Word: Mal du pays

               

mal du pays

[ mal dy pey-ee ]

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noun French.

1. homesickness.

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                Zack looked out the window and fingered his necklace. He felt wrong somehow. He knew everything was fine, and there was nothing to worry about, but he still felt wrong. Something deep inside of him did not want to be there.

               “Something wrong?”

               Zack nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden interruption of his thoughts. He twisted until he found the speaker. His friend, Heather stood on what was for him the ceiling. Of course, since there was no gravity, for her, it was the other way around.

               “Just…just thinking.” He said once his heart calmed down.

               “Oh, that’s a dangerous pastime, you might want to look into something else.” She said with a playful smirk. She reached up, down for her, and grabbed the loop her foot was slipped in. She used it to swing down and plant her feet on the same surface as his. “But seriously, what’s up? You look…you look off.”

               “I don’t know.” Zack said, facing the window again. “I just feel wrong somehow.”

               Heather glanced at his hands. He was rubbing the necklace again. She let out a quick chuckle. “Oh, I get it.” She said.

               “Get what?”

               “You’re homesick.”

               “What? No I’m not.” He was not sure he believed his own declaration.

               “Yes you are. You totally are. Why else would you be paying with your jar of dirt?”

               “What?” Zack had not been aware he was touching the necklace. He quickly lowered his hands.

               “Man, I don’t get it. Why bring a thimbleful of dirt with you? It’s not enough to do anything.”

               “I guess…I guess I just wanted something to remind me of home. Something other than holovids and still images. Something real. Something I can feel. And what better than a piece of the planet itself?”

               “And now it’s backfiring, isn’t it?”

               He looked at her and sighed. Then he reluctantly nodded. She was right. He was homesick. Very homesick. He hated to admit it, but traveling through the cold void of space to a new colony world was making him remember Earth. And part of him wanted to go back.

               “I know I can’t go back, not after giving everything up to leave.” He said slowly. “But now that I’m actually here, now that it’s actually happening, I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake. If I should just get on the next return ship when we finally do arrive, you know?”

               Heather placed an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, don’t be like that. That’s quitter speak. Are you a quitter, Zack?”

               “Uh, sometimes.”

               “Well not here. Not now. Maybe someday you can go back, but only for a visit. You know, a vacation. We’re going to do great things once we get to the colony. We’re going to make it, and it’ll be way more of a home to us than Earth ever was. Next time you see that place, you’ll be wearing a tiny jar of colony dirt around your neck.”

               Zack nodded. He wanted to ask her how she could be so excited about this. How she got over the feeling of homesickness herself, or if she ever felt it. How she could be so confident of their success. But he asked none of those questions. He simply looked out the windows at the streaks of light that were the stars and thought. He was still homesick. Terribly homesick. But that would pass. Heather was right. They would make new homes for themselves. New lives. And everything would be great. 

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I guess homesickness isn't something a lot of people are experiencing now, is it? What with all the travel restrictions and most things being closed and all that. Maybe once people can start traveling again it'll be something people need to think about again.

Word: Desideratum

desideratum

[ dih-sid-uh-rey-tuhm, -rah-, -zid- ]

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noun, plural de·sid·er·a·ta [dih-sid-uh-rey-tuh, -rah-, -zid-].

1. something wanted or needed.

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               The two boys looked around, confused at their new whereabouts. They were in a large room with dull grey walls, floor and ceiling. The only piece of furniture was a single wooden table with a covered tray on it. Behind the table was a figure that could have been a man.

               “Greetings, boys.” The figure said. His voice was hollow, and had an almost echoing quality to it. It was like hearing someone at the bottom of a deep ravine while standing at the top.

               “Who are you?” Asked one of the boys. He was a plump fellow, and very well dressed. “How did I get here, and what do you want with me? Do you have any idea who my father is? If you hurt me, he’ll have your head on a spike.”

               “Yes, charming. I do know who your father is, Jeremy Wilcox. I know quite well.” The man said, unperturbed by Jeremy’s outburst. “But I am more concerned with who you are. Or rather, who you could be.”

               Jeremy crossed his arms and huffed. He had more important things to do that listen to this obviously insane person.

               “Um, excuse me…” said the other boy. He was painfully skinny, dirty, and dressed in third hand clothes. “I don’t know where this is, but can you let us go? I have to help mom.”

               “Perhaps. That depends on you, Thomas.”

               “Why?”

