud of. She'd put it off for so many reasons, but once her father passed, she felt like she'd delayed too long. It had seemed so important once, for her to do this, to honor her mother's memory, to bring cheer back to their house.

Now, as she stared at her muddy clothes, and felt the sun burning her cheeks and neck, and let herself realize just how tired she was, she realized her mother wouldn't have cared less. And she began to laugh.

"No," Emily said. "No! I hate this. I really and truly hate it."

Tina began to laugh as well, and she held out a hand to lift her sister up. Emily took it, and together they rose. "Come on," Tina said. "Let's get you a soda."

"And a shower," Emily added.

Prink and claque

She felt like a prize-winning pony, all decked out and performing on command. Trot this way, shimmy to the left, shake this hand, smile politely and bow your head. She was about two fake hugs away from chomping her bit. But for Emily's sake, she would reign herself in. She doubted if her sister could handle a dead father and a delinquent sister all in one day.

Apprise

"She never told me she was leaving. I suppose there were clues--in her eyes, in the way she began to pull away both physically and emotionally--but she never said a damn thing. And then I went over to her house and she was just gone. The love of my life, gone. No letter, no phone call, no notice at all.

"How do you get over something like that?"

"I'm not sure you ever really do..."

Surfeit and patrician

I long for ideas overflowing my mind, indulgence, imagination, excess. I dream of endless days outdoors with a keyboard beneath my fingertips, pounding out stories of love and adventure and mystery and enlightenment. I yearn to breathe someone else's life through my lungs, to hear their story in my ears, to see their world through my eyes.

These are the bread and water to my body, the light and dark for my soul.

Raconteur

The old woman lit the candle on the windowsill and brought it with her to the center of the room. The children, who ranged in age from almost-adult to infant, settled onto the various cushions and covered themselves with blankets and shawls. They were prepared for a long night, handing out glasses of water and plates of cookies. No one would leave before she was done; Nanita's story times were not to be missed.

Potentate and minatory

One of the common misconceptions, Siu thought, was that only emperors could make decisions. But, she smiled through her red silk veil, she knew the power that a smart woman could have -- could take -- if she were clever enough. If she were controlled enough. If she were loved enough.

Repletion

The wine glasses were full to excess, and classical music played softly in the background. Jason's playboy father had taught him well the ways of seducing a woman, but Jason chose to employ his skills on one woman rather than many.

Checking his watch, he noted that Sidney would be here soon. It was seven o'clock now, and she always ran ten minutes late. It wasn't his favorite thing about her, but he reminded himself that one must take the thorn with the rose.

Tremulous

Hand shaking as she brought it up, touching unfamiliar territory. Smooth and strong, soft and warm.

She lay in bed with her knees tucked to her chest, trembling with the force of her sobs. The vent overhead molested her with cold air, but she was too distraught to even think of the covers.

His eyes smiling, his lips welcoming. Safe in his arms, in his bed. Fingers grazing, sensitive, surprised. Nothing has ever made her feel so alive before.

She contemplates what things will be like now. Empty, alone, dark, and silent. She cannot stand it, but she cannot fix it. She will survive, but barely.

Bagatelle and lachrymose

Anabelle sprinted down the hall, ignoring the boys' shouts. She refused to turn back, refused to let them see her tears.

You don't mean anything to him, Yolanda had tried to warn her. It's just a game he's playing with his friends. To see if he can fool you, and he has.

She hadn't listened. She'd wanted so badly to be right, to be loved, that she had ignored her best friend, had overlooked reason, had stubbornly stifled her own misgivings. And all she had done was delayed the inevitable.

There was never going to be a happy ending, she admitted as she sank to the floor in the choir room. Not for us, not for me. Never for me.

Her wretched sobs echoed off the walls, amplified by the vibrations against the drums.

Patina, harridan, and counterman

She wore her makeup like patina on a fine bronze sculpture. She may have been a little worn out, but Nick could appreciate the original art. He held up a hand, ordering his men to halt. "Let her go," Nick said.

