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?

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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?

Word: Tessellate

 

tessellate

[ verb tes-uh-leyt; adjective tes-uh-lit, -leyt ]

 

verb (used with object), tes·sel·lat·ed, tes·sel·lat·ing.

to form of small squares or blocks, as floors or pavements; form or arrange in a checkered or mosaic pattern.

 

adjective

tessellated.

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               The floor was very odd. Every man stood on a large stone square, just big enough for himself. Each square was one of two colors, in an alternating pattern. The King knelt down and ran a hand along the smooth stone.

               “How curious.” He said. “Who could create such fine stonework?”

               “Does it matter dear?” The Queen asked. She stood next to the King. “We aren’t here to admire the floor. We’re here to do battle.”

               “Quite right, darling, quite right.” The King replied, standing upright and surveilling the army.

               There was something off though. Just a moment ago, he had overlooked a vast army of thousands. Now there were far fewer. So few he could count them all. A handful of common foot soldiers, the priests he and his wife had brought, and an unfortunately small number of mounted Knights. And for some reason there were two castle towers mounted on what looked like large wheels flanking them.

               The King looked to the man next to him, a priest with a tall hat and holding a staff with a suspiciously heavy decoration on the end. He forgot the mans name for some reason.

               “Bishop, what do you make of this?”

               “I have no knowledge of this place, Sire. But if we are here, then God wishes us to be here.”

               “I don’t know why we need priests here to begin with.” The Queen said. “Now, I wish divine aide as much as anyone, but couldn’t blessings be given before we left?” She huffed and placed a hand on her hip. A confused look crossed her face as she discovered a fine rapier there. “And why do I have a sword? I didn’t have a sword before. I don’t even know how to use it.”

               The Knight closest to her shouted over the priest at her side. “It’s easy, Your Highness. The pointy end goes into the other man.”

               The other Knight and a few soldiers chuckled. The King was too busy trying to figure out what was happening. He looked to the tower, and saw a few archers on it who looked just as confused as he felt.

               “Lookout! What do you see?” He shouted.

               “The enemy, Sire!” One of the archers replied. “It’s odd, they’re all dressed in black, just as we are white. And they’re in the same formation we are!”

               “How strange.”

               The King contemplated his next move. Perhaps he should have a parlay with the enemy. Maybe they would know something of importance. He tried to move forward, onto the square in front of him. But for some reason, the soldier in front of him always seemed to be right where the King wanted to be.

               “You there, soldier, move and let me by.”

               “Yes, Sire.” The soldier answered crisply.

               He took enough steps that he crossed two of the tiles, and then stopped. It was as if he could not move any more. That hardly mattered. The King tried to move forward himself. But his feet refused to move. He grunted with effort, but nothing he did would allow him to take even a single step.

               “Oh stop it.” The Queen said. “You look silly in front of the men. What is the problem anyway?”

               “I’m stuck. I don’t know why, but I can’t move.”

               “Well, stop trying then. At least try to look dignified.”

               The lookout atop the tower called that the enemy army was moving. But only one of them. One of their soldiers had mimicked their own. The royal couple looked at each other. The Queen shrugged.

               “It seems,” She said, “That each of our armies can only move one solider at a time. It is like some vast game.”

               “Indeed.” The King said with a nod. “And I suppose there is little choice but to play.”

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It's been quite awhile since I last played chess. Pretty sure the last time was in high school. So yeah, it's been awhile. I was never very good at it anyway, so no big loss.