               “If you both will step forward, I have here something of interest to both of you.”

               The man uncovered the top of the tray, revealing a lavish meal, consisting of a whole chicken, warm bread, freshly cooked greens, and mashed potatoes. Jeremy smiled at the fare. He was used to this kind of meal, and now that food was involved, he was much more willing to listen. Thomas was unsure what to think of it. He would love to eat, but he had never seen such rich food before, and so had no idea how to react.

               “Now then, both of you will tell me why I should give this meal to you, and once I hear your answer, I will decide what to do with both of you.”

               Jeremy smirked. “You should give it to me because I want it.”

               “That is all?”

               “What other reason do you need? I get everything I want, no questions asked. And that means, since I want that meal, you should give it to me.” The wealthy boy patted his stomach. Sure, he had already eaten a good meal, but he could always do with something tasty.

               Thomas’ stomach growled at the smell of the food. Had he eaten today? He could not remember. He took a longing look at the chicken and sighed. “I don’t know.” He said. “I don’t know why you should give it to me. I mean, I guess because I’m hungry? But just the bread will be okay for that. I’ll make do with something else later. You can give the rest to him, I guess.”

               “You see? Even the poor boy knows you should give it to me.” Jeremy said triumphantly. “It’s good to know that someone knows his place in the world.”

               The man looked from one boy to the other. Silence filled the room for almost a minute before he spoke. “I have decided. Jeremy, you will go back to your home, and forget all of this.”

               “Wait, but what about the food?”

               “You will not get any. Goodbye. We will not meet again.”

               And with that, Jeremy disappeared. Thomas looked at the place the other boy had been with wide, confused eyes.

               “As for you, Thomas, we have much to talk about. While we talk, you may eat.” The man said, producing a fork and knife for Thomas to use.

               “Are…are you sure? I mean, I don’t know if I can accept something like this.”

               “I am positive. Enjoy your meal and listen. You have a very interesting life ahead of you, child. Very interesting indeed.”

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Ah, food. The ultimate in both want and need. We need it to live, but we also want it to be good, even if the flavor isn't really the important part. And maybe we just want more than we need. Well, okay, no "maybe" about it, is there? Especially here in the US. 

Word: Totis viribus

 

totis viribus

[ toh-tis -wee-ri-boos; English toh-tis -vir-uh-buhs ] 

 

adverb Latin.

1. with all one's might.

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               Jimmy looked around at the small crowd that had gathered, and then at the long, padded mallet in his hands. It was heavier than he thought it would be, but he was strong. Even if the bigger kids said he was weak, he knew he was strong. Besides, this would not be too hard. The strength test game was only a little taller than he was.

               “Let’s give him a round of applause!” The announcer called. The people clapped politely. Most of the sound came from the rest of the carnival and his parents, who stood by watching and smiling. “Remember kiddo, three tries to ring the bell and win a prize. Give it a go.”

               Jimmy raised the mallet and brought it down quickly. The hopper jumped a little bit but fell quickly. The announcer told him it was a good try, and to keep going. Jimmy raised the hammer and took a deep breath. That was only his first try, and he had not put much into it. This time would be better.

               He swung with everything his arms could bring to bear. The hopper rose a lot higher this time. It went almost halfway up the game but did not reach the bell. Jimmy was getting scared. What if he could not do it? What if he was as weak as the bullies said he was? No, that could not be. He knew he was strong, his dad said so. And dads were never, ever wrong.

               He looked over at his dad, who smiled and nodded. Jimmy watched the man lean back a little, and then pat his stomach. Jimmy thought about that for a moment. Was his dad giving him a hint? And what did it mean? His brow furrowed as his thoughts raced. Then, as he watched his dad doing the same thing again, he understood. Or at least, he thought he did.

               Jimmy turned back to the game and took a deep breath. He raised the mallet high over his head and leaned back much as he could. Then he tightened his stomach and used it to help his swing. He brought it down with every bit of strength he could muster. This time, when the mallet hit the metal pad, he felt the hit in his arms. And he heard it. A tinny little ding.

               He had done it! He had hit the bell!

               “And we’ve got a winner!” The announcer called. “Nice work, kiddo. Now here’s your prize.”

The small audience clapped. His parents clapped louder than anyone. Jimmy broke out in a huge smile as the announcer handed him a huge stuffed dog. The toy was almost as big as he was, and Jimmy hugged it close.