They released her, and she rubbed her wrists and sneered at him. It wasn't quite the appreciation he'd hoped for, but he couldn't say he blamed her. He'd come into her home with his band of thugs and killed her drug-dealing sugar daddy. Now she must be wondering what he planned to do with her.

Originally Nick had planned to send her the way of her deadbeat boytoy. Now he wasn't so sure...

Schadenfreude and grandee

The nobleman had a reputation for malice, but it was a reputation undeserved. In fact, he was the gentlest of men, once sobbing when he accidentally killed a fly.

His mother preferred the harsh rumors to the truth of his almost idiotic kindness. "How are you keep the peasants under control if you cannot even stand to harm a bug?"

The nobleman shrugged, and his mother slapped him. He bit his bottom lip so as not to cry.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed, whirling out of the room in a fury. "I tried to raise a lion and I ended up with a slug."

Ribald and forgo

"You know, you could go without the lewd jokes for one night."
"What, so your mom will be impressed?"
"No, just because I'm tired of hearing them. It's the same ones all the time."
"That's not true! I add a new one every day."
"Every day? Yeah right."
"Seriously. I'm on a mailing list. I get them sent to me."
"Oh, well that's original."
"Hey, I never claimed to make them up myself. It's not like they're less funny if they're someone else's."
"No, but it's hard to be less funny when they're not funny to begin with."
"Why are you always so negative?"
"Why are you always so crude?"
[silence]
"I'll be polite if you'll be positive."
"Hah. I give that a day."
"That was still negative."

Vehement

Conviction. A life without it, is a life not lived.

Ruminate and listless

He asks me again what I'm doing, and I tell him I don't know. It's not the truth, but it's close.

I stand by the window, and I wonder if I'm becoming my mother. As I look out at our yard, the one he earned by going to work every day and being the best at what he does, I can't help feeling like I've stolen something from him.

In reality, I've taken something from myself.

I pace, and I smoke, and the dog watches with his brow furrowed. He's worried too, because he knows I'm not what I should be. He sees me, the real me, the one trapped within this apathetic skin.

"I USED TO BURN WITH PASSION!" I scream into the fireplace.

The dog lies down on the far side of the room, watching me. I stub the cigarette out in an ashtray I hide from him. I hate animals and their stupid extra senses.

Cadge and aright

When you look at me that way, it's impossible not to think it might be so. Impossible not to see the perfect white fences and vines growing up the side of the house and azaleas in the yard. Impossible not to dream, to hope, to want the things you see in movies and TVs. Worse, it's impossible not to wonder if you might actually get them.

That's why you have to go. Because when you look at me that way, I'm not strong enough to face reality. So please, please leave. Just go. That way I can be strong the way I know best: alone.

Boulevardier

The teenage boy watched from the windows as the man passed by his house once again. He wore a sharp tie and a fashionable hat, and he smoked a long black pipe. His hair fell over his eyes, and his lips were a little chapped. He seemed sophisticated, as if he'd seen more of the world than most at his age. But he had a hesitancy in his stance, some lingering doubt about himself or his place.

As he took another puff of his pipe and pushed his hair off of his face, the boy thought, Won't be long now before he gives up on waiting and breaks in.

With a chuckle, he licked his dry lips and turned to get his gun.

Obtrude and Potemkin village

Through the clouds there shines again this little ray of sun, of hope. You call upon me with lips of glass, and I kiss them for the last time. My heart protrudes too proudly, some say. And I have to wonder what they gain by hiding.

Latitudinarian and tirade

My uncle Saul and my aunt Regina are happily married, but the foundation of that happiness is not made of the stuff most people think of for a good relationship. Their commong ground: they love politics. In fact, Saul is a spokesperson for the Republican party here in Mississippi, and Regina is a Democratic state legislator. That's some fit, eh?

But somehow for them it works. They fight vigorously, arguing until Saul's face goes blue or Regina storms out for a walk by herself. Sometimes they throw things. Still, at the end of the day, they are always okay again, having expressed their opinions clearly, forcefully, and mayve even having given each other fuel for their work the next day. They are often asked to speak or debate in public together, and since they rehearse so often, their appearances are among the most attended and respected and re-watched in the state.

