Word: Quinquennium

quinquennium

[kwin-kwen-ee-uh m, kwing-]

noun, plural quinquenniums, quinquennia

[kwin-kwen-ee-uh, kwing-] (Show IPA)

1. a period of five years.

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               The old man lead Bill through the cave into a tunnel in the back.  The front of the cave, where the two first met, is small and sparsely decorated.  A few mats made of goat skin, a fire pit, and some dried herbs.  But the tunnel leads to a much different place.  It’s far larger and with much more going on.  The walls glisten with crystals or various colors.  Intricate patterns are carved on the floor, circles and squares within squares and other, unidentifiable shapes.  In the middle of all of it is a pit filled with purple liquid.  The liquid gives off a faint light, like someone stuck a bright light bulb at the bottom of it.

                “Are you sure you want to do this?” The old man asked.  “It won’t be easy, and there are no short cuts.”

                “Yeah, I’m sure.” Bill said.  “I mean, I did come all this way.  It’d be a waste to just give up now.”

                “I see.”  The old man took a deep breath.  A few strands of his thick, white beard shift as he exhales.  “Very well.  Remove everything you have on you.  Clothes, accessories, everything.  Once you’re finished, get in the water.”

                “Everything?  You sure I can’t leave my—“

                “Everything.” The man said again, more forcefully.  “If you leave any objects on it will cause problems.”

                “Okay.  What about my fillings?  I can’t take those out you know.”

                The man thinks about this for awhile.  “I see your point. Those will be difficult.  The process wasn’t made with such things in mind.  On the one hand, they are in you, at least in part.  But on the other…Perhaps it would be best not to risk that.  They’ll have to come out too.”

                Bill stiffened.  That had not been the answer he had been expecting.  He didn’t have many fillings, but still.  They had been a major pain getting the things in, even with Novocain and a good dentist.  Getting them removed by an old man without proper tools would not be pleasant.  Not to mention the fact that he’d have some sizable holes in his teeth left over that would make eating an even worse pain.

                “Are…are you sure that’s necessary?”

                “No.  But best not to take any chances when dealing with great cosmic forces.  Open your mouth.  Don’t worry, this won’t hurt as much as you think it will.  And if you’re worried about tooth pain, don’t.  Hold some of the water for awhile and it’ll be fine.  Now, open wide.”

                Bill clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth.  He felt a small tug on the teeth with fillings in them.  Then there was an odd feeling in the places as his breath passed over the teeth. 

                “There we go, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” The old man asked.

                Bill opened his eyes.  The man was holding three tiny pieces of shaped metal in his hand.  It took Bill a moment to figure out what he was seeing.

                “That was it?  Those are my fillings?”

                “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.” The old man said.  “Now then, clothes and jewelry off and into the water with you.”

                Bill hesitated a moment, but complied.  The air in the cave was warmer than he thought it would be, so even devoid of clothing, he wasn’t cold.  He looked again at the purple water, noting the depth.  From where he stood, it looked to be about two feet deep.  He would have to lay down to cover his entire body.

                It was deeper than it looked.  The moment he stepped into the water, he sank in down to his neck, leaving just his head exposed.  The water was warm, and it make his skin tingle.

                “Okay, I’m in.” Bill said.  “Now what?”

                “Now you stay in there until the water finishes.  Now, you’ll want to drink some of it, and make sure you hold some in your mouth to deal with those cavities.”

                “Got it.  How long do I have to stay in here for?”  Bill assumed it would be a few hours.  Maybe a day.  No more than a week for sure.

                “Five years.” The old man said.  Bill’s mind came to a screeching halt.

                “I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you.  It sounded like you said I’d have to stay in here for five years.”

                “I did.  And I meant it.  You can’t leave the pool for five years once you’re in.  If you leave now, there will be problems.  Oh, but staying in longer is fine.  In fact, the longer you’re in, the better.  Not only that, but after five years is up, you can leave and go back in at a later time.  Of course, you’ll have to spend another five years then as well.  Every time you exit and go back in, you’ll have to spend five years in it.”

                “And if I don’t?”

                “Bad things.  Trust me, you don’t want to spend less than five years in there. It is, as you said, a waste of time.”

                “How bad is it?”

                “I heard of one man who spend four years and three months in the pool.  He died a month later.  Someone who spend two years in there only lasted a week.  The water doesn’t kill you directly, but the powers running through it find ways of punishing those who aren’t able to last the full time.”

                “Oh.  Great.” Bill said.  He immediately regretted his decision.  “What am I going to do standing here for five years?”

                “Read and listen.  I’ll be handling your education for the first three years.  After that, you should be able to hear the powers talking to you.  They will teach you far more than I can.”

                Bill was silent as he thought about that.  He knew he was here to learn the great powers of the universe, so none of what the old man was saying was particularly out of place. 

                “How long have you stayed in here?” Bill asked.

                “I was in for ten years the first time.  I’ve been in the pool four times in total.  The longest was twelve years.”

                “And in total?”

                “Fifty-five years in total.””

                That couldn’t have been possible.  While the man did look old enough to have spent fifty years doing something, that would mean he spend most of his life in the purple water.  How could anyone tolerate that?

