Word: rusticate

        

rusticate

\ RUHS-ti-keyt \  , verb;

1. to go to the country.

2. to stay or sojourn in the country.

3. to send to or domicile in the country.

4. to make rustic, as persons or manners.

5. to finish (a wall surface) so as to produce or suggestrustication.

6. British . to suspend (a student) from a university as punishment.

 ************************

                “Ready to go kids?” Dave called up to his two children.

                “No.”  Called down the older one, Dan. 

                “Same.”  Replied the younger, Sally.  Dave sighed at their mutual response.

                “Well why not?  We want to leave pretty soon so we get there when it’s still light out.”

                “Because we don’t want to go.”  Said Dan.  The teen emerged from his room and hung over the banister.

                “What?  Why?  You love going to your grandparent’s house.”  Dave said.

                “Yeah, when we were, like, six.  And that was only because we didn’t know how much it sucked.” 

                The words of his son stung.  Dave still had fond memories of how his kids used to drag him and his wife, Lora, out of bed whenever a trip to his parent’s house was planed. 

                “Yeah, seriously, Dad.”  Sally said, joining her brother at the banister.  “I mean, they don’t even get cell service way out there.”

                “Yeah, what’re we supposed to do?  No internet, no phones, not even TV.  It’s like living in the stone ages or something.”  Dan agreed.

                “Well, you two could go and see the animals?  Remember that?  Sally, you used to love riding the horses.”

                “Yeah, used to.”  She replied bluntly.  “Why would I want to ride one of those big, smelly things now?  Anyway, they’re not even grandma and grandpas.  They belong to some other guy who charges for that stuff.  That just makes it worse.”

                “Why should that matter?  Anyway, the owner takes good care of his animals, and they certainly don’t smell all that bad.”  Dave said.

                “So?  I still don’t want to ride one.”  Sally said, leaning against the wall behind her.

                “Well, there’s still things you can do.”

                “Like what?”  Dan asked.

                “Well, you can go swimming in the pond.  You can go hiking.  You can even just sit around and read.”

                Looks of horror crossed both teen’s faces at the mention of reading. 

                “Hold on, you said we didn’t have to worry about doing school work there.”  Dan said.

                “What does school have to do with reading?” Dave asked.

                “It’s reading.”  Dan said, as if that explained everything.

                “You know, there are books that have nothing to do with school.  Those are usually read for fun.”

                Dan and Sally looked at each other. Dave sighed.  It was his failing that the concept of reading for enjoyment was so lost on them.  He wasn’t sure if he was too late to correct that, but he could at least try.

                “Why?”  Sally asked.

                “Yeah, really.” Dan followed.  ”Why would anyone read a book for fun when there’s so much better stuff to do?”

                “That is what people tend to do out in the country.”

                “One more reason not to go.”

                “Well, too bad.  You two are coming.”

                “Hey, Dad,”  Dan said, “You know I’m almost eighteen, right?  So why not just let the two of us stay home for the weekend?  I mean, I should be ok to keep things in line, right?” 

                Sally turned from her brother to her father.  Hope shone in both their eyes.  Dave just looked at them.  He only needed a moment to come to the decision. 

                “No, that’s not happening.  Now get ready, both of you.  You’re coming, and that’s final.”

                Both siblings groaned in that unique way only annoyed teenagers can do.  They both slunk back to their rooms to throw something into suitcases for the trip.  Dave was sure they’d be ok.  After all, it was only a two days in a country house.  How bad could it be?     

************************************

I'm sure there are many a parent out there who know what this feels like.  And that exact sound only those in their teens can make.  I'm not sure what that is, but once a person gets old enough, they seem to lose the ability to make that sound.  I wonder why...

Word: Votive

 

votive

\ VOH-tiv \  , adjective;

1. offered, given, dedicated, etc., in accordance with a vow: a votive offering .

2. performed, undertaken, etc., in consequence of a vow.

3. of the nature of or expressive of a wish or desire.

***********************************

The man walked into the hotel room without waiting for someone to answer it.  He knew the room was occupied.  He knew the current occupant.  He even knew what condition said occupant was in, and why no one would answer the door if he knocked.  The tall, thin man looked around at the room for a moment.  For the most, it was a normal place.  Two beds, a dresser, a TV and the like.  The late afternoon sun shone in through the large windows, casting its light on the small, round table. The man cast a quick glance over the assortment of tools that had been placed on it for a moment before his dark, shallow eyes fell on the occupant.

