Ways to deal with fear daily at 10 p.m. EST; nifty vocabulary posts at 9 p.m. on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Onward

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958. Something is wrong with this paper. The things you’ve written on it are fading out, letter by letter then word by word. As the sentences unravel the thoughts they were trying to organize go with them, emptying out of your head.

143. “You are going to be late.” The drizzle makes the streetlights hazy. You spare a dirty look for your phone as you hustle down the street. “You are going to be late.” You splash through a puddle on your way to a shortcut. “You are going to be late.” Only when you turn the corner and see something huge move in the alley do you realize that it wasn’t talking about the time.

787. You catch the chain the next time it swings towards you. The links are as thick as your wrist. Examine one. Something is etched deep into the metal: WHY? You pull the next link over, hoping for an answer. WHY? The link after that is the same, and the one after. Endless links pass through your hands. WHY? If the chain is anchored to anything, there is no sign of it.

592. The school hallways are dark and empty, but not quite silent. You try a classroom door – it’s locked, of course. The noises are getting louder. Face the door you think they’re coming from. There’s no telling what your fears have planned tonight.

ABECEDARIAN

noun: a person learning the alphabet; a beginner; one teaching the alphabet or fundamentals of a subject.

(source)

cyrrane:

925. The storm is unseasonable for the area, practically tropical. Sheets of rain cut the visibility to a few feet. You watch one stream of water squiggle its way up and across the window, in defiance of gravity, and wonder how much rain it would really take to wash the bus away.

36. There is something wrong with your new glasses. The prescription brings the world into focus, yes, but the focus brings nebulous grey shapes with it. They start to notice you if you look at them too long. They do not seem to appreciate the attention.

683. Today you are out of sync with time. Minutes tick by in pace with your heartbeat. Nothing obvious happens until you try to stand. Then the minutes tickticktick faster and a terrible, membranous tugging lurches through your heart. You sit back down and watch the clock with narrowed eyes.

Here’s the deal

cyrrane:

with those vocabulary posts I said I was going to do:

  • they’ll be Tuesday-Friday, posting at 9pm so it doesn’t overshadow WTDWF.
  • words chosen because I think they’re useful, funny, or cool.
  • all words are (for now) sourced from:

Heifetz, Josefa. The Word Lover’s Dictionary. Secaucus: Citadel Press, 1997. Print. (x)

Here’s the deal

with those vocabulary posts I said I was going to do:

  • they’ll be Tuesday-Friday, posting at 9pm so it doesn’t overshadow WTDWF.
  • words chosen because I think they’re useful, funny, or cool.
  • all words are (for now) sourced from:

Heifetz, Josefa. The Word Lover’s Dictionary. Secaucus: Citadel Press, 1997. Print. (x)

814.  The trail winds up another crag. The light is fading. You turn to watch the shadows race forward, stretching across the rocks. Turn back as they reach you. Let their slight weight settle on your shoulders. It’s not safe to travel during the day.

569.  Today the wind blows steadily across the highland. Small pebbles skip along beside you, moved by the same wind that pushes at your back. As you approach the cliff it urges you forward, forward.

422. Your breath rasps and tries to quicken. “Are you sick?” Yes. You can’t speak. The sick, shivery feeling that comes with the rage permeates your body. Fists itch, pores breathe menace, saliva pools venom. You have to leave before the poison damages someone else.

384. The walls are grey. There is a hole in the floor. Everything around the hole is grey. The floor is covered in clutter; the clutter is grey. You shove the nearest thing into the hole, then another, then another. You push things in but it won’t fill up.

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