Friday Fictioneers | “I feel personally victimised”

All it took was for me to brush past him, his T-shirt rudely commanding. “Just do it.” it ordered me. I felt personally attacked. How did he, let alone his clothing, know what was crowding my mind. And how dare it be so frank to a total stranger. I continued through the hustle, the bustle. Anger. Which dissolved. Into determination. I turned back and marched straight up to the audacity that had attacked me.

“I will do it!” I announced, more to the T-shirt than the wearer. And then I walked away, leaving bemusement, and my self doubt, behind me.

Story written using the above photo prompt for the Friday Fictioneers challenge by Rochelle.

I don’t know how but I wrote this raw, and it happened to be exactly 100 words!

A to Z Challenge | Z

I’ve made it! To the end of April! Writing every prompt day! I’m so proud of myself. ☺️ Think I might give myself a lil break in May, stay tuned. 💛

The Words

“Zenith: Originating from Arabic and meaning the way over one’s head, by the 1300s zenith was used to describe the highest point in the heavens and by the 1600s it had come to include other high points. Nowadays it is used to describe reaching the top of one’s career. When she played Desdemona she realized that she had reached the zenith of her theatrical aspirations.

“Zephyr: Zephyr, a gentle breeze from the west, derives its name from Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind, and was used by both Chaucer and Shakespeare in a figurative and metaphorical sense. More recently, zephyr has been adopted as a term for a lightweight fabric and the clothing made from it.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

“Zaftig | Borrowed into English from Yiddish (and descended from a German wordmeaning “juicy”), if a woman is zaftig then she’s plump or curvaceous.” Mentalfloss

Haiku | Ripe Summer

Zenith of summer
Zephyr carries sweet scent of
Zaftig peaches ripe

A to Z Challenge | Y

The Words

“Yammer: Derived from the Old English geomrian, to be sad, and subsequently Middle English yameren, yammer has been used since the fifteenth century to describe repeated cries of distress or sorrow. It also means to complain or whine persistently. The children yammered because the internet had gone down and they couldn’t watch their favourite show on Netflix.”

“Yawp: Yawp, meaning to call out, yelp or to boast, first appeared in the English language in the fourteenth century and is derived from the Middle English yolpen or yelpen. It implies a squawking, yelping, rather irritating type of complaining, but has an element of silliness as it also means raucous noise. If you desist from yawping about it you may be able to think of a solution to the predicament.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

“yesternight
Archaic.n.1. last night.adv.2. during last night.” The Free Dictionary

Yesternight

Yesternight
The moon was bright
Loud yammers
Yawps
From dark alleys
Not quite right.

Yet we ignore
Because we have fright
That if we fight
We might join the plight.

So we stay
Still
Silent
Breathe in
Hold tight.

A to Z Challenge | X

X is a hard one right!? I needed to find words from somewhere else but I think they’re pretty cool.

The Words

Xenodochy (n) an attitude of kindness to strangers”

Xaern (v) to enjoy something so much you begin to hate how much you enjoy it”

Xeric (adj) a term used to describe a really dry environment”

(from Thought Catalog)

Overplayed

He had that song (you know the one, that really famous one that is super overplayed) on repeat. It always got me up and dancing. I xaerned it now though. But I didn’t tell him to turn it off, I tried to maintain a xenodochy, because that’s how I would want to be treated. No matter how much I smiled, how much I shuffled and shifted to the beat, he didn’t reciprocate my warmth. The atmosphere was a dessert with tumbleweeds nonchalantly rolling, xeric.

A to Z Challenge | W

The Words

“Williwaw: A williwaw is a sudden violent gust of cold land air, common along mountainous coastal regions of high latitude. The origin of the word is unknown but it is believed to have been a sailing term coined by British maritime men and used initially to describe the inclement and unpredictable winds around the hazardous Magellan Straits in South America.”

“Writhled: A rarely used adjective but one not without its charms. Writhled is synonymous with other words like wrinkled and shrivelled but is perhaps closest to wizened as it relates mostly to ageing, lived-in, faces. His writhled face broke into a smile as he recalled his Navy days.”