Doug pulled the linen bandage tight around his torso.  Red splotches of various sizes were already coloring the white fabric, but Doug didn’t care.  He simply clipped the loose end to the rest of it, securing the bandage to his body.  He grinned when he saw the black clothed man enter the room.  His eyes immediately began darting around the room for anything he could use.

“Nowhere to run this time, Douglas.”  The man said.  His voice was…odd, to say the least.  Empty, cold, and dispassionate, and yet had a caring, soothing quality as well.  “Time for you to come with me.”

“Nah.”  Doug said quickly.  “You know I can’t just do that.”

“Of course not. Your little vow, I remember.”

“Uh huh.  I promised to keep running from you.  And you know that I don’t break promises.”

“I am well aware.  But it won’t be breaking your vow this time.  After all, I made a vow to catch you.  Anyway, you knew it was futile to run from me when you made it.”

“That’s what makes it fun.  Common, you can’t tell me you haven’t been enjoying this.” 

The man hung his head and smiled.  Doug lifted himself off the floor and casually fingered the tools he had placed on the table.

“Yes, I do admit a part of me enjoys this.  Most people don’t get a Final Vow, and none have vowed to run from me.  It does get dull sometimes.  And yet, I still have a job to do, and you can no longer stay here.  Surely you realize this game of yours has gone on far too long already.”

“Maybe it has.  But that doesn’t mean I’m quitting.  You said it yourself the first time we met.  I have to adhere to the promise I made, and then I go with you.  But, since mine was to run, there’s not much I can do, is there?”  Doug said happily as his fingers played over the tools.  The man sighed. 

“Yes, but why?  Everyone you know has already gone with me.  The world has changed too much for you to live in it any more.”

“I do ok.  ‘Sides, there’s still lots I want to see and do.  I’m not giving up until that’s all done and finished.  Nothing you or yours can do about it.”

“Clearly.  I must admit, you have done a remarkable job at evading my agents.  Although not unscathed, I see.”  The man said, holding out a thin, boney finger to the red marks on Doug’s bandages.   

“Yeah well, can’t win ‘em all I guess.  But this isn’t so bad.  I’ve had worse you know.”

“Naturally.  I gave you most of those ‘worse’ wounds.  I am once again impressed at your tolerance for injury though.”

“Heh, well, it wouldn’t be much fun if I just gave up cause of a few holes, now would it?”

“So you have told me.  I would say it is more luck than anything.  But this time It seems you have run out of that.”

Doug grinned as he left the table.  A long, brown leather coat was resting on the bed until Doug grabbed it.  He slung the garment onto his back and slid his arms through it.

“I’d say I got a lucky streak left in me.”  He said as he returned to the tool table.

“Doubtful.  My employers are starting to grow weary of this.  They were entertained at first, but you are starting to lose your novelty.  I would suggest you come with me before they start to get angry.  You do not want that, I assure you.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’ve read the books.  Can’t be that bad though I bet.”  Doug cast a cheerful eye at the man.

“True.”  The thin man said.  He held his chin for a moment.  “There was some embellishment.  The writers did take quite a few liberties after all.  But the point still stands.  You do not want them mad at you.  It might make this chase unpleasant.”

“Yeah, probably.  That doesn’t mean I’m giving up though.”  He said.  Doug picked up a medium sized hammer and hefted it a few times.

“I hope you are not planning to use that on me.”  The man said in a grave tone.

“Nope.  I know better than that.”

“Good.  What are you planning with it then?”

“Easy.  I’m gonna keep my promise.” 

                As soon as Doug said those words, he threw the hammer at the window.  The impact shattered the glass.  Shards billowed out, catching the light and casting brief, chaotic rainbows on the floor.  Before the man could do anything, Doug was in motion.  He ran fearlessly out the broken window, unheeding of the remaining glass.

                The man dashed forward, only to see Doug rolling on the ground.  He sprung up, seemingly un caring about the two story fall he had just taken.  Doug turned and looked, smirking at his pursuer for a moment before running.  The man smiled before turning to leave to room.

                “Interesting fellow.”  He mused out loud.  “It seems a shame I have to take him.  Still, me must know that there is no escape from Death.”

***************************************

I wonder how many people figured out what was going on before the last line.  Probably more than I'd like, but such is the nature of things.  As always, let me know what you think of this.

Word: desiderium

    

desiderium

\ des-i-DEER-ee-uhm \  , noun;

1. an ardent longing, as for something lost.

