Word: Glutch

glutch

\ gluhch \  , verb;

1. to swallow.

noun:

1. a mouthful.

   
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     The sign was tempting him.  Much more than it probably should have, considering the circumstances.  He stopped to gaze at it, like it was emitting some kind of strange siren call that affected only him.  He stood in place in front of it, gazing at its plain white surface and unassuming black letters, which spelled out “Hot Dog eating contest!”  
    Suddenly, he felt his head jarred forwards, the violent motion accompanied by a brief shock of dull pain in the back of his head.  Recovering quickly, he turned around to see who his assailant was, even though he already knew.  He met her face head on.  Well, as close as  he could anyway, since her eyes were a good three inches below his.  Still their piercing gaze had a way of making them seem much higher.  She looked at him, then at the sign behind him, and back to him again.  She immediately knew exactly what he was thinking.
    “No.”  She said firmly, crossing her slender arms in front of her.
    “Oh come on!”  Was all he could say in response.  
    “No Doug, I am not watching you stuff your face with hot dogs for no reason.”  
    “No reason?”  Doug said, “How can you say that?  This contest has plenty of personal significance.  Why, my old man could...”

“Oh no you don’t.  Don’t you start on about your so called ‘family legacy’.  I mean seriously, who could be so proud of a legacy of face stuffing.”  She said, putting two of her fingers to her forehead.  Doug looked genuinely hurt at her words.

“Tracey, baby, I love you and all, but sometimes I wonder how you can be so blind about all this.”  He said, puffing out his chest in pride.  “Contests of eating are more than just face stuffing.  They take endurance, strategy, effort, a strong will, and an iron body.”

“You mean iron stomach.”  Tracey said, interrupting her boyfriend rant.

    “The stomach is part of the body, so it still counts.”  He said before continuing his (no doubt well rehearsed) speech on the virtues of eating contests.  Tracey had heard it all before from his father and older brother, so she tuned out most of it, choosing instead to start mentally working on a new poem she would write down later.  Finally, he was nearing the end, so she put her more creative thoughts aside and focused back on the moment.
    “And besides, I didn’t eat much of anything all day, so I’m starving.”  He finished
    “You don’t have to eat here.”  She said bluntly.  “This is a fair.  There’s plenty to eat.”  She gestured around them, to the many food stalls around them.
    “It’s not the same.  Anyone can just buy food at those places.  Few can handle the challenge of the competition.”
    Tracey looked at his face, alight with hopeful anticipation.  She sighed, knowing there was just about nothing she could do that would tear him away from that contest.  
    “Fine, fine.  But don’t expect me to hang around watching.”  
    Doug practically leapt on his girlfriend, smothering her small body in his large embrace.  He let her go quickly though, and ran off to enter.  
    “Ok then, see you later!”  He called back to her.  She just hung her head and walked off to do something that held her attention more.
    Doug managed to get his entry in only a few minutes before the contest started.  As he sat down at the long table and the massive plates of hot dogs in front of each table, he eyed his competition.  None of them seemed like they would pose much of a threat, but he knew that in cases like this, looks could be deceiving.  Most of the people were teenage boys.  Although Doug knew they could eat a lot, they often lacked focus and could wear themselves out before really reaching their limit.  An older, middle aged man sat at the end of the table.  He was small, both in height and width, and was probably there more for the story than anything else.  Ultimately, no real competitors.  This contest would be easy for someone who had been raised with this kind of thing like he was.
    Then, with only a minute to go before starting, the final contestant sat down, and he made even Doug a bit nervous.  The man seemed like he was roughly Dougs age, but he was huge.  Waves of fat hung from his body, hanging out of his poorly fitting clothes, as if the man was showing off his accomplishment in growing such girth.  His skin glistened with grease and sweat, and smelled distressingly like the hot dogs in front of him.  He panted as he sat down on the stool that now seemed like it was about to buckle under the weight.  This man was clearly accustomed to eating massive amounts of food, and if the smell was anything to go by, he knew how to handle hot dogs in the quantities the contest would demand.  This man was a threat.  Dougs only hope was that he was as slow as he looked.  
    Doug was brought back to the moment by the announcer calling for the contestants to get ready.  He focused on the food in front of him, tuning out everything else around him.  At that moment, his entire world revolved around the hot dogs in front of him.  The announcer signaled the start of the contest.
    Doug immediately grabbed his first dog, and stuffed it in his mouth unceremoniously.  He chewed it as much as he could, ignoring the taste of the poorly made hot dog.  While still chewing his first, he grabbed the second one and stuffed it in alongside the first.  Then followed a third, then a fourth.  His mouth already puffed up like a squirrel with too many nuts in its cheeks, he chewed as fast as the mass of food would let him, and swallowed it as soon as it was soft enough.  The dogs were rough going down his overstuffed throat, but he could handle it.  

