Word: Venal

venal

[ veen-l ]

adjective

willing to sell one's influence, especially in return for a bribe; open to bribery; mercenary: a venal judge.

able to be purchased, as by a bribe: venal acquittals.

associated with or characterized by bribery: a venal administration; venal agreements.

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               Jack forced himself to not wring his hands nervously.  He should not be there.  He did not belong in jail.  He was a good, law abiding man.  And yet, he was behind bars talking to his very large cell mate.

               “First time here?” The big, bald man asked.

               “Uh, yeah, yeah it is.  Hopefully the last too.”

               The man laughed.  “Yeah, that’s what everyone says.  What’re you in for?”

               “Grand theft auto.”

               “Nice.  Assault and battery here.  Beat a man who looked at my woman the wrong way half to death.  Would’ve gotten the other half too, but the cops showed up before I could.”

               “Oh, I, uh, I see.”

               “Oh, don’t get nervous.  I only did that cause of my girl.  I’m not in the habit of just hitting guys for no reason.”

               Jack was not reassured.  But at least he was not imprisoned with some mass murderer who would gut him for snoring too loud.  He hoped.  This guy might even be useful.

               “So, um…”

               “Dan.”

               “So, Dan, any advice for a newbie?”

               “Oh, yeah, tons.  First of all, you know that whole don’t drop the soap stuff?”

               “Yeah?”

               “Not true.  Nobody’s gonna be doing that stuff in the shower.”
               That was a relief.  Jack let out a breath he had not been aware he had been holding. 

               “Next, butter up to the guys in charge.”

               “You mean the warden?”

               “The warden?  Hell no.  He’s a figurehead at best.  No, you gotta get in close to the real leaders of this prison.  That’d be Marcus over in block D, Juan in A and Georgie in C.  Pick one of ‘em and buddy up real close.  I mean, yeah, you could stay solo and just keep your head down, but that’s a lot harder than you think it is.  Me?  I’m with Georgie.  Not a big guy, but damn smart, which goes a lot farther than most people think it will, even in here.”

               Jack nodded.  “Got it.  Uh, if I do that, will I have to, you know, shank someone?”

               “Nah.  You’re small.  Unassuming.  You’ll probably be lookout or spy or something.”

               “I can do that.  I think.”

               “Right.  Well, doing that will see you through to the end, but the most important thing you can know is which guards are open to a bribe, and which to steer clear of.”

               “B-bribe?”

               “Yup.  Enough grease, and lots of wheels can turn that would otherwise be stuck.  Bribing the right guard can get you a lot of contraband.  That’s the real key to surviving here.  Find a way to get money and use that money to bribe a few guards.  They’ll either look away from some things you’d rather not be seen, or get you stuff you shouldn’t have.  Keep your money stored away, and at best it’ll just sit there gathering dust.  At worst, having cash will get you killed.  But if you use it to get the guards on your side, well, not only will you be living large, but you’ll be less likely to get harassed, both by guards and inmates.  It’s not foolproof, but it’s always good to have a little leeway.”

               “So do all the guards take bribes?”

               “Nope.  Some of them actually give a damn about doing their jobs right.  Keep your nose clean and they can be your best friends.  But if you want to live like a human being, you gotta cozy up to the guys who work for nothing but money.”

               Jack nodded.  He had no idea how he was going to get enough money to matter.  And even if he did, would he really use it on the guards?  He did need to survive prison, but he still had standards.  Still, knowing which guards were corrupt could be very useful to an undercover cop.

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

I have never been to prison.  I never want to go to prison.  All I know about being behind bars comes from movies and TV.  I probably made some mistakes because of that.  

Word: Caterpillar

caterpillar

[ kat-uh-pil-er, kat-er- ]

noun

1. the wormlike larva of a butterfly or a moth.

2. a person who preys on others; extortioner.

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The sound of tiny feet running through the house alerted Michelle that her son, Tim, had just returned from school.  She let out a happy sigh and got ready to meet the young boy.  He ran into the room with his backpack bouncing behind him and a small plastic container in his hands.

“Mommy, guess what we did.” He blurted out instead of a greeting.

“What did you do?”

“You hafta guess.” Tim was bouncing on his heels with excitement. 

Michelle could see the container held an assortment of twigs, grass and leaves.  That and the holes in the container’s lid gave her enough information to figure it out.  But, it was still nice to humor her seven year old.

“Hm, did you…draw a picture?”

“Nooo.” He said between giggles.

“Did you watch a movie?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, then I just don’t know.  What did you do in school?”