********************************

            Collin groaned in pain.  He wasn’t sure if it was real or just imagined though.  It was hard to tell with all that was going through his mind at the moment.  There was too much going on in there.  The memories flooding his mind were coming like a river held back by a dam that had burst.  He needed relief.

                “Please.”  He croaked out.  “Just a little.  I need it.”  He extended a trembling, sweat soaked hand to the two other people in the room. 

                “I’m sorry, Collin.  But I can’t give you any.”  Said a lean, slight woman named Janet.  She looked at Collin’s writhing form on the sweat soaked bed with concern that he wasn’t sure was real or not.  He also knew he didn’t care.

                “You have to.  I need it, this is too much.  Just a little.  A little Forgetful.  I-it’ll help me get through this.”  He said hopefully.

                “Hey, maybe we should.”  Said the other person, a young man called Will.  “I mean, he looks pretty bad.  A little can’t hurt.”

                Collin’s hearing became fuzzy and his vision blurred.  The memories were starting to overwhelm his senses as well as his mind.

                “It can hurt more than you know.”  Janet said.  “You know what that horrible stuff does to a person.  If we give him any, even a little, it’ll undo everything we’re trying to do.”

                Collin felt like the air his lungs were taking in wasn’t doing his body any good.  His breaths felt empty to him, and so he started breathing faster in an effort to grasp any amount of air. 

                “I just can’t sit here.”  Will said, “I mean, look at him.  He’s in a bad way.  It’ll be like taking a sip of liquor to deal with a hangover, won’t it?”

                “It’s nothing like that.  First of all, there’s nothing safe or healthy about that practice to begin with.  Also, Forgetful is nothing like beer.  Giving his some will hurt him more in the long run.  It’ll take away some of the memories he’s already regained, meaning this process will only last longer.”

                “But…”  Will said.

                “But nothing.”  Janet replied firmly. “The only thing we can do for him is be there and help him deal with everything he’s going through.  Once he gets past these initial hours, his condition will improve greatly.  Trust me, this is not the first time I’ve done this.”

                All Will could do was nod and sit quietly while his friend suffered through all the stifled memories returned to him at once.  Collin didn’t know what to do.  He wanted to scream out due to the pain, both mental and physical, but something kept him from doing that.  Instead he rolled over on the damp bed and let out a pitiful whine. 

                “It should be starting soon.” Janet said as she looked at Collin’s actions intently.  Collin almost didn’t hear her speak.  It was like every external sound had been driven into the background of a stage.

                “What?” Will asked.

                “The last part of Forgetful withdrawal.”

                Collin thought he was coherent enough to ask, so he opened his mouth to ask what that meant.  Then it started and he no longer needed to.  The memories didn’t just return, they made themselves known in full force.  At first, he was just recalling many, many things at once.  But now it was like watching a movie in his own mind.  Dozens of memories showed themselves all at once, each one just as vivid as the day he had actually lived them.

                He remembered the wife that he couldn’t afford to take care of, no matter how badly her ailing body needed it.  He remembered the daughter who he could have saved if he had been paying attention.  The job he used to have.  The friends he used to spend time with.  He remembered everything he drug had taken away, both the good and the bad.  And he even remembered the first time he had taken it.  The very first time he had taken the viscous purple liquid that forced random memories so deep into his subconscious that even his dreams couldn’t reach them. 

                Everything the drug had taken away came back at once.  A storm of images, sounds, tastes, and smells threatened to overpower his frayed psyche.  His body locked up, his mouth open in a silent scream.  Finally, it died down.  The memories stopped coming and instead settled down into their original place in his mind.  And then he remembered one more thing.  Why he had taken Forgetful in the first place.  Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered the life that had been forced from him, both from his own actions and those forces beyond his control. 

                He curled up into a tight ball and grasped at the sweat soaked sheets.  His vision was still blurred, but now it was his own tears that did the job instead of the remnants of the drug.  They flowed down his cheeks as the desperate longing for the life he used to have hit him full force.  He had taken the drug in order to forget all that, but now it was with him again.  Only now, there would be no blissful ignorance for him.  No more forgetting.  Now, he could only try and cope with everything he had lost.  The slender hand gently placed on his shoulder would see to that.        

 ************************************

A bit heavier than I normally go, but that's not a bad thing.  At least, I hope not.  I mean, I've done more serious stories before, so it's not like this is the first time.  I just hope you all like it.  Also, I've said it before and no doubt I'll be saying again, but I LOVE the ability to make stuff up that fiction grants.  I've never gone through any kind of drug withdrawal (since, you know, I don't take any), and yet, I can right about it, and have it turn out (hopefully) good. It's great stuff. 

