For some time I picked one word a day, every day, and wrote somewhere between a sentence and a couple paragraphs for it. I intend to continue the trend. I'll be posting seven once a week. Some I've loved. Some are so bad even their mother doesn't love them. Enjoy!
She didn't have a name for anything which was funny because her doctors had a name for that: Anomia. She didn't like that word, but it was hard to forget. Anomia. It sounded like some horrible disease, one she couldn't name, that affected the lungs. Anomia. The word just made things worse for her; they'd show her a picture of some object and she'd stutter out it's use but not what it was and in part she blamed that damn diagnosis. Anomia. It stuck in her thoughts and she'd chase it round and round so much she couldn't chase the other words, no, but that was a frivolous task in and of itself because they ran too fast for her to catch them, but there that word was in the slow lane begging to be found. Anomia. At some point she forgot what the word meant at all but it stayed, looming over her, threatening her; in the end she would concede how refreshing it was to forget the definition of a word instead of the other way around.
A first, the townsfolk took in the pitiful and downtrodden homeless that wandered through during the beginnings of the war. They would supply food and drink and sometimes work for the wayworn travelers displaced from their homes. But the war drug on and on, and as so often happens, those living in relative prosperity (relative to having nothing, that is) became used to those pilgrims' deadened stares and hollow frames. The urgency -- no, the shock, was gone from their hearts. Gone and replaced by cool apathy pumping through their veins. Soon it was easy to turn a blind eye and at some point most wondered why they had even looked in the first place.
I found myself transfixed, staring into the beautiful helix her brushstrokes formed before my very eyes.
My boyfriend, walking into my room pants-less asking for toilet paper, then turning tomato red when I reminded him he could have wrapped a towel around himself instead of traversing the house naked is a memory worth preserving. He burbled like a child that day, when his new phone came in. I heard, sometimes more than once, the details of each new feature he discovered as he discovered them. I was convinced I would smack him upside the head if he kept on about it, but he was soon so involved in the new device he shut right up. I kind of miss his voice.
Back in his younger years, he believed both his body and his mind to be infrangible. Looking back, Bill realized his reckless behavior, along with the belief he was almost godlike, led to nothing but endless failures and piles of medical bills.
The causes of my anxiety are multifarious and often dependent on how stable I am on any given day. One day I can stomach the most depraved of horror, another day I am cowering at the sight of the moth.
Julie wasn't a a bad person. Obviously, she just couldn't stand the atrabilious attitudes of her -- if she was being quite honest -- lesser peers.