Word: Taphephobia

taphephobia

[taf-uh-foh-bee-uh]

noun, Psychiatry.

1. an abnormal fear of being buried alive.

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Henry tried to keep his breathing in check with sheer willpower.  It wasn’t nearly enough.  He knew he was safe, he really did.  Unfortunately, his brain did not.  His brain was convinced he was currently several feet underground surrounded by thin plastic walls that could cave in at any moment.

                In reality, the plastic case around him was several inches thick in most places.  The only place where it was thin was at the top, and that was only so he could push it open easily.  He wasn’t even buried very deeply.  The box was buried just enough so that it was hidden in the ground, with the top covered with a thin layer of dirt and pebbles so that it was difficult to see from the outside.  All he had to do was sit up, and he’d be fine.

                His mind knew all that. His brain simply refused to believe it.  His brain thought the pounds of dirt It thought was there would come in at any moment and crush him.  Or that he could suffocate from lack of air.  In fact, there were several places that allowed air to flow, so he was in no danger of that.  Nevertheless, he gulped down air like every breath was his last.

                The fact that he was sweating like crazy wasn’t helping the situation either, since it was starting to smell.  The rubber mask he wore only served to intensify the smell.  He knew he should have insisted on a different position as soon as he saw what his bosses wanted him to do.  He knew it was a bad idea, but he needed the money badly.

                When they hired him, they had only asked him if he had any problems with mall spaces, which he didn’t.  they hadn’t even brought up the possibility of being in a box that was, technically, buried in the ground, even if it was only by the loosest meaning of the word.

                Suddenly, a dim red light filled the box.  He took a series of deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, trying to tell his body and brain that it was temporary, and that he would soon be able to leave the confines of the box. 

                The light turned yellow.  Henry placed his hands on the roof, ready to fling it open and do his job.  He waited.  the yellow light persisted longer than he would have liked.  He could imagine several reasons why that could be, and did just that in an effort to take his mind off where he was.  It wasn’t as effective as he would have liked, but at least his mind stopped outright panicking. 

                The light turned green.  Henry threw open the “coffin” and quickly sat up.  He growled and clawed at the air threateningly.  Two small screams and one large, false scream.  The two small children ran to their mother, who did her best to usher the youngsters along the path.  One of them started crying, and was promptly lifted off the ground by his mother.  She turned just long enough to give him a quick, sympathetic glance before moving on with her charges.

                Henry took a moment to breath.  Now that even part of his body was above the ground, his brain had calmed down immensely.  It felt like he was finally able to take a real breath.  The cool October air chilled him, but helped alleviate the sweat that had piled up on his clothes and the inside of his mask.  He relished the feeling.

                His enjoyment of the open air was interrupted by the red light coming on again.  Henry groaned at the unwelcome sight.  Taking a few long, slow breaths to prepare himself, he once again lowered himself back into the box and closed the lid over him, waiting for the next group of people to walk by.  

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I wonder what haunted house workers think and do while they're waiting for people to walk by.  It it kind of boring without a lot of passersby?  I mean, they just have to kind of wait in dark areas or small boxes or coffins or some such until someone happens to come by.  Do you think they can use their phones or something to pass the time?  

Word: Mawkish

mawkish

[maw-kish]

adjective

1. characterized by sickly sentimentality; weakly emotional; maudlin.

2. having a mildly sickening flavor; slightly nauseating.

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“Jerry, go to your grandma.”  Said the teen’s dad.  Jerry let out a long, slow breath in response to the order.

                “Do I have to, dad?” Jerry asked.

                “Yes, you do.  Right now just being with her and listening to her is the best thing you can do.”

                Jerry groaned lightly as he stood and made his way over to his grandmother.  He knew he shouldn’t complain.  He knew he should be willing to comfort her without having to be asked.  He knew a lot of things about the moment.  But right then, none of it seemed to matter much.  He would rather have been playing something one his phone than anything else.

                He trudged through the house, ducking passed quietly talking relatives until he found his grandma, sitting alone on the couch.  The elderly woman sat looking at an old photo album.  She was almost motionless as she looked at the pages.  Occasionally, she would raise her thick glasses and wipe her eyes, and every so often she would flip to another page.  But other than that, there was little movement on her part.

                Jerry sat down next to her and glanced at the pages.  It was an album he had seen dozens of times before.  As a child, he loved listening to the stories of the past the old, worn pictures prompted.  Now the he had heard them all a hundred times they had lost just about all of their impact though. 

