Word: Oneiric

oneiric

[ oh-nahy-rik ]

adjective

of or relating to dreams.

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               Dave woke and stretched. 

               “Good morning.” Said the still sleepy young woman next to him as she slowly sat up.

               Dave froze.  He turned sharply towards the speaker.  She was gorgeous.  Flowing, clay colored hair, vivid hazel eyes.  Everything he could ever hope for in a woman she had, and then some.  And he had no idea who she was.  He had definitely been alone when he went to bed.

               His mind went wild.  One part of him wanted to try and be charming to impress the lovely lady.  The other was in a blind panic due to the total stranger in his bed.  She might be what he always dreamed of in terms of looks, but that meant little.  She might be a serial killer with a knife tucked away somewhere.

               “Who, uh, who are you?” He ended up asking.

               The woman cocked her head to one side.  “That’s a silly thing to ask.  It’s me, Melony.  You know, your girlfriend?”

               Dave did not have a girlfriend.  He had not had a girlfriend in almost two years.  And he would certainly remember having one like her.

               “No.  No you are not.  I’ve never seen you before.”

               She pouted.  Dave felt his heart lurch at the sight.  “How mean.”  She said.  Dave trembled.  She was being way too cute to be real.  In fact, everything about her was unreal.  She was too beautiful to exist.  “How could you say something like that.  Especially after last night.” Her pout shifted into a small smile that stirred something much lower on his body.

               Last night.  What had happened last night?  He had come home from work, spent the night playing video games, ate dinner and went to bed.  He had not socialized at all, let alone with someone as stunning as her.  He had had a very vivid dream though.  The kind of dream he could not talk about with his mother.  Or anyone, really.  And it had featured a woman remarkably like Melony.

               And then it all clicked.  She was not just similar to the dream woman. She was identical to the dream woman.  Which could only mean one thing.

               “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”

               Another head tilt was her response.  “Why would you think that?”

               “You.  You can’t be real.  You aren’t real.  I’m dreaming, and that’s why you’re here.”

               Her hand lashed out and struck his face with a loud smack.  His cheek stung, and he raised his hand to touch it.  He winced.

               “What was that for?” He practically yelled.

               “You said you were dreaming.  I’m pretty sure that would’ve woken you up if you were.”

               She was right.  That should have woken him up.  But that meant he was awake.  He jumped out of bed and went to the window.  The city was alive and active.  Cars moved along the streets and people went about their business.  Dave’s eyes widened.  If this was a dream, none of that would be there.

               “See?  Not a dream.” She said, sliding up behind him and wrapping her arms around him.  “I’m real.  I don’t know why you would think I wasn’t.”

               “I…I…” Dave had no idea what was happening.

               How could a literal dream woman just appear there?  And how could she smell so good right after waking up?  And why was he questioning it?  At a glance she was literally his ideal woman, and from the little interaction they had had, her personality was pretty spot on as well.  And she was claiming to be his girlfriend.

               He took a deep breath and made up his mind.  He would go along with it for now.  He would try and figure out how it happened later, and then decide what to do about it.  If she was dangerous, he could deal with it.  But, until then, he might as well enjoy it.

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I would probably do something similar to this in this situation.  Be freaked out at first, and then get really into it.  Of course, I would probably be a lot less verbose.  It would involve more stuttering and awkward silences than actual conversation.

Word: Finito

finito

adjective Informal.

finished; ended.

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               Josh blinked through his exhaustion as he tightened another bolt.  He was tired, both mentally and physically.  But he had to get the project done.  He only had a few minutes left before the deadline, and if he could not make it, he would have to find another job.  But if he finished…well, he would be sitting pretty for the rest of his life.  He just had to finish.

               Hi team had all abandoned him, saying they had family and friends to see.  Weak, that’s what they were.  Well let them socialize and claim they had a good time.  He would be there, hard at work finishing what was quite probably the most important project of their lives.  It was almost done anyway.

               He wanted to rest like they were though.  He was not built for heavy physical labor.  That was more Ted’s department.  But, there he was, slaving away.  Tightening bolts and checking connections.  He did not mind the additional muscle mass he had put on while working on the project, but that was a tiny side benefit.  It would probably not last too long anyway, unless he took Ted’s advice and worked to maintain it.  That was a distraction though.  The project was all that mattered.

               Finally, he was done.  He had tightened the last bolt.  All the wires were in place.  All the connections set up.  Every moving part was in working order.  The body was done.  Now it just needed to brain.  He ran to the row of computers, each one working to compile the project’s programming.  He had been over it multiple times, of course.  It would work flawlessly once the computers finished their jobs.  He held his breath as he watched both the progress meter and the clock.

               Twenty minutes left.  Plenty of time.  One of the computers let out an almost imperceptible beep.  Josh rushed over to check it.  He roared in frustration and anger.  An error!  How could there be an error?  He had checked so many times.  Of course, he was operating on almost no sleep.  Unlike the rest of the team, who had gone home every night.  He had stayed and worked on their magnum opus.  But now those sleepless nights were haunting him. 

