Word: Prevaricate

 

prevaricate

[ pri-var-i-keyt ]

 

verb (used without object), pre·var·i·cat·ed, pre·var·i·cat·ing.

to speak falsely or misleadingly; deliberately misstate or create an incorrect impression; lie.

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               Ted replayed the events that had lead to this moment. All of them had seemed so normal. He had gotten his first date in over a year and had met her in a local diner. Nice and casual, perfect for a first date. The woman had introduced herself as Amy, and was everything he could hope for. Gorgeous, fun to talk to, and actually seemed interested in him. For some reason.

               Then she had suddenly dragged him behind the counter, pulled a gun out of her purse and started shooting at a bunch of men who had entered the diner. The men had started shooting right back.

               Now he was huddled behind a cheap wood and plastic barrier that was doing little to keep himself from getting shot. Amy ducked below it and fished another clip from her purse.

               “I’m really sorry about this.” She said as she reloaded. “I was really hoping nothing work related would happen tonight, but you know how it is.”

               She spun and shot a man who was trying to get behind the counter. She shot him right between the eyes.

               “Not like this, I don’t.” Ted said. His voice was a full octave higher than normal.

               “Right, of course not. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

               “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

               “Well, might as well ask them now. We’re probably not going to get another chance.”

               A bullet pierced the counter less than an inch away from his head. “Now? What about the guys shooting at us?”

               “That’s not going to stop for a while. Best get it over with before we get out of here.”

               “Okay, well, let’s see, I suppose the obvious one is how much of what you told me was true?”

               She ducked back down to reload. “Well, I really was born in Milwaukee.”

               “Anything else?”

               “Nope.”

               It figured. He should have known she was too good to be true.

               “Damn it. Running low. Hm, here, take this.”

               She held the gun out to him. He blinked. “I…I don’t know how to use a gun.”

               “It’s easy.” She pointed to the barrel. “Point this part at the person you want dead.” She pointed to the trigger. “Pull this to make the other person dead. Oh, and uh, you know how in movies the good guy holds the gun with one hand, or sideways or something?”

               “Yeah?”

               “Don’t do that. Two hands. Always two hands.”

               Before Ted could say anything else, she vaulted over the counter and rushed at the gunmen. He fumbled with the weapon for a moment before he held it, both hands around the handle in a white knuckle death grip. He slowly poked his head over the counter. Amy was moving like some kind of action heroine. She ducked, spun, and twisted around men, with her fists and feet lashing out like lightning. Men did not go down in one hit like the movies, but each attack clearly hurt.

               Ted tried to quiet his jackhammer of a heart and point the pistol at a man who was leveling a much larger gun at Amy. He took a deep breath, pointed the barrel at the man and pulled the trigger. It felt like it would fly out of his hands, and he was very glad he had followed her advice. He was less glad when he saw that he had missed. And that the large gun was now pointed at him.

               Then a discarded steak knife hit the gunman in the hand. Ted looked at Amy, who stood among a group of groaning men, breathing hard and sweat dripping down her face.

               “Thanks for the distraction.” She said. She acted like this was a normal occurrence for her. “Now, hand me the gun and I’ll take care of the rest.”

               “Uh…okay.” He held the weapon out and ducked down so he would not see her finish off the men she had beaten.

               When she was done, a sudden silence filled the air, broken by the distant sound of police sirens. Amy came around the counter and knelt next to him.

               “Okay, here’s the deal. You can either stay here and hope the cops will listen to you. This will probably result in you getting kidnapped by some very unpleasant people, simply because these guys saw you in close proximity to me. Or, you can come with me, get some answers and maybe do something cool.”

               “Or get shot in another fire fight.”

               “Yeah, or that.”

               “What, uh, what’re my chances of survival in either case?”

               “About 50-50 either way. With me, I can protect you, but the danger goes up a lot. Without me, no protection, but you probably won’t get shot right away. Beaten and kidnapped, but not shot.”

               “And will you tell me what’s going on? Honestly tell me?”

