Word: snickersnee

snickersnee

[snik-er-snee]

noun

1. a knife, especially one used as a weapon.

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 Chuck couldn’t believe his luck.  He and his buddies had found a great mark so late at night, in an area where people rarely walked alone.  It was perfect.  She was a young woman, probably in her mid 20s, and was a real fine piece of work.  Tall, lean, and with curves in all the right places.  Plus, she looked to be in reasonably good shape, which meant she would probably last awhile.  Not only was she good looking, her outfit and accessories showed him that she was well off as well.  New, stylish clothes that looked to be from a high end store.  Jewelry that looked expensive, and could have even been real gold and gems.  Even her purse looked to be high end goods.  Chuck was practically drooling.  Young, attractive, rich women almost never walked alone.

                Chuck nodded to his three friends.  All of them were thinking the same exact thing.  They all knew this was a rare, golden opportunity that they had to take advantage of.  Without a word, the four of them started moving.  They moved around to surround her, but still acting as casually as they could.  It didn’t work, as their intent was easily recognizable to anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention.  The young woman easily spotted them and turned around, going back the way she came.

                Chuck and his group weren’t about to let her get away so easily.  With long strides they quickly closed the distance between them and her.  Two of them got in front of her and cut off her escape.

                “Hey there, babe, where’re you headed to?”  One of them asked.

                “Nowhere that concerns you.”  The woman said.

                “Aw, come on, don’t be like that.  Maybe we can, uh, help you out?”  Another of the group said.  “I mean, a pretty thing like you has to be careful.  There’s all kinds of nasty guys out here.”  The other snickered at the little attempt at humor.

                “Yeah, I know.”  She said.  “I’ve got protection against those bad guys.  Get out of my way or I’ll show you what it is.”

                “Oo, how scary.”  Chuck said through his grin.  “A little can of mace isn’t gonna cut it here, babe.”

                A wide smile appeared on the woman’s face.  She reached into her purse but didn’t pull her hand back out.

                “If you think some pepper spray is all I have, then you’ll be sorry.”

                Chuck could guess what she had.  The mace was practically a given, but from the way she acted, she probably had something else.  A cell phone to call the cops was probably a safe bet, not that it would help her much.  Maybe a whistle or some other noise maker?  The worst thing she would probably have is a tazer.  That could be a problem, but as long as one of them grabbed her arms it wouldn’t be an issue.  All four of them were quite a bit bigger than her, so as long as one of them got a good hold of her, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

                “Oh yeah, I’m trembling.”  One of his friends said.  “Doesn’t really matter what you’ve got out here, babe.  Why don’t you let us take you somewhere…safe.”

                He put his large, meaty hand on her shoulder to get her to come with them, forcefully if the need arose.  Suddenly, her arm lashed out.  A glint of metal could be seen, and the man who had grabbed her let out a small grunt of pain and back off.  He clutched a small wound on his shoulder and glared at the woman.  She held out a long, well honed combat knife that she had kept hidden in her purse.

                “That was a warning.”  She said, brandishing her weapon, “Now back off or else this will end badly for you.”

                 Chuck looked at the blade, and then at his group.  All four of them started laughing at the threat, even the one which had been cut.  Chuck reached for his belt and drew his own weapon, a small hand gun that he had gotten from a somewhat shady dealer.  The other members of his group brought their own firearms to bear.

                “So, want to reconsider that?” Chuck asked.  “I promise we won’ hurt you too much if you come with us.”

                “Oh, really?”  She said, appearing unafraid of the four guns pointed at her.  “So, if I just agree to come with you, you’ll just take my stuff, huh?  That whole rape thing you’re thinking of won’t happen?”

                “Nah, it’ll happen.  We just promise that it’ll be a lot more fun for you.”

                “Hm, as…wonderful as that sounds, I think I’m going to have to pass.”

                “Your loss.”

                Chuck made his move.  He used the threat of his gun to get in close and grabbed her.  Before he could even blink, she had whirled around and buried her blade deep into his shoulder.  She pulled it out and Chuck fell, grabbing his injured shoulder and watching the blood leak between his fingers.

                The woman moved like lighting as she went from one man to another.  Her knife flashed red as it bit into the flesh of his friends.  It couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds for all of them to be on the ground, nursing wounds in their arms or shoulders.

                “Now then, I suggest you boys get out of here.”  The woman said.  She flicked her wrist and the blood on her knife splattered on the ground.  “Get to a doctor or a hospital or something and you’ll be fine.  Those wounds right now aren’t too bad.  If you get patched up, they’ll heal nicely.  If you wait too long though, you’ll bleed out.  And if you stick around and try again, I might not be nice enough to stick to non-lethal places.”

