Word: Festoon

festoon

[fe-stoon]

noun

1. a string or chain of flowers, foliage, ribbon, etc., suspended in a curve between two points.

2. a decorative representation of this, as in architectural work or on pottery.

3. a fabric suspended, draped, and bound at intervals to form graceful loops or scalloped folds.

4. Dentistry. the garlandlike area of the gums surrounding the necks of the teeth.

verb (used with object)

5. to adorn with or as with festoons:

to festoon a hall.

6. to form into festoons:

to festoon flowers and leaves.

7. Dentistry. to reproduce natural gum patterns around the teeth or a denture.

8. to connect by festoons.

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                   Dave watched as his wife, Linda, furiously strung colorful streamers in large loops across the room.  He was getting a bit worried about how zealous she was about the whole affair. 

                “Don’t you think there’s enough of those by now?”  He asked.  She stopped mid way through pushing yet another thumb tack into a purple streamer and turned sharply to face her husband.  She was clearly in panic mode, and his question had set her off.

                “Enough?  Enough?  How could you even think that?”  She said through quick, deep breaths. 

                “I’d think it was pretty obvious at this point.”  Dave said, looking around the room.

                Streamers were everywhere.  They hung around the room it large loops, dipping both low and high.  The ceiling and doors were covered with them.  There were so many that some couldn’t even be strung up properly and simply dangled over the floor.

                “No, it’s not.  Becky wanted streamers, you know that.” Linda said, resuming her work.  She quickly finished another large loop by pinning the free end to the wall. 

                “Yeah, I know she did.  But I don’t think she meant quite this many.”

                “You don’t know that.  She might not even think this is enough.”  She paused a bit before getting another loop pinned up.  “You know, why don’t you help me hang a few more, just to be safe?”

                “Linda, she’s six.  I think this is more than enough.  Besides, the kids will just end up tearing them down anyway.  Do you really want to clean up that many streamers once the party is over?”

                That caused Linda to stop dead.  She obviously hadn’t considered the clean up after their daughter’s birthday party.  She looked at the length of purple paper in her hands and considered her actions.  She turned and looked at how many she had hung up and the reality hit her hard.  It would already be a nightmare dealing with the amount she had already hung up.

                “Okay, yeah, I suppose you’re right.”  She admitted as she stepped down off the small step ladder.  “But what if she thinks there aren’t enough?”

                “Like I said, she’s only six.  She’s not exactly hard to please.”

                “But she wanted streamers.”  Linda said, repeating her excuse for hanging so many in the first place.

                “She also wanted a pink bunnies, and there aren’t any of those around.  Somehow, I think she’s survive.”

                Linda rubbed her face and sighed.  The party was already stress inducing enough for her, and the reminder of something that couldn’t be done didn’t exactly help.  Linda knew that if Becky had only said pink bunnies and not real ones, then there would have been images of pink rabbits in addition to the massive amounts of streamers. 

                “Look, everything’s going to be fine.”  Dave said, placing a reassuring hand on Linda’s shoulder.  “We have everything ready.  All the games are ready, all the goodie bags are prepped, and all the decorations are set up, even if you think otherwise.  In an hour the house will be filled with twenty screaming six year olds and you won’t even have time to worry about whether Becky likes the streamers or not.”

                “Great.”  Linda said dryly.  Her face suddenly shot up and her eyes widened.  “Oh god, what about the food?  Is the food ready?”

                “Yes, it’s all good.  We’ve got more junk food I this house now than in the past five years combined.”

                “What about the pizza?  Did you…”

                “It’s all taken care of.  I placed the order almost an hour ago.  They should be delivering them a few minutes before the kids get here.”

                “But did you get enough?  I mean, there’s a lot of people coming.”

                “I made sure to get enough.  Even factoring in all the teen and adult guests we’ll be getting, we’ll still be eating leftover pizza for a week after the party, trust me.”

                “Are you sure?  Are you absolutely sure?”

                “One hundred percent.  Look, everything’s going to be fine.  You just need to take a step back and calm down.”