               “As much as I can, yes.”

               Ted listened to the rapidly approaching sirens. Then at the beautiful woman who had just killed a dozen men single handedly.

               “Ah, what the hell. It’s not like I was doing anything interesting with my life.” He said.

               “Excellent.” She replied with a wide smile. “Let’s get going.”

               Ted got to shaky, unsteady feet and nearly fell. Amy, or whatever her name was, had to help steady him until he was able to stand on his own. Then she led him through the kitchen and out the diner. He just hoped he had not made the worst mistake of his life. 

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 Yeah, I know this kind of story has been done before, but what else is new? Besides, it's usually the guy that's a secret agent, so that's different.

Word: Segue

 

segue

[ sey-gwey, seg-wey ]

 

verb (used without object), se·gued, se·gue·ing.

1. to continue at once with the next musical section or composition (often used as a musical direction).

2. to perform in the manner of the preceding section (used as a musical direction).

3. to make a transition from one thing to another smoothly and without interruption: The conversation segued from travel anecdotes to food.

noun

1. an uninterrupted transition made between one musical section or composition and another.

2. any smooth, uninterrupted transition from one thing to another.

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Jack and Sally opened their eyes at almost the same time. They looked around, finding themselves in a far different place than they had been. They had been in the local park, enjoying one of the dwindling nice days left in the year. Then the blinding flash of light, and now…

“Where are we?” Sally asked, looking around.

They were in a hallway. A cold, barren place without window, door, of decoration. Behind them was a blank concrete wall. In front of them, the hall expended farther than they could see.

“No idea.” Jack said. The two were silent for a moment. “Do you hear that?”

There was music playing. It was faint, and calling it music was a stretch. It was just a generic drumbeat with the slightest hint of rhythm to it.

“Huh, yeah, I do. Where’s it coming from? I don’t see any speakers or anything.”

“No idea. But I don’t think we can stay here. Wherever here is.”

Sally nodded her agreement. The two set off at a slow speed. Neither was aware of it, but they were stepping in time to the beat. This beat carried them through the hall. As they went, Sally’s face scrunched up.

“Hey, is it just me, or is this place changing?”

“It’s not just you.” Jack confirmed.

As they walk, the hallway made a smooth, gradual shift from blank concrete hall to a slightly nicer one. The floors became covered with bad faux wood, and the lights were not quite as harsh. Even the faint music became slightly nicer, having some actual variety in the beat.

They kept going. And the changes kept happening. They were smooth, like a gradient of color applied to interior decoration. And it was not always linear. Sometimes the hall became slightly nicer, others much worse. In one place they may as well have been in a five-star hotel, and as they went, it changed into a office building, and then into a run down thing that barely qualified as a structure. It was like someone had strung several buildings together into one seamless, continuous hallway.

And the music. The music always matched the hall. Nicer halls had beautiful classical music in the background. The worst halls had sounds that were almost painful to listen to. Most of them sounded more like generic elevator music though. And the transition was so smooth that it was sometimes hard to tell it was changing at all.

“Jack? This place is freaking me out.” Sally said.

“Yeah. Me too. It wouldn’t be so bad if there were a door or a window or something.”

“Or an end. That would be great. I don’t even know how long we’ve been walking.”

“Same. There has to be a way out eventually though, right?”

“Right, of course. There’s no such thing as an infinite anything.”

“Yeah. No such thing. Let’s keep going, I guess.”

The two kept walking down the slowly shifting hallway. Neither of them quite believed their hopeful words. But they kept walking anyway. After all, what choice did they have?

 ****************************

Maybe it's all a dream? This seems like the kind of thing that would be in a dream, doesn't it?

Word: xocolatophobia

 

xocolatophobia

[ koh-koh-ley-tuh-foh-bee-uh, shoh-koh-lo‐ ]

 

noun

an irrational or disproportionate fear of chocolate.

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               Jim wiped the sweat off his palms. He had no idea if this was normal, but he was damn near terrified about what was going to happen. He had no reason to, really. This was such a simple thing that everyone did it. He was just giving his girlfriend a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. What could be less nerve wracking than that?