“We caught caterpillars!  See, I got one here!”

He held out the container for Michelle to see.  Sure enough there, sitting on a twig and nibbling on a leaf, was a small green speckled caterpillar.  Tim held the insect up proudly, like it was the greatest pet in the world.

“And, and, and guess what?  Mrs. Fallow says that if we take care of our caterpillars for long enough, then we’ll get a really big surprise.”

“Oh did she now?  What do you think you’ll get?”

Tim thought as long and hard as a boy his age could.  “I dunno, but I bet it’s ice cream.”

“Ice cream?  Why ice cream?”

The boy shrugged.  “I like ice cream.”

Michelle held back her laughter at her son’s antics.  Of course seeing a caterpillar changing into a butterfly would be practically magic for such a young child.  She just had to keep him from finding out through other means.  That would be easy enough.  She just had to be careful about his internet usage.  It felt almost wrong to keep him off sites for animals for the months the metamorphosis would take, but she could do it.

“Okay, well, just remember to get the surprise you have to take good care of him, okay?  Make sure he has lots of sticks to crawl on and leaves to eat, okay?”

“Okay!  Um, should I get other bugs to?  To make sure he doesn’t get lonely?”

“You know, I think he’ll be just fine by himself.  Besides, he has you to keep him company.  Just don’t try and play with him, okay?  He might not like that.  You can talk to him though.  He looks like a really good listener.”

Tim looked closely at the still eating caterpillar.  He turned to container around a bit.  Then he looked back up at his mother.

“How can you tell?  He doesn’t have ears.”

This time Michelle did not hide her laughter.  She did manage to limit it though. 

“Moms can just tell these things.  Now go and put him in your room and get cleaned up.  Then you can tell me all about what happened today, and how you got your new friend, okay?”

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

Anyone remember doing this as a kid?  I vaguely remember having a book about bugs.  It came with a  little plastic bug catching terrarium thing.  I don't remember if I actually used it, but I remember having it.    

Word: Hangdog

hangdog

[ hang-dawg, -dog ]

adjective

browbeaten; defeated; intimidated; abject: He always went about with a hangdog look.

shamefaced; guilty: He sneaked out of the room with a hangdog expression.

suitable to a degraded or contemptible person; sneaky; furtive.

noun

Archaic. a degraded, contemptible person.

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

               Bob sat at a table at the cheapest bar in town.  He was hunched over his mug, containing the cheapest beer in the place, contained in a glass of dubious cleanliness.  Nobody else seemed to noticed.  Or at least, they did not care.  This particular bar had an unspoken rule: “You ignore me, I’ll ignore you.”  This meant that nobody spoke, and the only sound came from an aging jukebox whose speakers were perpetually one song away from total failure.

               This was fine with Bob.  Life had thoroughly beaten him down.  He was allowed to wallow in misery.  He did wish he could afford beer than had a taste other than bitter water, but no such luck.

               A scraping sound reach his ears, forcing him to look up.  Someone had violated the unspoken rule of the bar and chosen to sit near him.  The man looked out of place.  He was clean, well dressed.  This was a person who life allowed to coast by.  This was a person who was living the good life.

               “Hey.” The man said.  Bob looked at the man and returned his focus to his drink.  “You look like you’ve seen better days.” 

               Bob considered saying something.  But then he remembered he did not care enough to break the silence like the man so flagrantly did.  He chose to let out a heavy sigh and take a long drink from the mug.

               “I can help you, if you want.  Give you a chance to change things.  Live a better life.”

               This caught Bob’s attention.  Living a better life would be great, but there was a problem with the idea.

               “A better life, huh?” Bob said heavily.  “Buddy, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.  I’m 47 years old, divorced twice, no kids, and people half my age make twice as much as me.  No way I’m living a better life now.”

               “Not right now, no.  But what about twenty years ago?”

               Bob snorted.  “Twenty?  Nah.  You’d have to go back thirty to make any difference in my life.  By the time I was 27, everything had already started going downhill.  I was just too dumb to notice it back then.”

               The man nodded.  “Thirty is tricky, but doable.  Sure.  What if you could go back thirty years?  Not as you are, but as you were.  Take everything you are now and put you back into the body of your youth?  Would you like that?”

               Bob looked at the man blankly.  “You a drug dealer or something?  Or are you just nuts?”