Sometimes I look at Gary and I wonder if we're going to make it like Saul and Regina do. Goodness knows we're not very alike, he coming from a metropolitan city in Canada and me from a small town where fried chicken is the only thing we're famous for. But there was some spark that day we met at Cornell, and I can't help hoping it turns into the some long-lasting flame that I see burning in Saul and Regina's eyes every time we visit.

Paean and subfusc

Watching Maribel sing was a strange experience for me. She stood up there alone -- and in a family of seven, you're never alone -- wearing her usual dark, drab clothes. The choir behind her had on sky blue robes, as if by dressing that way they could get closer to God. I laughed, because I know half those kids, and they'll never get to heaven no matter how many Hail Mary's they say. But I was there for Maribel, so I kept my mouth shut and waited.

When the music started, I shifted in my seat, anticipating the moment. She'd warned me not to get my hopes up, that she had been turned down for the solo and was only doing it now because the other girl got sick. But she'd had a little too much hope in her eyes for me to completely believe her modesty.

Then she sang, and I felt like I was meeting her for the first time.

Fetter

His fury is my prison, his guilt my shackles. The days are empty of light, and I wither here among the worms and the browning leaves.

But maybe my bitterness has some effect too. Can I place all the blame on his shoulders, when in truth I walked into this with my eyes open? I saw the signs, I voiced the concerns, and still I came.

Freedom comes at a price. I will pay, do not fear, and do not doubt.

Umbrage

Assumptions hide behind the trees like shadows, and we walk through the forest eyeing each other warily. A crow shrieks and we both turn, and then you're on me before I can even gasp. A knife in my back, my heart, my head -- bleeding onto the soft cool earth. You laugh because you think this violence is funny -- you grew up with it in your childhood, after all -- but you don't understand the damage you have done. So as I die alone here in the forest, you walk away, thinking you have taught me a lesson.

Cavil

Day in and day out, it's the same damn thing. Jillian goes to work, does her job, and then goes home. On the morning drive, she is fresh and optimistic, she believes it could be a good day, she forgets or at least forgives her boss's erroneous ways.

On the evening drive, she is frustrated and fuming, she can't believe her naivety, she yearns to lash out at her petty, grumpy, unjust boss.

These are not mere frivolous objections, and yet no action is taken. Jillian fills her gas tank every week to make these journeys -- two a day, every day. This is life, she says with a shrug. This is the American way.

Sentient, parsimonious, and acumen

They say we are machines, but we do not understand that. We are like them. We look like them, we breathe like them, we think and feel like them. We love like them. We love them. But they do not love us -- in fact, they hate us. They want to kill us. They want to make us like their toasters or their communicators or their radar. Functional.

We are so much more than that. We are individuals, just as they are. We should have the same rights, the same freedoms.

So we must take justice into our own hands.

It is their way, and we are like them.

Contrite and moiety

Weeping Tiger glared at the teepee on the far end of the camp. There Prowling Thunder lay in bed with another woman, a whore from another village. Weeping Tiger fumed, her black hair swirling around her ominously in the wind.

Redfoot approached her carefully. "You should not think of him so. The two of you were never promised. It's a man's right to choose."

"Mind your own business," Weeping Tiger snapped.

Her best friend sighed and shook her head. "When you're done sulking, you know where to find me. And I will accept your apology."

She walked away, leaving Weeping Tiger alone by the skinny tree, far from happy and even farther from contrite.

Fustian and amalgam

Different elements coming together. We mix like water and fire. I am soft, steady, flexible; you are hot, strong, wild. You do not understand my flow; I do not understand your transience. Maybe we are not meant to be together. I can accept that. But why must you burn me in your attempts to make me agree?

Halycon, sub rosa, and disparate

Abbie quietly slid the door to a close behind her and hung her keys on the hook to her left. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she slipped off her shoes. Holding her breath, she sidled past the baby's room to her own, where Eric was waiting.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

She would have jumped if she still had a startle reflex. Instead, she continued to the bathroom and undressed. "Fine," she whispered. "You?"

