Word a Day Writings

Last year I bought a “Word A Day” desk calendar in a charity shop, and although I’m not doing them daily, I’m using them as prompts to freewrite a short passage.  These are the ones I’ve done this month.

Day 91: Prestidigitation (noun).  Sleight of hand used in performing magic tricks.

It was easier now.  The magic classes were worth every penny.  Mitchell couldn’t help but wonder why every thief didn’t invest.  He walked out of the jewelers with a sly smile.

Day 92: Blore (noun).  Blasting wind, tempest.

The nature embraced me.  I stood, as free as I was the day I was born.  My feet dug into the muddy grass and my skin tingled and prickled under the wind and rain that blasted me.

Day 93: Troglodyte (noun).  Someone who lives in solitude; a cave-dweller.

They call me hermit, they call me weirdo.  I hear the children outside my fences chanting taunts they learned from their parents.  But if I were to leave my sanctuary even once, they wouldn’t be alive to call me anything.

Day 94: Schussboomer (noun).  A skier, skilled at making straight downhill runs.

I was on top of the world.  Almost literally.  There was nothing above me but sky and clouds and the heavens.  And below me?  Below me the smooth white canvas of the mountain.  It spread out as far as I could see, and my feet itched to start leaving my mark.

Day 95: Mucid (adj).  Moldy, musty.

I opened the door and was slammed back by the… by the oldness.  No one had been here for so long the ancient abandon was palpable.  The dust was thick in the air, and the smell of mold made my nose twitch.

Day 96: Abditory (noun).  Secret hiding place.

They had completely ransacked the place.  Mattress slashed, sofa in shreds.  Desk overturned.  Books and drawers and cupboards scattered.  My heart skipped a beat at the mess, at the chaos.  But I wasn’t worried.  They’d never find it.  I’d hidden it too well.

Day 97: Perorate (vb).  To speak long-windedly.

It could have been over in a second.  He could have used just three words.  But we were still here an hour later and he was still talking.  Still droning on – and on.  I was starting to remember why I’d avoided him in the first place.

Day 98: Quiddity (noun).  The essential nature or quality of something that makes it different from other things.

I walked among them, but I didn’t feel like one of them.  I never had.  I’d always been different.  It was all I could remember about my childhood really – feeling different.  Standing out.  No one ever said anything, no one ever pointed it out.  But I knew.

Day 99: Ulotrichous (adj).  Having woolly hair.

I remember an advert once, from many years ago.  A row of girls in a bathroom.  One wanted longer hair, one wanted shorter.  One wanted curly hair, one wanted hers straighter.  One wanted thicker hair, one wanted thinner.  I’d be happier with any of those.  Better than the matted sheeps wool that lives on my head.

Day 100: Vicinal (adj).  Local, neighboring.

I’d lived my whole life here.  My friend from high school had travelled to Asia and Africa.  I’d never even left my town.  I’ve never been on a train.  I’ve never gone further than the leisure park just 15 miles from my house.  I’d never wanted to. The world was scary.  There was too much out there.  I was happy in my little bubble. 


About Colette Horsburgh

A 30-something creator/baker/writer/doodler/crafter living with several (but not enough) scatty animals.
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