                He moved behind her and started rubbing her shoulders to try and take her mind off to party prep.  She seemed to relax into the shoulder rub for a moment.  It didn’t last nearly as long as Dave hoped it would.

                “Maybe I should hang one more roll, just to be safe.”

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Ah children's birthday parties, aren't they so much fun?  Well, maybe not for the parents, but for everyone else.  Or at least the kids anyway. 

Word: Clishmaclaver

clishmaclaver

[klish-muh-kley-ver, kleesh-]

noun, Scot.

1. gossip; idle or foolish talk.

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Bri’s phone let out a light chime.  She turned away from the larger screen of her laptop in favor of the smaller one of her phone.  The message was from one of her in-school friends, Chrissie.

Have you heard? Read the small script.  Bri knew perfectly well it was vague on purpose.  She would have to respond to find out what the other girl was talking about.

no what? Bri replied.

Millie Adams was talking about you.  said you hang out with nerds and stuff.

Bri rolled her eyes.  She was perfectly familiar with what was going on.  It was like a big strategy game with school popularity on the line.  Millie was her main opponent, and Chrissie was one of her biggest troops.  Only instead of pieces on a board and cards to play, they used gossip and rumors to try and beat the other.  So far Bri was winning, but with this new volley, that could change. 

Bri cracked her knuckles and got her counter attack ready.  She had many possible options, but she had been itching to use one in particular.

speaking of millie, you know where I saw her on saturday? She typed out.

Where? The word was followed by an emoji depicting a face with a quizzical look on it.

i saw her going into a thrift store.

OMG!!!!  Another emoji, this one of a shocked face.

Bri smiled.  It was a perfect attack.  Although the statement itself was a lie, it was still a potent thing to say.  By itself it carried little to no weight, and meant nothing.  But one it went a round on the rumor mill, it would be devastating.

There was a reason Bri was the most popular girl I school, and the fact that she looked good in a swim suit was only one of them.  The main reason was she was good at the gossip game.  Very good.  In fact the only reason she had invited Chrissie into her group was for that very reason.  It certainly wasn’t because of the girl’s “winning” personality or “keen” intellect, that was for sure.  No, it was because of her loose tongue and ability to spread and inflate rumors.  Once Chrissie got a nice, juicy bit of gossip in her, it was only a matter of time before it not only spread throughout the school, but got blown hugely out of proportion as well.

What was she doing in one of those? Chrissie asked.

IDK.  i didn’t stick around to see.  i had better things to do than watch Millie shopping.  Bri only lamented how easy it all was.  Now it was time to deal with Millie’s attack.  listen, i gtg.  got to make sure those nerds i ‘hang out’ with do a good job on my hw, right?

?

oh yeah, it’s easy.  wear a short enough skirt and they’ll do anything i tell them. you should try it some time.  Bri couldn’t help but laugh at how gullible and easy to manipulate her peers were. 

K! ttyl.

Bri’s only reply was of an emoji of a waving person.  She didn’t need any more than that.  She set her phone down, confident she had remained on top in that small battle.  It was time for her to enter into a very different arena.  She returned to the computer and opened her chosen chat method.  Several people joined in almost immediately.  She set her fingers on the keyboard and typed out a single sentence:

Okay you guys, we all good for D&D now?

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 Not sure if this is how high school girls text, but it's the best I can do.  I went to school way back when flip phones were still a in style and texting was not yet created.  And even now I don't really make use of that feature very often, so I'm kind of using what I see on the internet to make as good an approximation as I can.  

Word: Bombinate

bombinate

[bom-buh-neyt]

verb (used without object), bombinated, bombinating.

1. to make a humming or buzzing noise.

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               His eyes remained shut.  He didn’t need them to be open to know what was around him.  It was the same as every other day.  The chill of the heavily air conditioned room nipped at his skin, just as it always did.  He had learned to ignore that a few weeks after he came to the room.  The bright fluorescent lights dared him to open his eyes.  He refused, knowing he could keep them shut for a few more minutes.  It didn’t matter much anyway.  The noise was there.