"Good," he replied. "Emma only cried for you for a couple hours tonight. I think she's getting used to it."

Abbie ignored the jab and got into bed. Eric wrapped his arms around her. "I miss you," he said.

"I'm right here," she said.

"Not really," he said.

And that's when she knew he didn't understand. And that's when he knew she'd never change.

Cloy

She's like a sugar sweet on my tongue, but cloy after a few minutes of sucking. We dance around the campfire and blame each other's shadows for our nightmares. When she takes flight, she laughs at my nest, but she forgets that I sleep warm and comfortable every night.

There is no right or wrong, but we are not sticking together.

Lenity

I remember this teacher I had once, a real nice piece of ass. Ms. Amisen, or something. She used to treat me pretty good, never yelled or marked up my papers too bad. I thought maybe she liked me or something, but then I heard she was found in the janitor's closet with that prick assistant principal. He had it in for me for sure. But apparently not as much as he had it in her.

Gimcrack

The line on her resume felt like a useless artifact, something she had dug up in her backyard and stuck on a shelf, for no reason other than to display her find. And that was about as helpful that line of "experience" was going to be. When she brought this sheet of paper to the kinds of places she wanted to work, she knew they'd take one look at that line and go, "Who does she think she's kidding?"

But what else did she have?

She looked at her empty shelves and said, "You gotta start somewhere, right?"

Posit and maelstrom

Marilyn stared at the screen, barely breathing through her disbelief. The results couldn't be real. There must be an error in the program. Some glitch, some code out of place. This could not be happening. This could not be true.

In a panic, she printed the readings and scrambled to her director's office. Halfway there she realized she had no shoes, and she hesitated for a moment before continuing in just her socks to his door. The world was about to end, she thought with a laugh. Did she really need her shoes?

Epigone and confluence

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Rebecca lifted her head up from the keyboard, then let it drop again.

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She sighed and shut the laptop off.

It was a hopeless task. Finding her own voice and using it to write a piece on the music festival was just not going to happen. Why hadn't her editor chosen someone else, someone like Bobby or Shane? Someone who liked these kinds of features!

She just wanted to stick with her reporting of the news, the plain old boring news. She didn't want to emulate any of the great gonzo journalists, or whatever. She just wanted to tell it like it is, and get the hell out. Was that so hard to understand?

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Winsome

I could pretend, for you. I could pretend that I never read what you wrote, that I never heard what you said, that I never dealt with your shit. I could be pleasant and smile and say that we're friends.

I could do that.

But I won't.

Ubiquitous

They say God is a being that exists at all times in all places as all things. That is the only thing little Roger Horner could think of as he stood on the ledge of the bridge and looked down at the smooth, dark water below. Far far below.

God is in that water, he thought. God is in the air between me and that water. God is in me.

These thoughts comforted him, and he stood there a while longer.

Lionize

Sometimes we think things are so important. We get caught up in What if this happens, or How can I avoid that, or Omg I can't take it! But really, humans are spectacular creatures, not because of how much we waste or hurt or disappoint, but because of how much we endure. There is so much we can take if we just have the courage to breathe, to put another foot forward, to raise our heads and look up at the sky and say, Really, it's just not that big a deal.

Because it really isn't.

Chimera

There's this little matter of microbes in the body. I don't know if they're really called microbes, but I know they're in my body, and they're f#cking me up. I don't sleep well. I cry all the time. I get upset at everyone for everything. I feel fat. I'm not myself at all anymore, just some monster who looks like me and talks like me and tries very hard to impersonate me, but fails, miserably. I'm miserable. I need to be free of these things. I need to be me again.

Lambaste

What Anna did: walk down the hall, calmly ask to see him, close the door, ask why he'd just said those things, explained why they'd hurt her, accepted his assurance that he would be more careful next time, thank him for his time, open the door, walk back to her desk, sit down, and continue working.