                “Grandma?” Jerry said when she didn’t react to his presence.  Her head shot up in surprise and she looked over at him.

                “Oh Jeremy, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.” She said with a weak, sad smile.

                “It’s okay grandma.”  Jerry said.  “Are you okay though?”

                “Oh, yes, yes.  I’ll be all right.  It’s just…well, you know what.” 

                He could imagine.  He had only known grandpa for the 16 years he had been alive.  Grandma had known him for at least the 57 years they had been married, and even several years before that.  He had certainly not been happy when grandpa left, so he could only imagine how she felt.

                “Yeah, I know.”  He thought of the best thing he could do to cheer her up.  One look at the album, and he knew what he had to do.  He didn’t like it, but he could at least tolerate it.  “So, um, that’s grandpa’s favorite photo album, right?” 

                “Oh, this?  Yes, he did love this one, didn’t he?  He was quite the sentimentalist, you know.”  Grandma said.  Jerry stifled a laugh.  Grandpa may have liked to tell stories, but Grandma was the really sentimental one.  It was almost nauseating how much she loved that sort of thing.  At least it was for him.  “In fact, this one right here was his absolute favorite.”  She continued, pointing at one of the photos.  “Did he ever tell you about this one?  Oh, I’m sure he must have at least once.”

                “I guess he might have mentioned it once or twice.”  Jerry said.  The photo was one of Grandpa, his friends, and Jerry’s dad as a boy.  They all stood in front of a tree that was small back then.  The tree was, of course, quite a bit bigger now.  “But it’s been awhile.”  He said.

                “Well then, why don’t I refresh your memory a bit.”  She said. 

                Grandma looked almost happy as she told the story that Jerry had heard so many times before.  He did his best to look interested.  Besides, it was clear she wasn’t telling the story for his sake.  It wasn’t long before her words began to stutter and tears welled up in her eyes.  A few seconds after that, she was full on crying.

                Jerry placed his hands on the thin shoulders of his grandmother.  She stifled her tears to look at him.  She didn’t last long before they started flowing again.  It was several minutes before she regained any amount of composure.

                “I…I’m sorry Jeremy.  It’s just that you look so much like him when he was your age, you know that?”

                Looking like Grandpa was certainly new.  He had been told he looked like his dad more often than he’d like, but not really Grandpa.

                “Just you being here reminds me of so much from so long ago.”  She continued.  Her eyes seemed to glaze over and her trembling fingers ran over the pages of the album.

                “Grandma?  Are you sure you’re okay?”

                “I…I will, be yes.  It might take a little while, but I’ll be all right.”

                “Do you want me to go?”  He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it that part of him was hoping she would say no.

                “If it’s all the same, I think I would like your company right now, actually.”  Grandma said. 

She placed hand gently over his and gave him another weak, sad smile.  She leaned on his shoulders and it wasn’t long before tears started flowing again.  As Jerry lightly rubbed her back, he thought a bit.  He came to the conclusion that he could deal with not playing a game for a few minutes longer.  

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Hm, you know, I'm not really sure this is quite the intended meaning of this word.  Reading the definition again, it looks like it's referring to something a little less...justified.  You know, like those people who go to pieces at the slightest showing of emotion or sentimentality.  Not, you know, a woman losing her husband after almost 60 years of marriage.  Oh well, this is what I went with, take it or leave it.  I'm too lazy to change it right now. 

Word: obstreperous

 A bit of a warning for you, this one's a bit more gory than normal.  Not as bad as some other stories out there, but still.  Just, you know, don't ready it with kids or anything like that.

obstreperous

[uh b-strep-er-uh s]

adjective

1. resisting control or restraint in a difficult manner; unruly.

2. noisy, clamorous, or boisterous:

obstreperous children.

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“Let me go!”  Shelly screamed.  She flailed around, doing her best to escape the grip of her captor.  Her fists and feet bounced off the large man’s chest and back uselessly.  She knew she wasn’t strong enough to escape from the two large men, but she could at least make life as difficult as she could for them.

                “Why didn’t we tie her up when we got her?”  Asked the man who still had his hands free.

                “Because you forgot the rope.”  Said the one holding Shelly.

                “Oh, right.  So, uh, why didn’t we drug her?”

                “Because you forgot the drugs, idiot.”

                “Uh, right.  Sorry.”  The brief conversation caught Shelly by surprise.  They had obviously been planning this for awhile, and one of them was dumb enough to forget important things like rope.

                “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t you?” She said.

                “Tell me about it, kid.”  The man holding her said.  “I gotta deal with this all the time.”