                Chuck grumbled as he mulled over his options.  She had gotten the best of them mainly because they hadn’t been ready for her.  Now that they knew what she was capable of, they could get her all at once before she could get any good slices in.  Then again, the sharp pain in his shoulder and the blood leaking from it told him a very different story.

                He and his group stood up, each clutching their injuries.  They looked at each other before coming to a silent agreement.  This one wasn’t worth the trouble. 

                “We’ll remember this.”  Chuck said as he and his friends started towards the nearest clinic. 

                “Uh huh, I’m sure you will.  Just remember, I was going easy on you guys today.  You try anything on me again, and you’ll see what I can really do.”  The woman said as she slid the knife back into her purse.  For some reason, those words sent chills down Chuck’s spine.  He made a mental note to steer clear of that one in the future.  He just hoped the other members of his group felt the same.

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    Every woman should have some method of defending herself, right?  I probably wouldn't recommend a knife to do so in this day and age unless you really know what you're doing.  But hey, at least it'd look a lot cooler than most other methods of self defense.  It's hard to look intimidating with a small tube of mace, after all. 

Word: tommyrot

tommyrot

[tom-ee-rot]

noun

1. nonsense; utter foolishness.

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Carl did not know what was going on.  And from the looks on the faces of everyone around him, neither did they.  The people in the hallway parted around the object of their confused attention.  The guy walked through the hallway, seemingly unconcerned with the odd looks he was getting and the attention he was attracting.  The small bells attached to his patchwork, Technicolor clothes jingled lightly with every one of his steps. 

                Suddenly, he stopped moving.  He removed the large pack he wore on his back and took out a small, rectangular box.  He set this box on the floor and stepped up onto it.  He looked out over the crowd.  Even with his ridiculous outfit, he looked completely serious.  He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and began to speak.

                “I… am the dreh of Thequ,” He said in a dramatic, serious tone.  “I have come to ghim the joops and weri all your frevans.”

                Carl was immediately lost.  Almost every word spoken by the oddly dressed man was complete and total nonsense.  And yet, the speaker gave his speech like it was the most important thing ever said.  The speaker made his words echo across the crowd like it was one of the great speeches of history.  Truly, had anything he said made any amount of sense it would be a very dramatic affair.

                Carl leaned slightly towards the person nearest to him.  He didn’t even know the other person, but he felt the need for a conversation that didn’t consist of made up words.

                “So, uh, you have any idea what’s going on?”  He asked.

                “Nope.”

                “Think it’s some kind of theater club thing?”

                “God I hope so.  Cause if it’s not we need to call security.  Or a mental hospital.”

                “Maybe he’s starting a cult or something?”

                “If he is, he’s doing a really bad job of it.”

                Suddenly, the speaker stopped talking.  He looked up at the ceiling for a moment.  Craig assumed the guy was thinking up more nonsense words to spew out in a dramatic, important sounding voice,  Instead, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a ball that looked just as nonsensical as its owner.  The oddly dressed man threw the ball into the air, where it hit one of the bright, fluorescent lights. 

                The colorfully dressed man watched the ball intently as it fell and bounced several times.  Even when it stopped moving, he kept staring at it like it was the most important thing in the world. 

                “Alas!”  He called out suddenly.  “I must hebn!  The idros has fweeked!” 

                He hopped off his platform, stuffed it back into his pack, ran to do the same with his ball, and then dashed through the hallway, letting out odd squeaks, whirrs, and whoops the entire time he ran.  Even after he rounded a corner and disappeared from view, not one person moved.  Each of them were too busy processing what had just happened to do anything else.

                “Huh.”  Craig said simply. 

                “Yup.”  His new acquaintance agreed.  Neither of them could think of anything else to say about the spectacle.  All they knew was that it would make one impressive story.

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

I bet it's fun to just make up words like this.  Maybe not to this degree, but still.  Maybe try adding a random, made up nonsense word into an everyday conversation and see what happens.

As a side note, I'm wondering if the story needs something at the end.  I'm not sure what, but just something there.  But since I couldn't think of anything, I left it as is.  Maybe some other time?  

Word: ogdoad

ogdoad

[og-doh-ad]

noun

1. the number eight.

2. a group of eight.

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George examined his competition as he set his vehicle up at the starting line.  Seven other cars, making it an eight man race.  It was a small time race.  Peanuts, really.  A mere gateway into a larger world.  His opponents were nothing but stepping stones on his way to the top. 