                “If you’re wondering, I’m 246 years old, so fifty-five isn’t all that much.”

                “But…but…”

                “The water in that pool has many powers.  Extending one’s life is practically mundane next to what else you’ll be capable of.  Now then, take some time, to get used to the water.  You’ll be in there for quite awhile, after all.  And don’t worry, the first five years will be over before you know it.”   

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Why yes, I did see Dr. Strange recently.  Why do you ask?  It was a fun movie, but it has nothing to do with this story.  Why, the differences are huge.  Just because they both feature someone starting a journey towards learning to use great cosmic powers doesn't mean anything.  This one has magic water.  Totally different.

Word: Equipoise

equipoise

[ee-kwuh-poiz, ek-wuh-]

noun

1. an equal distribution of weight; even balance; equilibrium.

2. a counterpoise.

verb (used with object), equipoised, equipoising.

3. to equal or offset in weight; balance.

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               Don’t look down. That’s the first thing they tell you.  Whatever you do, don’t look down.  Yeah, right. Easier said than done.  I mean, come on.  How am I supposed to not look down when they tell me not to?  It’s not possible.  Seriously, that river just makes me want to look down even more, just to see how doomed I am if I fall.  Just remember, keep your eyes on the other side.  Okay, I think…I think I can do that.  Probably.  Maybe. 

                Now then, the stuff.  I’m supposed to keep it all balanced, right?  How do they do that?  I mean, there’s so much of it that I’m not sure how I’m even carrying it all.  And how is a big stick supposed to keep me from falling to me death?  Oh god, I think something’s out of whack.  I can feel it.  Something is making me tilt, which makes the rope sway, which makes me fall.

                I should just turn back.  I mean, I’m still closer to the start than to the finish, right.  Okay, no I’m not.  Wow.  When did that happen?  I am definitely in the middle of the rope.  What do I do?  Do I keep moving?  Yeah, I should probably keep moving.  Turning around is probably a bad idea.  I mean, there isn’t exactly a lot of room to turn here.  And if I try, something might get disturbed.  And if that happens…yeah, don’t think about that.

                And for god sakes, don’t you dare look down.  Why did I just think that?  I shouldn’t have thought that.  Now I want to look down again.  Just keep the pole even and the rest of the stuff from moving and you’ll be fine.  That’s what they said.

                Why did I even agree to do this?  It’s stupid and dumb and…and…wait, don’t stupid and dumb mean pretty much the same thing?  I think they do.  Or at least they mean something that might as well be the same.  So does that mean if something is stupid, it’s also dumb?  Must be.  So, if this is stupid, I don’t need to call it dumb then.  Idiotic?  No, same thing.  Well, whatever it is, it’s stupid and dangerous and not fun at all. 

                I mean, come on.  Who’s the head case that thought walking across a piece of rope with a big stick was a good idea?  And who was the one who thought making it into a camping trip would be even better? I bet someone with a death wish, that’s who.  I mean come on, we needed to bring a set of scales to make sure we were all even on both sides.  Scales...on a camping trip.  Yeah, that’s smart.  I mean, couldn’t we just go to a lake or something?  That would be a lot more fun without the risk of plummeting to your doom because you forgot to bring the right number of socks or something.  And let’s not forget that a good, stiff breeze is enough to knock me off this thing.

                Hm?  Did I?  Yup, I made it.  I really made it across.  You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.

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Tightrope walking is dangerous without proper training.  Carrying camping equipment while tightrope walking is dangerous even with proper training.  I would advise against doing either of those two thing.  Seriously, just don't.  

Word: Juvenilia

juvenilia

[joo-vuh-nil-ee-uh, -nil-yuh]

plural noun

1. works, especially writings, produced in one's youth:

His juvenilia were more successful than his mature writings.

2. literary or artistic productions suitable or designed for the young:

publishers of juvenilia.

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               Jill rushed into the living room where her husband, Greg, was sitting watching TV.  She waved a few sheets of paper excitedly as she made her way towards him.

                “Look at this.” She said, flapping the papers around.  Her excitement was practically tangible.

                Greg took the papers and gave them a quick glance.  They were filled with the large, clumsy letters that he knew to belong to their eight year old son, Henry.  “What is it?” He asked.

                “It’s something Henry wrote.”

                That much was obvious, but Greg did not ask any other questions.  The non-information was given to mean he should find out on his own, rather than asking her.  Greg muted the TV and started to read.  It was story about a boy who lost his favorite ball, and went out to look for it.  The story was filled with spelling and grammar errors, run on sentences, and the story telling was clumsy.  But, given how old the author was, such mistakes were not only forgivable, but expected.  Greg did his best to ignore the mistakes of youth and focused on the story itself.  It was far from perfect, but it was a far better story than any eight year old had a right to create.  Not only that, but it was three pages long, which was impressive for a child that age.

                “I think our Henry might be a literary genius.” Jill squealed with delight.  “He’ll grow up to be a world famous author, I’m sure of it!”