He repeated the process of stuffing, chewing, and swallowing and quickly as he could, not taking his eyes off the ever dwindling pile of hot dogs in front of him.  As he neared his final round of stuffing, he took a risk and ventured a quick peek at his competition.  The middle aged man had dropped out with half his plate left.  Most of the teens were showing signs that they were just about ready to call it quits as well.  Then he looked at the fat man.  He almost lost his rhythm when he saw what was happening.  The fat man was not only winning, but his technique was extraordinary.  The man managed to combine putting a hot dog in his mouth, chewing it, and swallowing it into one fluid motion.  It would have been beautiful if the man himself wasn’t so grotesque.  Doug once again placed his focus on his own plate, making every effort he could to speed up his own eating.  

Finally, he was down to his last hot dog.  He had just managed to swallow the previous four and was raising this last one to his lips, when he heard it.  the announcer had just declared the end of the contest.  The fat man had won it.  Doug was more than a bit disappointed with the result, but he was not about to be seen as a sore loser.  He did was was necessary to congratulate the winner and show his begrudging respect for the man and his method of speed eating.

He left the contest stand with his head hung, and his stomach full of the hot dogs. He could even still taste them on his breath.  He looked around a bit, and saw Tracey there at the very edge of the crowd.  She had decided to stay and watch after all.  He saw this, and was again confident in his abilities of speed eating.  He would try again next time the opportunity arose.  Tracey on the other hand, greatly regretted her choice, and wished she had been anywhere else.  

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Mmmmmmm, makes you want to eat hot dogs, doesn't it?

Word: volant

volant

\ VOH-luhnt \  , adjective;

1. Moving lightly; nimble.

2. Engaged in or having the power of flight.

noun:

1. Also called volant piece. Armor.  A reinforcing piece for the brow of a helmet.

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   The ground sped by at a rapid pace a great distance below the small wooden craft.  The vehicle looked very similar to a normal boat, save for the two wings that curved in along the length of the hull.  It was a skyboat small enough to carry a small group of three or four people through the sky much faster than any land vehicle ever could.  This one was certainly getting the job done, or seemed to for those who were not as familiar with the mode of transportation.  Anyone who knew skyboats and their capabilities would know that this one was struggling to move at its current clip, one that was well below its top speed.  This fact was not lost on its passengers, but only one found the words to express himself on the matter.
    “Can’t you make this tub go any faster?”  Lars said, leaning over the edge, looking at the ground move under them.  He was the only member of the group not currently engaged in the flight of their vehicle, to the eternal frustration of the other two members.  
    “You know,”  said Caruss, who was currently at the helm of the skyboat, making sure that it kept its level flight, despite the complaints, “if you wanted to hurry this trip up, you could do something to help.  Like jump off the side.”  
    “I wasn’t talking to you.”
    “I know, but I’m the only one who can answer right now, so you get me.”  
    The third member of the group Grena, was currently sitting at the rear of the boat, holding up a string of beads used for casting, and a talisman made of feathers designed to help her in her task.  As the only member of the group capable of using magic, it fell to her to supply the power keeping the boat aloft.  The strain on her was visible.  Her brow was furrowed in intense concentration, and she was sweating rivers even with the cold wind blowing on them.  Her task also left her unable to do much else.
    The three of them had been hired out as bodyguards for some visiting dignitary.  They had jumped at the chance to do so, as their normal jobs took them to places the typically left them covered with more mud and dirt than farmers gain in a year, and fighting things that no benevolent deity would ever create.  The idea of fighting other humans for a change was like paradise.
    Then they learned that this particular dignitary had the odd habit of never setting foot on any country other than his own.  That meant that he would always be in his very large airship, and that the three would have to meet up with their new ward in mid air.  It took quite a bit of the joy out of the job, particularly for Grena, who was stuck in her current position out of necessity.  