               Maybe it was the newness of the relationship? Or it could be the worry that she wouldn’t like the gift. Or that she would find someone better than him. Or any number of things, really. No matter what the reason was, his brain was firing a mile a minute and his stomach was twisting in knots.

               He got within sight of her and a remarkable thing happened. He calmed down. The sight of his girlfriend, Grace, was like a soothing balm that made everything seem like it was going to be okay. How she did that just by existing, he would never know. But now that his nerves were steady, he could present her with his gift, modest as it was.

               “Hey, Grace!” He called to her. She looked up from her phone and a big smile spread across her face.

               “Jim! I was hoping to see you. You have any plans for Valentine’s?”

               “A few things, yes.” It was true. He had a whole night planned once they were both done with classes.

               “Excellent.” She said.

               She nearly skipped over to him and the two embraced. They held each other for what felt like hours, but probably was not. He liked being close to her. For a lot of reasons. But, eventually, he did pull away.

               “I, uh, I got you a little something to start things off. It’s not much, but keep in mind it’s only the beginning.”

               “Oo, I do love me a present.” She said with a light giggle. He knew it was a joke. Mostly, anyway. He just hoped she would like it. “What’d you get?”

               “Like I said, it’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

               With that, he presented he with the box of chocolate. It was a simple thing. Small, rectangular, and decorated with imaged of the candy held inside. It was supposedly high end stuff, and had cost a decent amount, so he prayed she would like it.

               Grace’s entire face locked up. Her eyes focused on the box and a few beads of sweat formed on her forehead, even with the mid-February cold.

               “O-Oh, chocolate. How…how nice.” She said through clenched teeth.

               Jim felt the pit of his stomach open. He had screwed it up. The look on her face said it all. She hated it. Somehow, he had gotten her the wrong thing. What did he do wrong? Was she on some kind of diet? Or maybe she was allergic to something?

               “Oh, oh god, you hate it, don’t you?” He said, crestfallen.

               “N-no, it’s…it’s great.” She said through clenched teeth.

               There was something wrong. She did not seem upset. Not even disappointed, really. Now that he thought about it, he had seen this kind of look on her before. He could not immediately say where, but it was definitely familiar.

               “Grace? Are you okay? Is there something wrong?”

               “I-I’m fine, really. Can…can you just, uh, just put the box…away somewhere? Please?”

               He slowly did so, tucking it into his jacket pocket. She let out a sigh of relief, but her eyes occasionally drifted to his pocket. It finally came to him. She had worn the same expression when his roommate tried to get them to watch a horror movie and she had tried to hide how much it scared her.

               “What’s wrong? Why did you act like that? It’s like, I don’t know, like you were scared of it.”

               She froze and laughed nervously. “Uh, well…”

               “Grace, are you scared of a box of chocolate?”

               “Uh, well, you know how there’s a phobia of everything? Including really rare obscure ones with crazy long names?”

               “Yeah?”

               “Well, chocolate is on that like. It’s weird name that starts with an X for some reason. I’d have to look it up. But yeah, it’s a thing. And I have it. Please don’t make fun of it.”

               “I would never do that!” He nearly shouted. “The last thing I would do is make fun of you for something you can’t help. The whole thing about phobias is they’re irrational fears, right? I just have to remember not to give you chocolates in the future.”

               She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Jim. That’s…that’s a big thing to hear that. The last guy I dated teased me all the time about it.”

               “Got it. So I should only tease you a little bit?”

               She put on a fake mad look and shoved his shoulder lightly. He laughed, and she joined in. The two headed off, walking side by side. Jim was just glad he had not ruined his relationship so early on. Now he just had to remember not to get her chocolate for any future events.

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

Yeah, I was surprised to hear this is apparently a thing too. I mean, really, who would be afraid of chocolate? Well, maybe if you're on a super strict diet, but even then, true fear? I guess there really is a phobia of everything, huh?