His parents led him away from the game. His dad offered to carry the stuffed dog for him, since it looked heavy. It was, but Jimmy wanted to hold it. There was no need for his dad’s help this time. After all, he was strong enough to handle it. 

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It's the simple things in life, you know? The little things that just make life all the better, no matter what else happens.

Word: Capacious

 

capacious

[ kuh-pey-shuhs ] 

adjective

 

1. capable of holding much; spacious or roomy: a capacious storage bin.

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               Jeff stared wide eyed and open mouth. He thought this was the stuff of stories, and yet, here it was. Two people that had appeared in his bedroom in a burst of light. One was a man wearing armor polished to a mirror shine, with a sword almost as big as he was strapped to his back. The other was a woman wearing elaborate robes and carrying a staff that seemed to glow. And both of them were freakishly good looking. Jeff swore that they came out of some teenager’s imagination when asked to think about comic book characters in a fantasy setting.

               The two looked around and saw Jeff, still sitting on his bed. The man smiled and said something in a language Jeff did not recognize. When the only response the swordsman got was a blank stare, the woman said something, then smacked the larger man upside the head. The two bickered back and forth for a moment. Just long enough for Jeff to begin seeing a family resemblance. Both had the same clear blue eyes and vibrant brown hair. Both had the same distinctive jawline and cheekbones.

               When the siblings stopped arguing, the woman spoke again. The words she used were different though. Deeper, somehow. Like she was speaking to the world itself. Her staff pulsed and a bright light settled on Jeff. He felt something in his mind. A presence he could not begin to fathom. It was not unpleasant though. More like an old friend who was just there to ask a few questions. The feeling quickly retreated, leaving Jeff more confused than ever. Was that magic? Real magic?

               “Now then, can you understand me?” The woman asked.

               “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can.”

               “Good. I’m sorry for my idiot brother.” She said, glaring at the swordsman. “He spoke without letting me cast my translation spell. It was quite rude, and I’ll ensure he doesn’t step out of line again.”

               “Uh, sure. Yeah, Okay. No, uh, no problem.”

               “Excellent. My name is Evora, and my brother is Eron. And you are?”

               “Jeff.”

               “Jeff? What an odd name. We must have traveled quite far.”

               “Oh yeah. A lot farther than you think, I bet.” Jeff had no idea where they were from, but he was willing to bet he had never heard of it, nor had they heard of Philadelphia.

               “I’m sure. If you’re willing, perhaps you can aid us? We do need a guide. I don’t know if you’ll accept this as payment, but we have plenty of coin, and gold is usually a fairly safe bet for money.”

               She reached into a small bag at her hip. She frowned a moment, muttered something in her original language, then shoved her entire hand into the bag. It was smaller than a fanny pack, but her hand disappeared below the wrist. She must have found what she was looking for, as she withdrew a small pouch, where she emptied a few gold coins into her hand.

               “That’s uh, that’s quite the bag you got there.” Jeff said, focusing more on that than the gold.

               “Hm? Oh, yes, the dimensional bag. It’s quite useful. Much bigger than it looks, you know. You don’t have these in this country?”

               “Nope. We have stories about them, but they’re just stories.”

               “Oh, that’s too bad. I know they aren’t all that common, but every good adventurer should have one. They make travel so much easier. If you like, I can make one for you, instead of gold.”

               “You…can make those?”

               “Oh yes. I’m quite the enchanter, you know. I can make all kinds of magic items.”

               “And your brother?”

               “Oh no. He’s not magically gifted. He just has brute strength on his side.”

               The man in question was looking from Jeff to his sister and back again with a confused look on his face.

               “He…doesn’t understand us, does he?”

               “No. I didn’t cast my spell on him. Let him stew for a while. That’ll teach him some manners.”

               Jeff shuddered. He was very glad his sister did not have magical powers. That would have made growing up with her unbearable, instead of just highly annoying.

               “Okay, putting that aside, Evora, right? I think we can work out a deal. You make me one of those dimension bag things, and I’ll show you around town.”

               “Wonderful.” She said with a glowing smile.

               “You and your brother will need some new clothes though. You two stand out too much like this.”

               “I have plenty of spares in my bag.”

               “Well then, I’ll show you where you can change, and then we can get started.”

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Ah, the Bag of Holding. One of the greatest creations of fantasy every. Others way swear by the ever classic fire sword, and the magic shield. But we all know the real star of the show is the bag that can hold as much stuff as a typical warehouse.  Where would games and stories be without them?