                “I’m not that bad.”  The other man said.

                “Yeah you are.  I mean, seriously, who forgets rope when you’re kidnapping someone?  Seriously, you didn’t even need to bring a lot.  She’s a little kid.”

                “Hey!  I’m ten year old.  I’m not a little kid.” Shelly said, only slightly offended.  She was however, decently observant for someone her age.  She noticed the man who held her turning to face her.  She took a slow, deep breath in and held it.

                “Trust me, you’re a little kid.”  He said. 

Shelly turned to face him and their eyes met.  Shelly smiled slightly and screamed in his face with every breath of air her small lungs had in them.  The sudden outburst shook her captor a bit.  She regretted it wasn’t enough to loosen his grip on her though, but she could tell it at least made him stagger a bit.  It didn’t take long for him to recover though.  He shifted her small body higher up onto his shoulder and squeezed her with the arm that held her in place.  Shelly winced in pain.

“Don’t do that again.”  He said. 

Shelly growled and promptly resumed thrashing around as much as she could from her awkward position and screaming with all her might.  The large man rolled his eyes and resumed walking.  The two men took Shelly into an old apartment.  Bits of pipe, metal rods, loose wires, planks of wood, and other bits of junk, trash and debris littered the room.  Shelly continued her attempts at resistance even while she took in her new surroundings. 

“Oh, shut up already.  You’re annoying.”  Her captor said.

“Hey, I got something that’ll make her pipe down.”  The other man said.  He went to an old, rotting desk and pulled something out.  He approached his partner and shoved something into Shelly’s mouth.  It was something sweet.  She reached up and pulled it out of her mouth.  The familiar sight of a lollipop was oddly comforting.  She popped it back in her mouth, figuring it was better than nothing.  “See?  Kids love candy.”  The man said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Just get some rope or something.  I’ll just keep her here.”  The other said.

Shelly looked at her captor and then at the piece of candy in her mouth.  An idea came to her mind.  It wasn’t a pleasant one, but it would get her out.  She steeled her nerves and pulled the lollipop out of her mouth.

“Man, your partner really is dumb, isn’t he?”  She asked, turning to look at the man who held her. 

“Yeah really.”  He said.

“So, um, why’d you kidnap me anyway?”

“Your dad’s got a lot of money, and we’re gonna keep you until he gives us a bunch of it.”

“Oh.  That doesn’t sound good.  I don’t think I like that very much.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to.  Now, are you gonna shut up, or do I have to make you?”

“Probably the second.  I mean, mom and dad always say something like that, and that’s what they do.  Of course, what they do usually involves TV and stuff.  Do you have a TV here?  Or a computer or something?  That’d be fine to.”

“Oh would you just shut up already?”  The man said in anger.

He turned to face her.  That was what Shelly had been waiting for.  She took the lollipop and jammed it into the man’s eye.  Blood oozed out of the wound, and a thick jelly like substance oozed down the stick and onto her hands.  The man screamed in pain and fell to his knees, dropping Shelly in the process.  She watched as the man pulled the stick out of his face, with his eye still stuck to it.  He screamed even louder.  Shelly was so fascinated by the sight that she didn’t notice the other man coming up behind her.

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, turning to face him.  Shelly almost didn’t hear what he was saying.  She didn’t even notice when he shook her around.  All she saw was another avenue of escape.  The man now holding her had made many, many mistakes.  Forgetting equipment was one.  Giving her the lollipop was another.  the third was that he hadn’t removed her acrylic nails. 

She smiled and waited for him to bring her closer to his face, within arm’s reach.  When he did though, her hands lashed out.  Her plastic covered fingernails dug deep into both of his eyes.  He screamed in anguish as she felt the insides of his eyes.  As blood and ocular jelly oozed down her fingers, two thoughts entered her mind.  The first was that they felt nothing like peeled grapes, as her mom had led her to believe.  The second was that she liked the feeling quite a bit.  Not the eyes, per say, but rather the feeling of the man’s life in her hands. 

She quickly removed her fingers, a flipped the eyeballs to the floor.  Her feet hit the ground as the man let her go.  Shelly turned to the door, knowing she could no leave whenever she wanted.  But she had a better idea.

                She looked around the room.  Most of what she found there was too heavy for her to lift.  But a few to the smaller bars of metal were within her range.  She grabbed one of them and went over to the first man, who still clutched his bleeding eye socket.  His remaining eye looked up at her in panic as she raised the bar.  It was the last thing he saw as the bar penetrated deep into his head.  The sound of his brain squelching around in his head and the feeling of hot blood splattering on her skin was, to her, intoxicating.  A wide grin crossed her young face as she picked up another bar and headed up to the now blind man.

