Zenith: An imaginary point directly above a location
I can’t imagine where I’ll be in ten years. You can’t? No, can you? I can’t. I can’t imagine where I’ll be in ten years, but don’t you think it’s fun to anyway? Sparks my interest, sure. What do you have in mind? In ten years time, I think we’ll still be here. You think we’ll still be on top of our high school roof? We’d be long graduated, probably in another country. I know I’ll be. Fine, you might leave the country, but you’ll come back. No, maybe I’ll find my dream job outside of this hell hole. Maybe I’ll settle down with a nice man, have two children. No. You’ll be right here. You’ll find your way back eventually. You’ll take a vacation. You won’t have two children. This is why no one likes you. You’re still talking to me….Then what? No matter where you go, you find yourself back here. You don’t know why. I really wouldn’t. But your feet drag you here. Almost like a magnet, as if you were born to stay here. And you’re happy to find yourself back here. It clears your mind and you don’t know why. Now wouldn’t that be a fine thing to have. You know what you just described? A home. So what about you? Where will you be in ten years? Well, I guess that’s for you to decide. My turn, huh? Okay, let’s give it a shot. You’ll be right here, lying down and watching the clouds. Oh yeah? And you’ll be happy. All your worries and pain will go away as your eyes watch those white fluffs. This is your home after all. This is where you belong.
Zephyr: A slight wind
The summer died. And with it, cries of cicadas. And with it, the scorching sun. And with it, beads of sweat. And with it, short sleeve shirts. And with it, the energy of a thousand children on a playground. And with it, sunflowers. And with it, break. And with it, ice cold water bottles tied to my neck. And with it, guiltless ice-cream. And with it, long days, short nights. And with it, laze-filled afternoons. And with it, guiltless air-conditioner. And with it, dry winds. The dry winds of summer filled with tasteless grass will never come. Those dry winds would stick onto my shirt. They would wrap around me, forcing me to peel my skin. With the dying summer, a new wind would emerge. The fall winds come aptly after the summer has died. They come in a slight wave, to indicate their intentions. It blows nicely onto my face. And with it, a new season.
Yore: Time long past
Winter tears. That concept keeps reappearing in my childhood. Winter tears. I don’t know what it means, but it appears in all the dreams I have of when I was little. Winter tears. Let me think. When I was little, I loved playing in the snow. I would frolic in knee deep streets just plowing my way through. The cold never caught me. I wore a heavy jacket with a red scarf and blue mittens that anchored me home. I was the giddiest when I was out in the snow. I could never imagine myself crying for any reason. Even when the kids picked on me, I didn’t cry. But winter tears are the only thing that comes to mind. Let me think. The only thing I could think of that would accommodate that feeling of winter tears is probably icicles. They hung on rafters and looked almost as if they were elongated tears. Though I’m not too sure I would hinge on that being important. Winter tears. Oh… Maybe– Okay, maybe it’s something– No, really? Winter tears. Okay, it makes a little sense. It’s what I used to call snow fall. Winter tears. I remember now, vaguely. I would prance about at home, yelling winter tears are falling! and have my parents laugh about my word for snow. Yeah, that sound’s about it. Of course, I know it’s called snow now.
Yonder: Distant but within sight
Everyone has a dream. I won’t believe otherwise. I don’t think I’d ever be able to find someone who can honestly tell me, with all of their strength, with all of the courage in their body, “I don’t want to do anything.” Otherwise, they’d already be dead. Sure enough, knowing that, it means that people aren’t aware of their dreams. If they were aware of their dreams, they wouldn’t give me that answer. And if they weren’t, they would. They’d go on their lives thinking they had no reason or mantra to live by. They’d go on their lives telling everyone just how miserable they are living in a warm home eating hot food, drinking safe water, breathing clean air. They’d wallow in the first world. And it takes courage to realize that. Not many people are courageous. Once their minds are set on allowing themselves this condition of depression, they never want to leave. They’ve found their own bubble. They’ve encased themselves in a pit without light. It sounds strange, inane even. And it’s not their fault that they find themselves in these shells. It’s just how they are. It’s hard to change when you’ve already been so comfortable being so miserable. It takes courage to change. But change is always with us. Our dreams, and our feelings never leave us. Why would they? It’s not that they’ve never been there, as some claim. It’s always been with us, always been in front of us. But people often choose to have it be a thousand miles, and a million days away.
Xiphoid: Shaped like a sword
What you’re holding there, it’s quite shaped like a sword, don’t you think? What? This? Precisely. And can you tell me why this is shaped like a sword? I mean clearly this isn’t anything sword-like. And for that matter, what do you even consider sword-like? If you touch its edge, what happens? Do you not get harmed from its sharpness? I suppose so. It’s edge is quite dangerous. If I’m not careful, I’ll be stung from its tact. And even if I am careful, I still need my wits about me. And if you turn it in your hands, does it not glint in the sun’s chagrin? That it does very well. The more I turn, the more it shines and blinds all who are not prepared. And almost everyone is not prepared. They will be captivated by its likeness to holy scripture and want to join the light. And when it gets dull, do you not sharpen it to keep its edge? That I do. The more I use this the duller it becomes. Once sharpened, it becomes even greater than before. And it has killed more than you can count? It’s consumed more than I could ever fathom in my life time. Have you not described to me a sword? Though perhaps not a sword in material, I can see your point. What I am holding in my hand is no sword, and yet it is so very sword-like.