“Widdershins: Legend holds that demons always approached the devil widdershins. Not surprisingly, such a path was considered evil and unlucky. By the sixteenth century, English speakers had adopted the term (from the Old High German widar, meaning back or against, and sinnen, meaning to travel) for anything following a path opposite to the direction the sun travels across the sky. Don’t be dancing widdershins around me; it’s the mark of the devil.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

Demon

The white cliff face
Writhled
With lapping lines of ancient age
Legend told
Of sea demons and scornful sorceresses
That lived within the cracks.
It takes only a williwaw to wake them
Or walking widdershins
in waxing moons
drawing symbols in the dusk.

A to Z Challenge | V

The Words

“Vacillate: To vacillate is to switch between different, often opposing positions in either thought, opinion or action. A secondary meaning is to sway between different conditions due to a lack of equilibrium, as with the weather. The minister’s political reputation was damaged by his tendency to vacillate on key policy decisions.”

“Vacuous versus Vacuity: The Latin adjective vacuus, meaning empty, provides the stem for both these words. However, whereas vacuous is usually applied to people marked by a lack of ideas or intelligence, a vacuity is simply an empty space. Every time he was asked a question at the press conference his responses were vacuous.”

“Valediction: A sombre word for sorrowful moments. Valediction, put simply, is the act of saying goodbye, and is often used to describe eulogies at funeral ceremonies, but it can also be used in the context of any farewell or final speech. ‘I’m just going outside and may be some time,’ said Oates, by way of valediction.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

Not a Valediction

I vacillate,
Between optimism
And drowning in midnight waters.

After all these holes punctured in my soul,
It is now a vacuity.
Whether by life or by me,
I have been drained.

However this is not a valediction,
I’m not giving up.
For all the while there is sun in my smile,
A glimmer of something some may call hope,
I will keep going,
Keep trying,
To care for my soul better.
And ask for help when I’ve forgotten how to sow.

Any fellow Reedsy Prompt writers out there?

Happy Sunday all! With no A to Z challenge on Sunday what am I to do? Well I thought this could be a nice opportunity to share my Reedsy Prompts Page and find some other Reedsy Prompt writers in the WordPress world.

Why I enjoy writing for Reedsy Prompts?

  • I think the prompts are unique and inspire uniqueness from me. I hope for my entries to stand out and be different even if they aren’t chosen as the best.
  • It’s cool to see what other writers have done with the same prompts, and be part of a community.
  • Sometimes you get nice pieces of feedback on your writing which is always a moral boost.
  • The contest is consistent, it’s every week and free to enter, but I don’t need to enter every week. I can chose the weeks and prompts that work for me.
  • The word limit feels right to me (1K – 3K words). I have often found myself writing over 3000 words and then cutting down, which gives me editing practice. A bonus!
  • Finally it’s nice to write for a purpose, have a deadline and a word limit. It gives me structure and something to aim for.

So do you have Reedsy Prompts? If so I’d love you to share your author page in the comments. And if not, why is it something you wouldn’t want to enter?

A to Z Challenge | U

I hope I don’t make the ending awwwwful… wish me luck! This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Uneath: In Old English something described as ēathe was something straightforward and easy. The opposite of ēathe was unēathe, something tricky or complex. It is from these words that the adjective uneath developed, to mean a difficult action or task. In diving, points are awarded according to the degree of difficulty of the dives – the more uneath the manoeuvre, the higher the score.”

“Upbraid: To upbraid someone is to severely scold and reproach them for their faults or behaviour. The Old English word upbrēdan, meaning to find fault, is the root, but generally people are upbraided on account of their actions. His wife upbraided him for his drinking and gambling habits.