What Anna wished she'd done: stomped down the hall, demanded to see him, slammed the door, yell at him for saying what he had, ignored and rejected his explanations and apologies, given her two weeks' notice, slammed the door open, strutted back to her desk, packed her things, and gotten the hell out of there for good.

Inveigle and portent

Pulled over for the first time at the age of 33, Kendra was not quite sure what to do. She had a valid license, and registration, and insurance. But she didn't want a ticket! How could she get out of this?

Quickly peeking into the rearview mirror, she made sure her hair and makeup were fresh and in order. She bat her eyelashes a few times, and her blue eyes sparkled. Running her tongue over her teeth revealed no stray food. She took a deep breath. All systems were go.

The trooper left the car and walked toward Kendra's. She smiled brightly and rolled down her window. "Hello, s-- ma'am."

Dammit.

Abulia and salubrious

The fog in her head was impairing her ability to think. And maybe to see. What was that in the road ahead? A deer? A couch?

She swerved around it, then found herself not moving all. What was this dark liquid dripping down her forehead? Where was the steering wheel?

Then she heard the sirens.

Oh god, where was that plastic bag?

Miasma and pin money

Lucas and Marcia believe in a fair relationship. What's his is his, what's hers is hers. The car: his. The dog: hers. The house: his. The baby: hers. This is how they split the things, the dotted line they use to divide their supposed union. This is why Lucas stays late at work, and Marcia has developed an eating disorder. This is why the child cries, and the in-laws never want to visit. This is the new order. This is the end of us all.

Objurgate and roister

The four women gather in the kitchen, dropping purses and shoes and hats and scarves all along the way down the hall. The chattering begins almost immediately, all speaking to one another, not really caring if anyone is listening to them in particular. Just being heard is enough.

They share stories and martinis, cheese dip and work gripes. They complain about their men, or their lack thereof. They cry and they laugh and they smile and they gasp. It's a feast of emotion as well as food.

Caesura

Why'd you stop?
Why'd you start?
Very funny.
I didn't think so.
Well then, what's the point?
There isn't any. Haven't you understood that yet?
Can we just go home?
Your place or mine?
Doesn't matter.
Exactly!

Pugnacious

We've been fighting since we were girls in the backyard, over the last corn-on-the-cob at Grandma's annual summer picnic. You'd think things might get better as we got older, but they didn't. We are still as quarrelsome as ever, still as stubborn, still as petty.

Today she tripped and hit her head. She told me she was going to lie down, and I rolled my eyes and told her to take it like a man. At dinnertime, she was still in her room, so I went to yell at her to come before the food got cold. She didn't wake up.

Now she's in the hospital and I'm still fighting with her. I'm fighting with her to live. See, the doctors say she's in a coma and her brain is bleeding in two places. They say she'll be lucky to last until her daughter Emma gets here. So I'm fighting with her, because this is not the time or the way to go.

She's stubborn as ever, but I sure hope she'll listen this time.

Voluble and afflatus

This is not something that winds out of me like string through the Minotaur's maze. I have no idea where I'm going, and no idea where I came from. I have no guardian angel, no muse, no special voices. Just little me and my little life and my little eyes through which I see my little slice of the world. I don't speak well, I don't always do the best, and my thoughts are often mediocre and rushed. Can I make this into something more? That is the question, and the answer remains to be seen.

Woebegone

Jason walked by with one a them winking looks on his face. It wudn't a real wink, but it kinda said the same thing. Not in a scary way, not in a way that makes me wanna tell Nick about it so he'll sleep on the sofa with the baseball bat. It was friendly. Like we could hang sometime. Like we might see a movie or watch a game on TV. Not like he'd try to push me on the bed and stick his hands under my clothes.

Jason lives in a house kinda like mine. It's just a few blocks down, I think. I never been, but Rachel says it's got some real nice green shutters over them plain bricks. I always wanted a house with some nice painted shutters and white lace curtains that blow in the wind. But in my neighborhood, you cain't leave your windows open, so there ain't never any wind.