               “No to both.  I represent a certain company.”  The man pulled a business card out from his breast pocket and slid it towards Bob.  He did not look at the small sheet of paper.  “We’ve made great advances in technology that most would consider science fiction.  Now, time travel in the way most people think of it is beyond our current abilities.  But what we can do is send your mind back. Your consciousness would be placed into your younger self, free to make any number of different choices.  Using your knowledge of your life to lead a better one.  Sounds good, right?”

               “Sounds crazy.”

               The man shrugged.  “I suppose it does.  But that doesn’t mean it’s fake.  You have my number.  Take a few days to think about it.  I promise it’s worth it.  And hey, even if I’m lying, then does it really matter?  After all, once you’ve hit rock bottom, the only way you can go is up.”

               The man stood and walked out of the bar, leaving his card behind.  Bob finished his beer and his eyes lingered on the card.  The paper seemed to lure his eyes in.  He sighed and put it in his pocket.  The man was right, he had nothing left to lose.  And maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth, and Bob could finally, finally live a real life.  And to a man who life had thoroughly beaten down like Bob, that was worth more than anything.

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

 If you could go back in time and kill Hitler, would you?  The only correct answer (in my humble opinion) is yes, with the caveat that it be done right before he commits suicide.  That way, you can say you killed Hitler, but don't go screwing with the timeline and possibly inviting an even worse dictator to rise. 

Word: Fictioneer

fictioneer

[ fik-shuh-neer ]

noun

a writer of fiction, especially a prolific one whose works are of mediocre quality.

 ***********************************

               The silence of the room was broken by the loud bang of a door being opened with too much force.  Dan winced at the sound.  He had just gotten to a good part, and now his roommate would inevitably come and interrupt him.  Sure enough, Henry strode into the room and collapsed on the couch.  From there, it was only a matter of time before the TV was turned on.

               “Excuse me, would you mind not turning that on right now?” Dan asked.  “I’m trying to read.”

               Henry looked up from searching for the remote and looked at Dan like he didn’t know he was there. 

               “Why not read in your room or something, if you’re so into it.” Henry asked.

               “It’s more comfortable out here.  My bed isn’t a good reading bed.  No good headboard.”

               Henry shrugged and stopped his search for the remote.  He instead took out his phone and started fiddling with it.  The silence allowed Dan to resume reading.  It lasted for barely a minute.

               “What are you reading, anyway?”

               Dan sighed and raised the book so that his roommate could see it.

               “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of that guy.”

               Dan cocked his head to one side.  Henry had heard of an author?  The guy never read anything that took more than five minutes to read.  How could he know about an author, even a moderately popular one?

               “Seriously?”

               “Yeah.  My sister likes him, so I’ve gotten her a few of his books before.”

               “Ah.”  That made sense.  Henry’s sister loved reading just as much as he did, among other things.  If it was not for her being in a steady relationship, he probably would have asked her out for that very reason.

               “He any good?” Henry asked.

               Dan shrugged.  “He’s decent.  Not great, but not bad.  He mostly writes filler, really?”

               “Filler?”

               “Yeah, filler.” Dan said.  He placed a finger in his book and lowered it.  He had some explaining to do.  “You know how when a show has just finished one plot line, but isn’t ready for another, they show a filler episode?  Just a nice, fluffy thing that doesn’t really impact anything.  Well, books aren’t quite the same, but the idea is similar.”

               Henry thought for a moment before saying anything.  “I don’t get it.”

               “He’s what you read between the really good, heavy stuff.  A nice, quick, fluffy read that doesn’t take a lot of brain power or time.  You pretty much know what’s going to happen, but that’s the point.  You don’t read this guy’s works to be challenged, but to sort of reset your mind for the next big thing.”

               “Ah, I think I get it now.  Wait, doesn’t that mean he’s a bad writer?”

               “Not bad, exactly.” Dan said as he leaned back in his chair.  “Not good, but definitely not bad.  Pretty average, really.  He does good dialogue, and his descriptions can be really creative.  Fluff and filler isn’t necessarily bad, you know.  Same with this guy.”

               “Got it.” Henry said, throwing a thumbs up sign.  “I guess that’s why my sister recommended him for me to start, huh?”

               “Probably.  He does make a good starting author for the genre, that’s for sure.”  Dan shifted to put himself in a better position to look at Henry.  “You know, if you want, I can point you to one of his books that’s perfect for someone who hasn’t touched a book since high school.”

               Henry picked his phone up and flicked the screen on.  “Maybe someday, sure.  But for now, I’ll stick to this.”  

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

Everyone needs a semi-good filler book every now and then.  If you only read big, heavy stuff, you'll overwork your brain, you know?