“Uxorious: This is a rather curiously negative adjective in that uxorious means excessive devotion and sentimental attachment to one’s wife. It is, however, often used mildly disparagingly to describe somebody slavishly devoted and subservient through their doting. He had thoroughly uxorious opinions of his wife.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | The Finale

When I woke, which was uneath and exhausting, I was no longer in her domain. I was somewhere dark, the death of summer. I upbraided myself for letting this happen, how could I have been so foolish?! But how would it have been possible not to have uxorious intentions towards my flower maiden. My flower maiden. My goddess. What a joke I was. I focused my gaze, tangling deep green vines entwined before me. I staggered to me feet and tried to ravel my way through them. I felt like the whole world was made of these green tentacles, ready to strangle me if they got bored. And yet I didn’t stop searching. I ended up in a clearing I didn’t know I was looking for. There were others there. Others I recognised. Other aforementioned fools that had paid tribute to the same succubus as me. Apparently this is where you ended up, so your life, your spirit, your soul, could continue to feed the woman I still saw as beauty. The woman I still loved but now saw completely. The woman I am forever connected to. So I warn you about that girl with the golden hair, the one that seems too good to be true. She cast a spell on me. She can cast a spell on you.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.

Or maybe I was too innocent to see. Of course I wouldn’t be her first female lover, I would be far from her first lover of any gender. My goddess let me approach, sunlight creating a red carpet for my entrance. I bowed low, truckling up to my queen. I began to recite the waterfall of words that I’d practiced so many times. Now the syllables cascaded from my mouth, a frothy mess. She took me anyway. To her tent, a huge teepee of luxury, I was titubant in her graceful shadow. Overwhelmed, with love and obsession and lust and desire. I needed, I craved, I yearned. And she gave. It was delicious, the juicy bite of apple. Until I swallowed the bite. It was over. The world shifted, a veil of tenebrosity dispelled all of the summer warmth. Satisfied, she sighed and floated from me. Leaving me weaker than I could ever describe. I reached out my hand towards her whimsy, she was shifting in and out of focus, I could do nothing as my heavy lids shut out the world to me.

A to Z Challenge | T

It’s Friday thennnnnnn… This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Tenebrosity: The Latin word for darkness is tenebrosus. Tenebrosity is the quality of gloominess and suggests a sombre and dingy atmosphere.”

“Titubant: Derived from the French word for faltering, titubant describes a staggering or stumbling movement, possibly due to intoxication. It is related to an Italian word titubante, which describes somebody who dithers and is indecisive in their actions.”

“Truckle: A truckle at one time was a small wheel attached to beds so that they could moved around and easily stored. These beds became known as truckle beds. Often used by children, they were stored under larger beds for adults. This gave rise to the figurative sense of truckle as being subservient to someone larger or more prominent, or bending to their will in an obsequious manner. He was obsessed by wealth and status and would truckle up to anyone he thought had power and influence.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part 5

Or maybe I was too innocent to see. Of course I wouldn’t be her first female lover, I would be far from her first lover of any gender. My goddess let me approach, sunlight creating a red carpet for my entrance. I bowed low, truckling up to my queen. I began to recite the waterfall of words that I’d practiced so many times. Now the syllables cascaded from my mouth, a frothy mess. She took me anyway. To her tent, a huge teepee of luxury, I was titubant in her graceful shadow. Overwhelmed, with love and obsession and lust and desire. I needed, I craved, I yearned. And she gave. It was delicious, the juicy bite of apple. Until I swallowed the bite. It was over. The world shifted, a veil of tenebrosity dispelled all of the summer warmth. Satisfied, she sighed and floated from me. Leaving me weaker than I could ever describe. I reached out my hand towards her whimsy, she was shifting in and out of focus, I could do nothing as my heavy lids shut out the world to me.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.

A to Z Challenge | S

This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Scaramouch: In the classical Italian theatre of Commedia dell’arte, Scaramouch was a boastful (often Spanish for some reason) and cowardly buffoon. In English in the seventeenth century the word scaramouch became a byword for a gutless and weak rascal. Today it is probably only familiar to people from the lines of the rock song ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by Queen. Courtly romances were very popular in France in the seventeenth century with their stock characters of the swashbuckling hero, the downtrodden heroine and the scheming scaramouch.”

“Sagacious: Sagacious initially had the meaning of having keen senses of perception, particularly a sense of smell but also of sight and sound. However, the modern meaning is of somebody of clever judgement, discerning in the choices that they make. He was a sagacious judge of character and chose his companions carefully.”

“Sough: An unusual word used to describe a low, soft murmuring sound, rather like a sigh but produced by natural causes such as a gentle breeze rustling leaves on a tree. As she hugged the tree, the great old oak emitted a sorrowful sough.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part 4

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.