When Shelly finally left the rundown apartment, she had a wide smile on her face.  Before, whenever someone asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had always answered an actress.  Now she had a very different career path in mind.

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

Don't say I didn't warn you, right? I admit this one's a bit more...disturbing than what I normally write, isn't it?  I know I've done action and violence and stuff plenty of times in the past, but not quite the same as this.  I probably won't be writing anything quite like this in the future, but as always, it depends on the word, I suppose.  

Word: alexithymia

alexithymia

[ey-lek-suh-thahy-mee-uh]

noun, Psychiatry.

1. difficulty in experiencing, expressing, and describing emotional responses.

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Linda sighed.  So far the interview process had been a total bust.  The best candidate for the position so far had been a woman who was so obsessed with her kids that she used them in some way for every question.  If it wasn’t for that, she would’ve been a fine choice.  She just hoped the next candidate would be better. 

                She took a moment to gather his info.  It was a man named Robert Lineman who seemed to have a decent enough work record and decent education.  He was certainly more qualified than many of the other people she had interviewed. 

                She gave the signal for him to enter and waited a few minutes.  When he came in, she was pleased to note that he wore clean, professional attire.  That alone put him above half of the previous interviewees.  He did seem oddly dispassionate though.  Most people tried to seem happy and energized.  Robert’s face seemed to lack any such emotion.  She took note of that and began the interview.

                “Good afternoon Mr. Lineman.  My name is Linda Parkers and I’m in charge of new hires here, so I’ll be handling this interview today.  Please have a seat.”

                “Good afternoon.”  He replied as he sat down.

                “Now then, why don’t you start by telling me a bit about yourself.  You’re background, education, that sort of thing.”

                “I grew up in a normal household with my parents.  No siblings though.  I mainly kept to myself through school.  Socializing is tricky for me.”

                “And why is that?”  Linda interrupted.  That threw up a big red flag in her mind.  Anti-social individuals could be problematic in the line of work she was hiring for.

                “I have a bit of a condition that makes it hard for me to understand emotions.  It affects my ability to both show them and read them in others.  I’m not completely emotionless, mind you, it just takes more effort for me than it does for others.”

                Linda wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  On the one hand, she could certainly picture it being a boon when dealing with angry, irate customers.  It meant he was far less likely to fly off the handle himself.  But it could also make nervous and uncomfortable around him. 

                “I see.  And how has this condition impacted your work life?”

                “I try not to let it.  I work as hard as I can, both on my actual work and understanding others.  The second part is harder though.  I’m much better now than I used to be though.”

                “Okay.  So, tell me more about yourself, other than your condition.”

                Linda did her best to carry out the rest of the interview like she would any other.  But  it became trickier as time wore on.  He was certainly qualified, and he seemed like a very hard worker.  The only problem was how cold and uncaring he seemed.  She could tell he had some emotions, he just didn’t display them.  When it was time for the interview to end, she was distressingly glad it was.

                “So, is there anything else you would like to say?  Any questions?  Comments?”  Linda asked.  She hoped he wouldn’t.

                “Ms. Parkers, I know I’m a difficult person to be around.  I know I make people uncomfortable.     I’ve been compared to a robot many times in the past.  I know there will be problems with having someone like me on your staff, especially when dealing with the public.  But I hope to improve myself.  It’s the main reason why I applied here.  I hope the experience of working in a place like this will help me with my condition.  If you hire me, I promise to do my best with my emotional problem, as well as my actual work.  I’ll do everything I can to make sure you won’t regret the decision.” 

                “I see.”  Linda said.  For some reason, a twinge of guilt entered her mind.  It wasn’t like he had given some big, inspiring speech or anything of the sort, and yet, she almost regretted the fact that she was already planning on not hiring him.  “Well, I can’t make any promises right now, since I have a lot of very qualified people to go through, and the interviews aren’t even finished yet.  When I make my decision I’ll let you know one way or another.”

                “Thank you for that.”  He said.  His lips shifted and moved, eventually forming into a crude smile.  It was a bit unsettling, but at least it showing he was trying.  “I hope to hear from you soon.”

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I imagine this would be a difficult condition to have.  I mean, it blocks basic empathy, which is so critical to our everyday interactions with people, and even society as a whole.  It must really be tough for them to get around every day like that.