“Great.”  Lars said, slumping back against the hull.  Nothing else was said for a bit, and with nothing to do, he started getting a bit fidgety.   

“Look, if you’re so bored, why don’t you do the job you were given.  You know, the one that you volunteered for?”  Caruss said, somehow able to detect his companions state of mind even without looking behind him.  The fact that he was able to do that gave Lars the creeps, even though the three had been together for so many years.  

“Why?  There’s nothing around for miles.  Besides, like anything would be attacking us in the sky.”  For this particular trip, he had taken the role of lookout.  Not only for the fact that they would be safe, but also because he had the best eyesight of the three.  

    “Humor me.”  Caruss said.  Lars grumbled, but he wasn’t about to argue with a man more than twice his size.  Particularly when said man was in the state of mind where he would use violence if further provoked.  He stood up, and got up on a platform near the center of the boat, giving him a better vantage point the the other two.  As he looked around, he kept muttering to himself about how useless a lookout was on a skyboat.  
    As if the world wanted to prove him wrong, something did appear in the distance.  It was very big, and moving towards them very quickly.  And it was definitely not the airship they were meeting up with.  As the thing got closer, he was able to tell what it was.  
    “Ok now we really NEED to be going faster.”  He said, starting to panic a bit.
    “I told you we can’t.”  Caruss said, trying his best to keep his ever rising temper under control.  
    “Yeah, but I think now we have some more motivation.”
    “Really.  And what kind of motivation would warrant such an impossible feat?”
    “That!”  Said Lars, pulling Caruss away from the controls and pointing out what was now very clear to both of them.  The very large, angry looking Roc that was bearing down on them at a distressing pace.  The two men looked at each other, their faces mimicking each other's fear.
    “Grena, we need more speed now!”  Caruss said.  Grena, unable to tell what was going on due to her concentration, could care less what they said.  There was no way she would be able to muster up the power needed to increase their speed.  The two of them continued to call out to her for more speed, as the giant bird continued to get closer.

“Grena, unless you want to be eaten by a Roc, I’d suggest you pick up the pace!” Lars called.  The skyboat buckled a bit as Grena lost some of her concentration.  Now aware of what they were seeing, she found herself getting her second wind.  Or at least the magical equivalent of one.  The skyboat lurched forwards at nearly twice its previous speed.  It wasn’t enough.  The Roc was nearly on top of them.  Lars rushed to draw his twin swords, even though he knew it wasn’t going to amount to much against something like that.  Caruss would be too busy trying to evade the birds surprisingly nimble talons, and Grena was too busy keeping in the air.  So, it fell to Lars to keep them alive.  All three of them could only think one thing at that moment:  ‘Oh god, we’re all gonna die.’