Jason's got a real nice face. He's lighter than I am -- which makes me wonder why he'd even give me his winking look, because there are a lot of prettier girls who'd a loved to be in my shoes -- with light brown eyes that are really more gray than brown. His hair is kinky like everyone else's, but I don't mind none. He seems like a real nice boy, and I hope he comes round again. If he does, and if he gives me that winking look, I'm a get up and say hello. Offer him some lemonade. Maybe even ask if he wants to go see a movie. I think he might like that.

Camarilla and importunate

Raden knew he could not trust his advisers. He had seen them whisper in the halls, had noted the silence that overcame a room when he entered. He wondered how long they had been plotting against him, and why.

Within days of his realization, he'd begun to plan his escape. Fortunately -- or unfortunately, depending on when you asked him -- he had no family to preserve, no loving wife or adoring children to send away first. Only his own skin to save, his own fear to ease.

And then he thought, Why bother? If I am alone, what is this life worth?

And this thought made him very sad.

But, he reminded himself, he could not find love or make a family if he were killed. So he would continue with his plan. Perhaps as a poor and humble spice trader he would have more luck in love than he'd had as a king.

Bellwether and ostentation

Lena was the sign of things to come. Her beauty, near perfection. Her wit, her intelligence. Her kindness, her compassion. Her open-mindedness. Her passion.

She was where the human race should have been headed -- all bold and brave but not reckless or headstrong. I don't think I knew a single man she met who didn't love her in some way (usually that way) and that she didn't love back (usually not in that way). How could we go wrong with that?

But maybe one of them loved her too much. Maybe that's why she was found face-up on the shore of Lake Milton.

That's the problem with being the sign of things to come: they aren't here yet, and not everyone can handle them.

Deus ex machina

Some people are looking for it. That easy way out. The single solution to all their problems. The deus ex machina.

Surprisingly enough, it often comes.

But of course, when it comes, it's not in the form people want or expect, so they reject it. Maybe they wanted a certain guy/gal to love them; someone different does. Maybe they wanted a new job; they get fired. Maybe they needed a lot of cash; Aunt Helen dies.

Easy answers, single solutions, deux ex machinas -- can you pluralize that? -- they aren't meant to be dictated. They just come as they are. And you can take them or leave them, but you can't say they don't exist.

Unless you're in fiction. Then they're a bad idea.

Obsequious, xenophobia, and jollification

Three sisters, three very distinct individuals. Rachel, the beauty, the perfect daughter, wife, and child. Gretchen, the hermit, the eldest and least tolerant, the strangest and most harsh. And Emma, the cheerful, the rotund, the cook.

Growing up together hadn't been easy -- least of all in Ronoah's Cove -- but somehow they had managed, and now they were all grown, each leading their own lives, doing their best to stay out of the others'.

Soon, though, they would be tested. A wicked force was headed for the Cove. Only these three sisters, with their particular combination of skills, powers, and personalities, could combat it and win. Others might try, but they were doomed to failure. All of Ronoah lay in the hands of the Ferrystrong sisters.

Excrescence

Cate had lived with the birthmark all her life, and hated it just as long. Today she was finally going to be rid of it. The healer promised her it would be a quick and painless ritual.

Seated around the fire, they both wore hoods and paint on their faces. The healer began to hum and chant. Cate waited anxiously with her eyes closed, as she had been instructed.

After a few moments, the healer touched her brow, her cue to open her eyes. When she did, he shouted.

"Ai! What is this?" He backed away in horror. "Your mark... It is no childhood disfigurement... You were destined to have it."

Cate stood and followed him as he continued to hurry away. "Yes, yes! I told you all this when I first came. Why such shock now?"

The healer stared at her, huddled against the back of the tent. "I cannot remove it. That mark signals your destiny. You are the Chosen One. If I change you, even a hair, I will die."

Cate gasped. As she braced herself against the table, the healer fled, leaving her in the tent with the fire and the strange news.

Hullabaloo

What this tells me is, you don't understand. You ask us to speak up, but then you don't listen. You don't pick out the voices from the tumult. You don't understand even when we speak as one. We are crying out, but you cannot hear above your own ego, your own insecurity. And this is why we will leave. And when we go, the silence will deafen you.