               He poured over the lines of code where the computer indicated the error.  He found it soon enough and breathed a sigh of relief.  It was just a simple syntax error.  Someone had left out a few important characters that made it unreadable to the computer.  Well, that was easy to fix.

               His fingers flew over the keyboard, working to correct the errors.  The moment he was finished, he told the computer to resume working.  He once again held his breath as the computers finished compiling the code.  He left out the held air and leaned back in his seat.  Ten minutes left.  He would make it.

               He began the process of uploading the files containing the code and the specs for the physical structure.  The one he had just finished was just a prototype, and would be used for future testing and development.  His employers still needed to have the data at their fingertips.  But it was a lot of information to send.  It would be an agonizingly slow process.

               Josh counted the minutes and seconds as they ticked by.  Slowly, the progress bar filled.  He sat and prayed for a clean, uninterrupted connection.  As the computer sent the precious information, he found his prayers had been answered, and he got the notification that everything had been sent successfully.

               Josh let out a loud whoop of joy.  It was finished.  It was finally done.  A year’s worth of effort.  Countless hours spent in the lab, slaving away at the project.  And it was finally done.  And one last check of the clock showed he had made it before the deadline.  The data had finished being sent with a mere twenty seconds left.

               He watched with a large smile on his face as the clock changed.  His deadline had passed without a failure to mar it.  He leaned back in his seat, breathing heavily and smiling.  Looking up at the ceiling, he felt like he should say something, even though he was alone.  He could not find anything that seem suitable though, so instead, he said the first thing he could think of.      

               “Happy god-damned New Year.” 

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Happy New Year!  And may 2020 be less sucky than 2019 was.  

Word: Big-Hearted

   

big-hearted

[ big-hahr-tid ]

adjective

generous; kind.

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           Sally’s eyes narrowed to slits.

               “I don’t trust him.” She said.

               “Who?  Your new boyfriend?” Mary asked.

               “He’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been on one date.”

               Mary looked over to her friends not-boyfriend.  The guy was talking with a few of Sally’s family members.  And they were loving him. 

               “Okay, fine.  Not your boyfriend.  So, what’s wrong with him?”

               “I just don’t trust him is all.”
               “Why not?  The guy’s like Ghandi, the Dhali Lama and Mr. Rogers all rolled into one, and then given a movie star makeover.  What’s not to like?”

               Sally turned to the other woman sharply.  “Are you kidding me?  What you just said is the problem.”

               “What, that he’s super nice?”

               “Exactly.  He’s the perfect gentleman.  Polite, well spoken, generous, and all that other good stuff.  But that’s the problem.  He’s too good.  He’s hiding something.  Nobody is that perfect.”

               Mary said nothing.  She simply let her eyes lose focus slightly as they passed over Sally. 

               “You’re being paranoid.”

               “No I’m not.  I bet he’s, like, a serial killer.  Or something.”

               “A serial killer?  Really?”

               “Okay, maybe not.  But still.  He’s just too nice to be real.  There has to be something sinister lurking in the background.  I know there is.”

               “And if there isn’t?”

               “Huh?”

               Mary sighed.  “Look, sometimes people are just nice.  There’s no reason for it, they just are.  There doesn’t always have to be some dark, ulterior motive to it.  He could just be a really great guy.”

               “Then why is he here?”

               “What?”

               “If he’s a genuinely good person, then why doesn’t he already have a girlfriend?  I mean, come on.  He’s not just nice, look at him.  It’s like he sprang up from a magazine.  There’s no way he wouldn’t have been scooped up long ago.”

               “Fair point.  Maybe you should ask him.”

               “I can’t just ask him that.  It’s rude.”

               “So is thinking he’s a murderer.”

               Sally could not really say anything about that.  But she still knew she was right.  Maybe she did not have the exact details yet, but she knew there was something.  Sure, their date had been amazing.  Best she had ever had.  And he did not try to immediately get into her pants like most guys did.  And her family seemed to love him.  But still.  There was something.  Some deep, dark secret his super kind surface hid.

               “He’s hiding something.” Sally insisted again.  “I just don’t know what yet.”

               “Uh huh.  Hey, I’ve got an idea.  If you think he’s that untrustworthy, then don’t go out with him anymore.  Just wash your hands of him and be done with it.”

               Sally mulled it over.  She had considered that, but then she would not be able to find out his secret.  And that would just drive her nuts. 

               “Maybe.” She said quietly.

               “And then after you do, I will totally take your place.” Mary said with a huge grin on her face.  “I mean, just because you think he’s hiding something terrible doesn’t mean we all do.  And guys like that are just too good to waste.”

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

Not sure I like the ending for this one.  But I can't think of a better one right now, so oh well.  And no, I am nothing like the guy in this story.  I wish I was, but not even close.