    The Roc rose up above them and dove, talons first.  Lars called out to Caruss, who turned the boat as quickly as it would go.  They managed to evade its attack but only just.  Again the Roc attacked, and again they managed to be somewhere else.  Caruss started moving the boat in random directions, hoping to confuse the bird.  Lars kept an eye on it, so that they could get out of the way.  The Roc eventually caught on that diving wouldn’t work, so it tried a different approach.  It moved level with the skyboat, and attempted to grab onto it with its beak.  The boat wasn’t able to rise or fall quickly enough, so this time it worked.  Lars took that chance to dig into it with his blades.  Although he couldn’t inflict any serious wounds, he could get it to let go.  He made an attempt on the birds eyes, but they were too far away for the short blades to reach.  But he was able to get some of the more sensitive parts of its face.  Its grip on the boat weakened just enough for Caruss to wrench them out of its grip.  The Roc eyed them for a bit, but thought better of attacking again.  It seemed like this decision had more to do with the fact that it had caught sight of more substantial prey than because of the effort it was taking to get the three on the boat.  Lars watched it descend towards a nearby field, well out of reach of the boat.
    He fell back onto the floor of the boat and looked up at the clouds hanging just above them.  They had never seemed like such a big deal to him, but now they certainly did.  He managed to let the others know that the danger had passed.  They’re pace again fell, this time even slower than it had been earlier.  No complaints were heard.
    It was more than an hour before they came to their destination.  The airship was a welcome sight.  Its massive form was closer to a large passenger cruise ship than anything else, with many wings coming from its side.  Floating above the top were a large group of balloons bigger than most houses.  Caruss brought the boat along the side of the ship, and found a place to land.  
    Lars and Caruss climbed wearily out of the boat, grateful the trip was over.  Grena simply groaned and collapsed on the spot.  They were greeted by a man even smaller than Lars, wearing fine clothes that screamed wealth more than anything else the trio had seen.  The man looked them over, and crossed his arms in front of him.
    “And just what took you three so long to get here?”  He said.  Lars and Caruss just looked at each other, not quite sure where to start.
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Hey look, recurring characters!  Personally, I like there three and will most likely be using them again in the future.  It's fun.  It's also a lot more challenging to keep a fantasy story so short than it is a more realistic one.  But hey, that's part of the reason I'm doing this, so yay!   

Word: imponderable

    

imponderable

\ im-PON-der-uh-buhl \  , noun;

1. A thing that cannot be precisely determined or measured.

adjective:

1. Not ponderable; that cannot be precisely determined, measured, or evaluated.

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    “I just don’t get it.”  Jack said, poking at his plate of soggy, overcooked spaghetti with a plastic fork.
    “What’s not to get,”  Paul said between large, wet mouthfuls of the pasta, “take her out to some sorta fancy place, give her some flowers and you're golden.”
    “Don’t forget to apologize.  They seem to feed off the word sorry.”  Allan piped in, less interested in his dinner than in the cup of his latest ‘experiment’ in mixed drinks.
    “Yeah ok, I get that, but that’s not the problem.  The problem is I don’t even know why I should be apologizing in the first place.  It’s not like I did anything wrong.”
    “Is it her ‘time of month’?”  Allan asked, adding in air quotes around the last phrase, “Cause if it is, it doesn’t really matter much.  Everything you do at that time is wrong, no matter what it is.”  Paul couldn’t help but laugh at, with the unfortunate side effect of throwing partially chewed spaghetti from his mouth, invading the plates of the other two.  Jack looked at his plate, and suddenly found his appetite gone.  Allan didn’t seem to notice, or at the very least, not to care.  “You can laugh, you’ve never had to live through that horror.”  Allan was the younger brother of three children.  Both his older siblings being girls, it was safe to assume he knew more about that situation than the other two, Paul being an only child and Jack having nothing but brothers.
    “Well, it doesn’t matter much, she’s already been through...that this month so it can’t be because of hormones, or whatever it is.”  
    “Well, when did she start getting angry?”  Paul said, his mouth now unoccupied by food.  Jack thought back a bit to remember when Cassey, his girlfriend of three months had first started giving him the cold shoulder.
    “I think i was a week ago.  You know, after that celebration I had for finishing that big project I’d been working on.”
    “Oh yeah.  That was great.”  Allan said, clearly not fully remembering the events behind a veil of alcohol.

“Yeah well, she had gone to the bathroom, and she saw me talking to--”

“Hold it right there,”  Paul said, “The next name out of your mouth had better not be a girl’s.”

“Well, yeah.  I was talking to Lisa.”  Both the other two looked at each other, he same look of sudden understanding of their faces.  Jack looked between his two roommates, with the sudden feeling that he was missing out on some kind of conversation between them.  “What?  What’s the problem?”