Xerarch: Originating in a dry habitat
Who are these people? I mean, where did they come from? Those guys? You really want to know? We’re in a museum for a reason. Hit me. They used to be us. They used to be us? Yeah, like a past evolution. You know about the Creation Theory, right? It’s how we were made from the stem cells of the humans who used to live on this planet, right? Exactly. We had apparently been made from these guys. Oh. Small world. But not a lot of people want to admit that. Why not? You really are lucky aren’t you? Ah whatever. No harm in telling you. This planet we live on, you like it? It’s a pretty good place. We have plenty of vegetation, the pollution is stable, and we have enough energy for everyone. War has also been abolished and– Its flawless. The world is flawless. The only thing we need to worry about is the Sun blowing u. But it wasn’t always like that. I know, the planet was terraformed, right? That’s a nice way to put it. Want to hear another? The planet was run dry. Run dry? The human you see there? Well, the reason why he’s over there and not over here, is because of this planet. Then how come we aren’t repeating that? I mean, we’re cut from the same genes. That’s because of the Creation Theory. We were made for this planet. All of us. I see.
Wangle: Accomplishing something by scheming or trickery
How long do you think you can hold their attention? Why would you ask? No real reason. Just wondering. So how long do you think you can hold their attention? It’s quite important actually. For as long as I can, I guess. That’s hardly an answer. You disappoint me. I’m not here to impress you. But you are here to do your job. And I’m doing my job, aren’t I? Are you? I think so. After all, I should have their attention by now. Do you? Can’t tell. If they’ve left, then, I guess we don’t have their attention at all. Now wouldn’t that be quite something? It would. That would be quite the show stopper. How long do you think you can hold their attention? Why would you ask? No real reason. Just wondering. So how long do you think you can hold their attention? It’s quite important actually. For as long as I can, I guess. That’s hardly an answer. You disappoint me. I’m not here to impress you. But you are here to do your job. And I’m doing my job, aren’t I? Are you? I think so. After all, I should have their attention by now. Do you? Can’t tell. If they’ve left, then, I guess we don’t have their attention at all. Now wouldn’t that be quite something? It would. That would be quite the show stopper. How long do you think you can hold their attention?
Waif: A homeless child especially one forsaken or orphaned
The streets are cold. People walk by without giving me a second look. Most people would snicker, some would glare, but none would ever dare to see eye to eye with a ragged boy. The winds that rode up the buildings and came crashing down onto me were harsh. They cut my face and my clothes and made sure to waft my presence to all those around me. Even the other ones who share the street with me try not to look my way. Sometimes I find a nice blanket to wrap myself over as the nights grow long. But when morning comes, that blanket is gone. My pockets are cleaned, and I wonder why I am left alive. The streets are cold. I wonder where my parents are. Sometimes I imagine them to be one of the people walking by as they snicker at me. But other times, I wonder if they’ve already left the country. If I could leave the streets and find myself in a home, I think I would cry. Most people complain about the state of their home, about the size, about the furniture, about the depreciating value. The streets are large, but empty. They can be renovated and shifted but, they’ll always do the same thing. No one really complains about the streets because no one’s really lived here. If everybody lived on the streets, and being in a home was considered homeless, I wonder how the world would be as I sit in a warm house without a care in the world. Though, even in that world, the streets would still be cold.
Venal: Capable of being corrupted
Thi_ p@rag–ph ha_ be4n ta2mpe4ed w1th. P1ease seeeee annn operaator to fix dis paragraf. ef yu d0 knot f1x dis para***** den youare en tire doc u ment well beecome kor rupted. St0p opera ating know tow fixx dis pr0 blem.
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Vaunt: Show off
Hey, you’re here again. Oh, it’s you, I thought I smelled something rancid. Is that anyway to greet a friend? Not at all, so what? You never change do you. Why would I? Rightly so. You still downing those things? Like the sound of that? The ice clinks onto the glass like the rain on my roof. Soothing right? The only thing soothing is how tired you sound. How much? I’ve had a couple of glasses. Couple? Yeah right, this guy’s been downing them like no tomorrow. Jesus man, lay off, you’re going to die one of these days, you know that? Course I know that. And yet you’re still drinking? I’m drinking BECAUSE I know that. Damn it man, you’re always like this. Always so, in your own world. Well, this is my corner of the world, and that over there, you see that door? That’s yours. Look, I’m not cleaning up your mess when you die. I don’t expect it. You were never really troubled were you. What? You know, the reason why normal people drink. They’re troubled, and so the drink lets them slip away you know. Maybe. What about you? That can’t taste good after the hundredth time. So why do you drink? I’ve never thought about it. And yet you still drink like that? It’s just a habit now. If I had a crappy liver like yours, I’d go drinking all the time. If you did, you’d end up like me. And that’d be bad? The worst damn thing you’ll ever know.