Word: taradiddle

 

taradiddle

\ tar-uh-DID-l \  , noun;

1. Informal . a small lie; fib.

2. Informal . pretentious nonsense.

*******************************************

The small restaurant was brightly lit with generic music playing in the background.  A handful of people sitting at the tables and booths chatted quietly as the wait staff calmly made their ways around to their respective tables. Christy looked around for anyone that might be her date.  She saw several good looking guys her age that would be worthy candidates. 

                “So, who is it?”  She asked.  “Please tell me it’s that one over there.”  She pointed to a guy sitting by himself who clearly spent quite a bit of time in the gym.

                “Actually, he’s over there.”  Christy’s friend, Megan, said.  She was pointing in a completely different direction.  Christy followed her friend’s finger, and her face immediately dropped.

                “You’re kidding, right?”  Christy asked. 

                The guy in question was not someone Christy would ever want to date.  In fact, she probably wouldn’t even bother talking to him long enough to tell him the time unless there was a good reason to.  He was pathetically skinny, had poorly maintained acne, was most likely shorter than Christy, and wore clothes and glasses that spoke of his lack of interest in his own appearance.

                “Nope.”  Megan said.

                “I thought you said he was a great athlete.  No way he’s on any teams.”

                “Actually, I said that he does a lot of athletic stuff.  Running around and hitting people with foam swords and stuff is athletic you know.  And he is on a team.  It just happens to be the chess team.”

                “Oh, god, he does that stuff?  Megan, there is no way I’m getting anywhere near that…that…that.”  She said waving her hand in the guy’s general direction.

                “Just give him a chance.  You only need to eat a meal with him.  And try to say something, it’s what he’s here for.”

                “No.  No way.  I’m out.  Why’d you even think this was a good idea?  You know I can’t be seen with someone like that.  It’d wreck me.”

                “He’s a friend who wants to learn how to talk to girls on a date.  See, he has this girl he wants to ask out, but he doesn’t know how to deal with a real date.  So, I told him I’d set him up on a practice run.  And hey, who better than you to teach him?”

                “That girl had better not be me.”  Christy said.  She was disgusted by the very idea.

                “Nope.  It’s some girl on the debate team, I think.”  Megan said.  Christy couldn’t tell if Megan was lying or not.  It wasn’t too hard to believe, after all, it was due to Megan’s lies that she was there in the first place.

                “Ok, so he’s a hopeless loser who needs to be taught how to talk.  Why’d you pick me?  There’s lots of other girls in school who’re desperate enough to go through with this.”

                “Because you need this.”  Megan said, pressing a finger into Christy’s shoulder.

                “How’d you figure?”

                “Look, everyone knows you’re not exactly the brightest bulb around.  Well, see him?  He is.  The guy’s got a four oh average every year since the sixth grade.  So just go over there and talk with him.  One dinner and you get a guy on your side who actually knows how to do math.  You need someone like that on your side, and you know it.  Plus, if we spin this the right way, it won’t even be too painful for you.”

                “How?”  Christy asked.  She hated to admit it, but this was sounding like a good idea.

                “Simple.  If people learn about this, then we just say it’s a learning experience for him.  Basically, we tell the truth.  This makes you seem sympathetic and, you know, nicer.  But to your main friends, you were just taking advantage of him so you don’t fail every single class.  They won’t mind because they’re always doing the same thing.  No matter what happens, you’re popularity is intact, or maybe even better than it was.  Get it?”

                “I guess so.”  Christy said.  She mainly understood the plan, but she still hoped she wouldn’t be spotted by anyone else from school, just to be on the safe side.  “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

                “Of course not.”

                “And you do know this’ll probably bomb pretty quick.  Will you stick around in case I need an exit?”

                “Sure, no problem.  I’ll be right over in the corner if you need me.”  Megan said.

                “Great.  Well, wish me luck.”  Christy said as she shook out her hair.  Even a fake date was still a date, and so she had to look her best.  Not that this guy deserved it, but still.

                As she approached the table her ‘date’ was sitting at, she risked a glance behind her to see where Megan would be sitting.  She was just in time to see her friend leaving the restaurant.  Christy could feel her cheeks turning red as she fumed at Megan’s latest act of trickery.  She’d have to get back at her later.  For now, she had a lame guy to humor.    

******************************
Ah, high school.  There are those who say it's the best four years of their lives.  Me?  I've got nothing special about it.  Nothing bad, but nothing really good either.  Pretty unremarkable for me, really.