“You never, ever talk to another girl without your girlfriend present.”  Allan said.

“Seriously man, doing that is like handing a blowtorch to a pyromaniac.”  Paul sad.

“But, Lisa’s just a co-worker.  And they know each other.  Hell, they’re even friends with each other.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Allan said, “All Cassey saw was you talking to another, decently hot girl.  In their world, that means you're putting the moves on her.”

“What?  But Lisa only dates other Asians.”

“Again, it doesn’t matter.”

“Think about how you’d think if you say Cassey talking me.”  Said Paul, just before shoving more spaghetti into his mouth.

“To you?”  Said Jack, smiling, “Yeah, I don’t think I’d have any problems with that.  She has good taste.”  Allan snickered as Paul gave Jack a light punch to the arm in retaliation.

“Think about if she was talking to Ed.”  Allan said.  Ed was one of Cassey’s coworkers.  He was a reasonably good looking man, but Jack fancied himself the better pick.  Still, the point was made.  Even so, Jack still didn’t see much of a correlation between the hypothetical situation and what actually happened.

“I don’t think I’d care all that much.  I mean, I know Ed, and I know Cassey, and I also know they wouldn’t be into each other.”  

“Yeah, and so does she, but to her, it’s still you going behind her back with another girl.”  Allan said.  

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”  Jack said

“Neither to girls.”  Paul said.  

Just then, the phone started to ring.  Both Allan and Paul looked and Jack, as if they knew who would be on the other end.  Jack sighed, and answered the phone.  The conversation didn’t last long before he went into his room to finish the call.  The remaining two looked at each other knowingly, already having guessed what the call would be about.  The call lasted for the next ten minutes, allowing Jack to reenter the room that was currently serving as a dining room.

“Cassey just decided to forgive me for what I did.  I still don’t know what it was though.”  He put the phone back, and slumped back into his chair.

“To women,”  Paul said, raising his cup of cheap beer, “The real great unknown.”  Jack and Allan followed suit, raising their glasses of respective liquids.

“Amen to that.”  Jack said, as the three of them clinked their glasses together, and drank their respective drinks.  

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Not my favorite word (or story for that matter), but hey, whatever works, right? 

Word:larrup

 

larrup

\ LAR-uhp \  , verb;

1. To beat or thrash.

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    He hadn’t signed up of this.  Well, had he needed to sign up for anything, this certainly wouldn’t have been it.  The pit reeked of blood, bile, and numerous other remnants of human waste that he didn’t care to think about too much.  The crowd looked down on him and the man standing opposite him, screaming, taunting, and letting out some of the most colorful and creative swears he had ever hear.  Which was quite a feat, given all that he had heard in his lifetime.  

What did I do to deserve this?  Was the thought that went through his mind.  Maybe it was the poker he had played the night before.  Well, playing was being polite, given his performance.  Even with the amount he cheated during the game, he still managed to lose every hand.  Then he had accused others of cheating as well.  They hadn’t taken too kindly to that, but still.  He had racked up an impressive debt though.

Could it have been the drinks he had last night?  He had only had a few, after all, he could still stand at the end.  Usually he needed to be dragged out onto the street once the bar closed, so he considered it a night of light drinking.  He didn’t even want to think about his tab at the moment.

Or perhaps it was the...fun he had with that working girl after his drinking.  Was was quite a girl.  And indeed, a girl she was.  Just turned 18 a few nights before.  Or at least, she had claimed she was that age.  Well, either way, he might have been a bit...rough...with her, but he paid her, so it was fine.  At least, he thought he paid her.

Well, whatever the reason, he was there, and nothing could change that.  All he had to do was beat the guy in front of him, and he would be home free with enough cold, hard cash to solve his more immediate money problems.  The fact that his opponent was at least twice his size probably didn’t matter much.  Or that fact his nickname happened to be “Pit Bull”, but that must have been a coincidence, right?  And the fact that the odds were 1:2 for the guy surely wasn’t anything to go by.  it just meant his winning would be all the better once he got out.