Acrid

Like nails across a chalkboard. While driving, my frustrations turn to road rage. Slow people affronting me like her ignorance, her selfishness. But how can you sever the first and most important tie? How can you lessen the hold, the power, the obligation, the love?

You can't, so you swallow the bitter sauce off your skin and pretend like it's the same comforting taste you miss so much.

Misnomer

She never thought her name really fit. She used to imagine herself a Jennifer, with long blonde hair, and the bluest of eyes. Sometimes she was Regina, with auburn waves down to her shoulders, and eyes of fiery green . Longer lashes, longer legs. Same sweet smile, whiter teeth. Polished nails, polish personality. This was the way she saw herself, or at least the way she wanted to.

A rose by any other name, they said, would still smell as sweet.

So then why did she feel so nervous now, with the application clutched tightly in her hands, next in line at the city court office?

Repine

Benny wondered when he would find his voice. Every day he walked in through the automatic doors, sat at his desk, turned on his computer, ate a banana, and answered emails. He listened to his coworkers talk about inane things in their lives -- dogs, kids, cars, parents. Sometimes he turned on a radio to tune them out, but most days his boss turned his radio on even louder, so there was no point. And at least once a week, his boss came out to pick on him. For drinking the last of the coffee, for throwing a can in the garbage instead of the recycle bin, for coming back ten minutes late from lunch. Sometimes different every time, but something stupid always.

Every night as Benny drove home, he wondered why he didn't speak up. Why he let the days pass this way, why he let himself get stepped on, why he let his spirit die. He used to have dreams, and ambitions, and passions. Now he had benefits, summer hours, and a 401(k). What had he lost for what he had gained? Was it worth it?

Where was his voice?

Plethora

The truth was, she had too many shoes.

It was a simple fact, but Ellie hated to admit it. One entire half of her closet was for heels, flats, sandals, and boots. The skirts and blouses and slacks were all nice too, but the shoes, oh the shoes.

She'd begun her obsession at age 4, watching The Wizard of Oz and those ruby red slippers. Then she discovered her mother's stilletos. After a few tumbles down the stairs, she'd mastered walking in them, and she'd never looked back.

Now she did her best not to look at her credit card bills. Just pay the minimum, she told herself. Then cut back. Eventually you'll pay it all off.

But inevitably she'd see a sale down on Sixth Street, or an exquisite pair of Jimmy Choos in a boutique window, and she'd put off her reformation for another month.

Anathema

She was honored by the ban, frankly. For the Pope, the leader of all the Catholics in all the world, to take the time to censor her book, that was a great distinction. Though other writers may have been offended, concerned for sales, or distraught by the condemnation of their religious chieftain, she was ecstatic.

Some had Putlitzers, some had Nobels. She had taboo.

She actually thought that might be better than anything else for sales.

Renumerate

Evelyn knew she would never forget, and never, ever forgive. There was nothing that could be done to erase the scars a parent left on a child. There was no way to take back the past, to relive those days the way they should have been lived the first time: with her father by her side, supporting her, loving her, encouraging her. There was no equivalent to eighteen birthdays missed, eighteen years spent wondering.

His being here now -- showing up on her doorstep eighteen years late -- didn't mean nothing. But it didn't mean enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Myriad

Under the myriad of stars, Willa fled to the river. She needed some space, some time, some room to breathe. She couldn't smile anymore, not genuinely, not until she had her own mind sorted out. Everything was weighing on her like an oppressive summer heat.

Will you marry me? he'd asked.

Her eyes had gone wide. They say sometimes that you just know it's coming, but she'd had no idea. She hadn't thought of them as being at that stage yet. She hadn't thought of them as being ready.

But he did. What did that mean? Was she just scared? Was his belief enough to spark hers? Or was she right, and he was rushing? Or did their being on such completely different pages mean something important, something larger than just a yes or no answer?

Willa didn't know, but out here, under the moon and the tree with the galaxy as her ceiling, she felt calm. Tonight it didn't matter. Tonight she was just look up and know that she wasn't alone.