                The dull, droning hum and whir of the machines.  it wasn’t loud, and most wouldn’t find it all that bad.  But it was the only thing that he had not yet gotten used to.  The ever present sound grated on his nerves, eating away at his mind ever so slowly.  It was a race, really.  A race to see if he could get used to the sound or if they drove him mad. 

                Finally he opened his eyes.  He reached for the one thing in the room that could drown out the sounds of the machines, even if it was only temporary.  His arm hit one of the tubes.  He stopped reaching.  This one was filled with red liquid.  He needed that one.  He slowly untangled his arm and the slightly warm tube attached to his side and continued his advance on his one solace.

                The headphones were cold, no surprise there.  They would warm up eventually.  He turned on the sound and the incessant hum of the machines was replaced by Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 18.  The upbeat music brought a rare smile to his thin face.  He waved his fingers around and bobbed his head in time with the music.  It was temporary measure, but it was all he had. 

                He slowly got out of bed, making sure his limbs didn’t tangle with any of the tubes attached to his body.  He winced with a sudden pain.  One of them had been bent around a bit in his sleep.  He carefully got up and made his way to the maintenance area to get another attachment.  Once it was fixed, he moved on to other business of the day. 

                Breakfast brought no joy like it used to.  A grey, tasteless paste made for him by the machines.  It was nutritious, but that was about it.  He sighed.  Not even the music in his ears could cheer him up from that sad meal. 

                He got up and slowly made his way to his only real connection with the outside world.  The computer flicked on.  He was glad the music was playing.  The computer may have been the only machine he got some kind of enjoyment from, but the sounds it made still contributed to that of the others.  He needed to work fast.  The Concerto was nearing its end, and he needed to load up the next one, or be forced to listen to the machines. 

                He didn’t make it.  The music ended too soon.  The headphones muffled the sound, but that almost made it worse.  Now it was like a gnat flying close to his ear.  Just barely audible, but infuriating none the less. 

                He ran his pale hand over his face and down to his thin chest.  His palm paused over his heart.  Or where it used to be at any rate.  He tried to remember what it was like having a real heart instead of being attached to one.  It was getting harder and harder every day. 

                He turned to look at the machine that made his blood flow.  A little box with lights and red tubes floating a bit above the floor.  It was probably his favorite.  Or at least the one that angered him the least.  It was the quietest.  The used to think about the irony of that.  One of the few that was supposed to make noise was the one that made the least. 

                He sighed.  Another of the machines let out a particularly loud whir as he did.  That one was the replacement for his lungs.  A taller, rectangle that floated high enough that it was almost against the ceiling.  That was the loudest, and so it was his most hated.   

                He shook his head and loaded up another piece of music.  No. 20 this time.  He listened to the music, blissfully free of the ever present drone of the machines keeping him alive.  It wasn’t enough to make him forget, but it was something.  He started his job, needed to pay for the horrid machines. 

                Once the music ended too soon for his taste.  He leaned back and listened to the machines whir.  He felt his eyes glazed over.  He cursed his own desire to live.  All it meant was that he was tied to the machines.  And to his life giving prison.  

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

 Yeah, this would pretty much suck, wouldn't it?  Having many of your vital organs out and needing machines to keep you alive.  Yeah, I'm not even sure I could handle that for long. 

Word: Propinquity

propinquity

[proh-ping-kwi-tee]

noun

1. nearness in place; proximity.

2. nearness of relation; kinship.

3. affinity of nature; similarity.

4. nearness in time.

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              “So, what’ve we got?” Lt. Maywood asked.

                “A whole field full of needle mines.”  Cline said.  He fiddled with the controls on his scope, zooming in to get a better view of the floating metal balls.

                “Any way through?” Maywood asked.

                “Not likely.  From here it looks like they’re too close together.  Close enough that there’s no way through.  Well, at least the first few rows do.  No gaps.  No way thorough without setting one off.”

                The officer swore under his breath.  The other members of his unit shuffled nervously.  None of them had any idea what to do.  They had experience with the floating mines, and it never turned out well for anyone on the receiving end.  A large amount could effectively stop even a large infantry unit in its tracks, to say nothing of a small one like theirs.