Pit Bull did have one obvious weakness though, his left eye was partially closed from a very nasty looking scare that looked as if it hadn’t healed quite right.  He tried to hide with a large tattoo of someone being forcibly smashed into a wall, but it didn’t work as well as was probably intended.  he would rush in and hit the big man for all he was worth, sticking to the left side, where it would be harder to see where he was.  

    While he was musing over all this, someone apparently gave the signal for the fight to begin, since Pit Bull rushed forwards with long, lumbering strides.  He tried to duck away to the left side, but was far too slow, instead receiving Pit Bull’s large fist to the gut.  He staggered back, trying to regain his breath.
    Again, Pit Bull rushed in.  But this time, he was more prepared for the straight forward attack, he managed to avoid the blow, and duck away to Pit Bull’s left side, lading a quick jab as he did.  It hadn’t done much.  Pit Bull’s large, meaty frame simply absorbed his much smaller, weaker fist, and had the unpleasant side effect of letting the brawler know exactly where he was.  

He was immediately struck by a furious backhanded blow that sent him reeling across the pit floor.  Before he could recover, Pit Bull threw his shoulder into his chest, putting him squarely on the wet, sticky dirt  floor.  Pit Bull was on him before he could even blink away the stars, pummeling his head and shoulders with a continuous rain of powerful blows.  

He was being beaten so hard, there was only one thing he could think to do.  He jurked his knee up into Pit Bull’s back, hoping to throw his assailant off balance, even for a second.  It worked a bit.  He managed to continue to though his opponent off, by using the oldest trick in the book.  A handful of the wet dirt to the eyes.  Pit Bull staggered off him, just long enough for him to continue his own counter attack.  He put all the strength he could possibly muster in his injured body into his leg, and drove his boot into Pit Bull’s groin.  The expected result never came though.  It seemed that Pit Bull was smarter than he looked.  He had worn a cup, just in case someone had attacked him in such a vulnerable area.  Pit Bull wiped the dirt off his face, looking at his opponent with new rage.  

The smaller man had only one option left if wanted to walk out of  the pit in one piece.  He had come prepared as well.  Pit Bull rose and charged again, barreling down with surprising speed for such a large man.  But he was ready this time.  He reached down into a concealed pocket, and brought it back out just before Pit Bull reached him, swinging his hand across the scarred face.  Pit Bull’s momentum still carried him into his opponent, but it was a much weaker attack than it otherwise would have been.  A thick stream of red joined the colors of the big mans tattoos.  It was the others turn to grin now, as he raised the small razor blade he had snuck into the pit.  

    He rushed at his larger opponent, swinging the tiny blade with renewed strength.  He knew it probably wouldn’t last long before it was knocked out of his hand, or it broke, so he would use it as long as he had it.  Pit Bull was still reeling from the cut on his face when he was again attacked by the blade, this time adding a new wound to the chest.  He relentlessly attacked with the blade, hoping that Pit Bull would give in under the weight of numerous cuts.  The two men continuously moved back, until the larger man’s back was against the rough walls of the pit.  The blade was starting to dull now, as he was having to apply more and more force to each swing to get the desired result.  He would have to deal the finishing blow soon, otherwise it wouldn’t come at all.  
    He tucked the blade between his pointer and middle fingers, with all but the very edge of the blade sticking out the back.  He rushed in and wrapped his small hands around  the other’s large neck.  Even though he couldn’t reach all the way around, he still accomplished his goal.  Pit Bull started to gasp for breath, not finding enough to sustain him.  The big man’s fists beat against his assailant, but, because of the blade biting into his neck he was unable to move enough to use his full strength.  
    Eventually, Pit Bull collapsed, his eyes rolled up into his head, showing only the whites and reds, like some kind of freakish doll.  The now victor released his grip, and looked up to the spectators.  The was greeted by a mix of elated cheers, and outraged yells and curses.  But he didn’t care very much.  He won, he could now claim his money and get on with his life.  Finally, something was going his way.  
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Please note that the term protagonist does not necessarily mean "good guy".  Well, enjoy.