                The problem was, it was like that for all the racers.  They all knew this was a minor league affair, and they all wanted to move on to bigger and better races.  Each of the eight competitors viewed the others as nothing but stepping stones.  Even with that attitude coursing through the racers’ minds, George was supremely confident.

                Just by looking at the assembled cars, he knew he had an advantage.  Only a few of them showed any signs of real effort in their construction.  A few of them even looked store bought.  George’s car, on the other hand, was almost completely hand made.

                He had spent almost a year constructing the remote controlled car.  He had spent hours meticulously building and assembling every single part of it with his own hands and skills.  In fact, the only parts he had not built himself were the more delicate electronic components of the RC system.  And even those were built by people he knew to be highly skilled at such things.  The only part of the car that had come from a store were the batteries in both the car and the remote. 

                And it wasn’t just the fact that he had built it from the ground up that made him confident.  It was how he made it.  The thing was a tiny, remote controlled beast.  It was designed for maximum power, efficiency, and handling.  George had made sure there wasn’t a single bit of wasted space.  Even the parts of it that were empty served a purpose, making it lighter and giving room for air circulation to keep it from overheating. 

                But the real secret was with the engine.  Or rather, the eight engines.  He had created eight engines that were even smaller than what normally went into an RC car.  Each wheel was hooked up to two of the micro motors, allowing each to operate in perfectly constructed pairs.  Although each individual motor was weaker than normal, when taken as a whole, it resulted in a machine more powerful than any other out there.  It even allowed for maneuvers and moves that were beyond other cars.

                The only downside was the eight engine set up was tricky to control, since each pair needed to be controlled separately for maximum efficiency.  George had countered this by spending countless hours practicing.  He had trained with his creation until his fingers and wrists ached, and then kept going.  Thanks to that amount of training, and the quality of his car, he knew there was no chance of losing.  He would blow the others out of the water no question.  

                When the race started, George hit the throttle on his remote, and his car sped forward.  As he had predicted, most of the cars were left in the dust.  But, to his surprise, there were two that were managing to keep pace with his.  One was a large, lumbering thing that looked like it should be in last place.  He guessed it must have had a true monster of a motor to be keeping up with his own beast. 

                The second was a smaller, lighter thing that swerved constantly.  Judging by its movement and general shape, George guessed it was made for the turns and corners, and was swerving to take advantage of that fact. 

                The large vehicle was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping itself in third place, but the swerver was almost even with George’s car.  It was a battle for first place that George was not ready for.  He figured he would lose ground on the turns, since that was his main opponent’s strong point, but his car should have gained ground on the far longer straightaways.  And yet, in both cases the two remained neck and neck the entire time.

                George couldn’t make up his mind if that was good or bad.  It did mean his car was better at cornering than anticipated, but it also meant it wasn’t as good at the straights than he thought.  It was either that or his opponent was better and worse in the same departments than its controller thought.  He also knew it didn’t matter.  All he knew was he needed to find a way to break the tie between them. 

                Colliding with another car was illegal in an RC race, but it wouldn’t have mattered much, since his car was so light that any impacts wouldn’t do much.   But he did need to do something.  He saw his chance at the final stretch of the course.  It was a long, winding section of the course that lead up to the finish line.

                George couldn’t win with normal tactics against a cornering specialist, so he opted to bring out the more unique abilities of his car.  He slowed down one of the front wheels at a time, producing a turn that may have been much wider, but also was taken much faster.  As he adjusted his turns with practiced efficiency, he found his opponent’s slower but much tighter turns allowed him to keep up with him, even with George’s special controls and skills.

                There was nothing he could do.  The finish line was too close now to let him put any additional distance between the two of them.  As the two of them crossed the finish line at the exact same time, he swore under his breath.  What he had thought would be a certain victory had turned into a tie.  He knew he should have been happy, since his car had performed well enough to land him a first place win, but the fact that it had to be shared left a bad taste in his mouth.  Had he gotten second, he would have been disappointed, yes, but at least he would have known who the better racer was.  With a tie, such clarity was missing.  The two were equally skilled, with equally good cars.  For George, that defeated the whole point of a competitive race.  It was almost worse than getting second, or even losing outright. 

                As he went to retrieve his car, he vowed to not let that happen again.  He would find ways to improve both his car and his skills.  In future races, he made up his mind that he would never get into a tie ever again.  

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

Is professional RC car racing even a thing?  I mean, I can see people putting this much work into building a tiny toy car for the purposes of racing other tiny toy cars.  But they're still remote controlled cars that really aren't meant for such rigorous, high speed use.  Maybe I should look it up?