                You sure about that?”  Asked Jones, the newest member of the squad.  “They look pretty far apart to me.  It should be easy to slip through those things.”

                “Sure does look like that, doesn’t it?” Cline replied.  “But that’s how they get you.  Those things have a five foot detonation range.  You get within that radius and we’ll be picking two inch spikes out of your fresh corpse.”

                Jones’ face went white.  The idea of death by spike wasn’t a pleasant one for him.  The others didn’t react.  They all knew it wasn’t the worst way to go on the battlefield.  At least with the needle mines the body was recognizable. 

                “How soon until the scheduled rendezvous?”  Maywood asked.

                “Twenty minutes.”  Rogers, the smallest member of the squad answered.  “Problem is it’ll take at least twenty five to cross the field, even without the mines.”

                Maywood swore again.  It was too soon.  The time limit was coming up too quickly, and there was nothing he could do about it.  At least all of his superior officers would find his excuse reasonably sound.  The mine field was, in that regard, a blessing.  It meant the most he would get was a stern talking to, since not even his superiors could argue with a mine field full of needle mines.  Nobody would fault him for being late once they confirmed it.

                “Can we go around?” Jones asked.

                “It’ll take too long.”  Cline answered.  He fiddled with the scope, trying to find the end of the field.  “The mines extend almost two miles all around, and aside from this hill it’s all open terrain.  We’ll be sitting ducks.”

                “Edwards, we got any armors left?”  Maywood asked the squad’s carrier.  The large man dug into his backpack.

                “No, sir.”  He said.

                “Any stealths?”

                “Nope.”

                “Shields?  Decoys?”

                “No and no.  Oh, we do have one speeder left.”  He said, taking out a small, glowing yellow ball.

                “Great.”  Maywood said.  He now regretted using so many boosters in an earlier firefight.

                “Can’t we use it?” Rogers asked.  “I mean, I can go down and use it just before entering their range, then run though and open a hole.  I’m pretty fast even unboosted, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

                “Won’t work.” Maywood said.  It was a good plan in most other situations, but not here.  “There’s too many mines, and they’ll come out at you faster than you can move, even with the boost.  Even if you do manage to avoid them, once it runs out you’ll be a goner.  Plus, those mines are so close together you might trigger two or three at once without meaning to.  It’s no good throwing your life away on something that won’t get us anywhere.”

                The squad rummaged around, each of them doing their best to think of some way through the obstacle in front of them.  None of them worked.  The arrangement of the mines and the short time they had left made it an effort in futility.

                “Hey, can’t we just shoot them?”  Jones asked, brandishing his weapon.  “You know, set ‘em all off from here.”

                “That would work.”  Cline said.  “The impact would trigger the mines just fine, and we’re far enough away that the needled won’t hit us.  Plus, we can probably pick up the spent ones and use them later for something.”

                “And we can also paint a big red sign that says ‘Come kill us’.”  Maywood said. 

                “So then we just shoot one.”  Rogers said.  “Since they’re so close together the needles from that one will probably hit a few more, right?  And then those will hit more.  It probably won’t take out the whole field, but it’ll be enough for us to get through just fine.  And one shot won’t give our position away, since the enemy probably isn’t looking too hard right now in any one place.  Multiple shots would, but one should be alright.  Then it’s just a standard open field run.”

                Maywood considered the plan.  He could see many flaws with it, even if it did work.  But it was also the best option they had with their current equipment.  It would certainly clear out a good portion of the mines if they were lucky, and even if they weren’t it would take a few of them out.  Enough that they could at least risk the run with only their standard energy shielding.  Plus, with the rendezvous so close at hand, they didn’t have much choice anymore.

                “All right.”  He said with a sigh.  “I’ll take care of the shot.  Once the needles start flying, we start running, got it?”

                Every member of the squad responded.  Maywood got his gun and lined up the shot, pausing just long enough for his men to ready themselves.  Once he was confident they would all be ready, he pulled the trigger.

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Sounds like a video game, doesn't it?  But it's not.  It's a sci-fi story.  Although, it probably would form the basis of a decent game, don't you think?