                Greg sighed and lowered the short story.  “Now, Jill, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  He’s a smart kid, sure, but that doesn’t mean—“

                “Oh no, I’m positive.” Jill interrupted.  “You should’ve seen him writing that.  His little eyes just lit up so brightly.  Oh, oh, we need to sign him up for advanced English courses.  Maybe there’s a program to promote young writers in the community center.”  She was bathing in motherly pride, to the point where just about any arguments would be lost on her.

                “Jill, he hasn’t even hit double digits yet.  Let’s not put any ideas in him yet.”

                “Are you saying we shouldn’t encourage our son?” She said.  Her expression did a complete 180.

                “No, of course not.  I mean, sure, this shows he could have some talent as a writer, and we should definitely encourage that.  But let’s not put any pressure on him to become the next Dickens or something.”

                “But…but…”

                “Honestly, will it matter if he becomes famous or not?”

                “Well, no…”

                “Exactly.  We should be encouraging him, not putting pressure on him.  Let him dream, but don’t force it on him.  Otherwise he’ll grow up to hate writing.”

                Jill looked horrified.  “Oh, oh no.  That’d be terrible.” 

                “Exactly.  So let’s, you know, let’s not sign him up for all that.  I mean, if he wants to, sure.  But let’s not make the decision for him, okay?”

                “Okay.” Jill relented.  “But I’m still hanging the story up on the fridge.”

                “Naturally.” Greg handed the papers back to his wife.  He did not even try to suppress a grin as he continued, “After all, that’s the first story he ever wrote.  When he’s famous, people are going to want to see it.”

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Parents, always remember to encourage your kid's artistic endeavors.  You never know what kind of future you might open up for them if you do, and what you'll be shutting down if you don't.

Word: Frowzy

frowzy

or frouzy

[frou-zee]

adjective, frowzier, frowziest.

1. dirty and untidy; slovenly.

2. ill-smelling; musty.

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                   As soon as the door was open, Todd was hit with a wall of stink that was every bit as painful as running head first into a brick wall.  He cringed and held his nose in a vain attempt to ward off the smell.

                “What is that?” He asked.

                “What’s what?” Kevin replied.  He entered the apartment like nothing was wrong.

                “That smell.  What in the world is that smell?”

                Kevin sniffed the air.  “What smell?” He asked.  He looked perfectly sincere when he asked it.

                “What smell?  What do you mean ‘what smell’?  How can you not smell that?”

                Kevin shrugged his shoulders and gave a non-committal grunt.  “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

                “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever smelled.” Todd said as he slowly entered the apartment. 

                He was not lying, nor exaggerating.  He had once been sprayed by a skunk, and he had once thought that was the most horrible scent he had ever been exposed to.  Now that he had experienced Kevin’s apartment, he would have taken the skunk spray any day.

                “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” Kevin brushed the comment off.

                Todd slowly entered the apartment, and the smell only got worse.  One glance around the place and it was obvious why the place smelled so bad.  Kevin’s apartment was filthy.  Clothes lay strewn about the floor and furniture, and were covered with something that Todd did not want to even try identifying.  Old, unwashed dishes covered every surface that was not occupied by dirty clothes, and often times covered places that were already occupied by something else.  Flies buzzed around the dishes, and when disturbed they moved on to another dish.  Sometimes they even found actual food, or at least something that had once been food.  Bottles and other garbage were just as prevalent as everything else, so much so that Todd was unable to tell where the floor ended and the trash started.  It seemed like the floor was made out of old chip wrappers and empty beer bottles.

                Todd let out a string of incoherent sounds, unable to think of actual words in the face of the most potent mess he had ever seen.  He eventually found his words.  “How?  How do you live like this?”

                “What?  Oh, right, the stuff.” Kevin said.  “I know it’s not the cleanest place around, but it works just fine.”

                “Not the—man, this place isn’t unclean.  This place is the very definition of a mess.  I mean, come one, do you just sit on the garbage instead of chairs?  Do you even own any chairs?”

                “I have chairs.  They’re, uh…” Kevin looked around, trying to find an actual piece of furniture.  “Somewhere.” He said once he gave up. 

                “You have got to clean this place up.  This is not cool.  I mean it, it’s not just bad.  It’s unhealthy.  You can get sick from all this stuff.  I’ll be surprised if I don’t get sick after being here.  I mean, it smells like death and looks just as bad.”

                “It’s not that bad.”

                “I bet the only reason I haven’t seen any rats yet is because there’s so many places for them to hide.”

                As soon as he said it, Todd swore he saw something looking at him from under a discarded shirt.  It disappeared too quickly for him to identify, but it was obvious what it was.

                “Look, I will help you clean this place up.” Todd said.  “But you have to promise me that if I do, you will never, ever let it get this bad again.”

                Kevin looked at Todd like he was giving the deal some serious thought.  “Alright, fine.  I guess I can do that.” He said slowly.

                “Great.  Now, let’s go.”

                “Where?”

                “To get supplies.  I know you don’t have any in this place, and we’re going to need a lot of trash bags and air freshener.”

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Don't let your place of residence get like this.  It's just not good.  I'm not the cleanest person in the world, and even I wouldn't let it get this bad.  Seriously, if you keep on top of cleaning, it's not that hard.  It's only tough if you let the mess pile up for awhile.