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.