Category: Wednesday's Word

Every Wednesday, on Writing Under Pressure, you’ll find a post based on Today’s Word (from Wordsmith.org). Check Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar for past essays, poems, or flash fiction pieces.

Today’s word:

imbricate. adjective: Having overlapping edges, as tiles on a roof or scales on a fish.

Burned

They called him “Albert the Human Armadillo,” and he was.

He had rows of scales that ran down the course of his chest – a hardening of his skin well-studied and biopsied by doctor after doctor but never explained. They prescribed creams and ointments and oils that left him smelling of fish or burnt embers. Though always well-lubed, his armor remained.

Albert’s scales had grown slowly. He remembered the day they started, and the times they spread.

When he was eight, he worked all day on a card for his mother’s birthday, writing letters to perfection and coloring in her cartoon hair with a light shade of brown. She smiled when he gave it to her. But, two days later he found the card abandoned in a pile of newspapers – the letters smeared by something wet – and he felt a burning sensation in the middle of his chest. His mother apologized as she stood outside his closed bedroom door, saying she couldn’t keep every card. But, still, he had spent all day drawing. When he woke up the next morning, his eyes were swollen and a small, rough patch had formed along the spot on his chest that had burned when he cried.

The patch doubled in size after his father’s trip to Italy. His father promised to bring Albert a statue of the Leaning Tower of Pisa when he came home. Instead, he showed up in the kitchen and hoisted an expensive bottle of wine. Then, his father called Albert a cry-baby and said he’d go back to the airport and buy him a postcard if it meant that much to him.

Albert’s whole chest succumbed to scales overnight after Ruby, his first real girlfriend, dragged him to the drive-in restaurant and then told him – over a chocolate malt – that she couldn’t go out with him any more. She said that the spot on his chest was getting bigger, she was sure, and it was starting to freak her out. As Albert turned and stared at the steering wheel, she climbed out of his dad’s station wagon and ran to the other side of the drive-in. She jumped into Roger Simon’s red Mustang, and Roger drove her away with a screech and a squeal.

At the high school prom, Albert approached Roger and took a swing at him. He missed, but Roger didn’t. Roger hit Albert square in the chest. Only, it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, the punch barely knocked him back. That’s when they started calling him Albert, the Human Armadillo.

And, that’s when Albert stopped treating his condition. He settled into his armor that stiffened his posture. Sometimes he even stood in front of the mirror and hit his knuckles against it, with pride.

Continue reading “Burned: Flash Fiction on Wednesday”

Every Wednesday, I write a post based on Today’s Word at Wordsmith.org. You can find past essays or flash fiction pieces under the Wednesday’s Word topic on the sidebar.

*****

This week on Wordsmith.org, each word of the day is paired with a pictorial representation. Yesterday’s image for Old Man of the Sea (yes, five words combine to make one word of the day) made me laugh, especially after I read the definition:

Old Man of the Sea. noun. A tiresome burden, especially a person, difficult to free oneself from.

I give you my inner editor who, when I stare at my WIP on my laptop screen, demands “more character development and less exposition!”

Too bad these posts aren’t filed under Tuesday’s word.

On to Wednesday.

You might want to do some speech warm-ups before you try to pronounce this word; it’s a mouthful:

Pygmalionism. noun. 1. the state of being in love with an object of one’s own making. 2. The condition of loving an inanimate object such as a statue or an image.

What immediately came to mind for me, after reading that definition, were three words: red velvet cake. A home made red velvet cake – with its magical red chocolate middle hidden under creamy white icing – says, You are special.

A red velvet cake is so extraordinary that one bite will take you out of the moment and into a dream.

*****

Red Velvet Sunday

When Bethany awoke, the sun had already positioned itself behind the top branches of the tree outside her window. Rays of light shot through leaves that glistened and reflected and pierced her sleepy eyes. She looked at the clock. Eleven thirty. As she sat up in bed, she heard a thud, like something hit the wall of her parent’s room next door. She held her breath. The rumble of her father’s voice made her heart race.

She turned to her window, and a cardinal popped into view. He sat on a branch, cocked his head, and called out a song to her.

On her way to the bathroom, she passed her parent’s door.

Her mother yelled. “Why even bother to come home!”
Her father shouted back. “I pay for this house. I’ll come home when I damn well please!”

Bethany closed the bathroom door and put her hands on the sink. She looked up at her reflection. Her index finger followed the brown shadow that still remained under her right eye – a consequence of her last attempt to break up her parent’s fight.

“Stupid,” she told her reflection. Stupid to get into the middle when their voices raged. But, she couldn’t stand her mother’s screams that day.

She brushed her teeth, went back out into the hall, and raised her right hand to her ear as another barrage of words exploded behind their closed door.

He set her straight. “It’s none of your damn business where I go!”
She threatened. “I won’t lay down for you anymore!”

As their voices crescendoed, Bethany disappeared into the kitchen. She closed the swinging door and turned on her father’s transistor radio. Across the AM waves, a man sang about branches in a tree and reaching for freedom.

‘Cause there’s a place in the sun
Where there’s hope for ev’ryone

She opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the flour, sugar, cocoa, and a bottle of Mrs. McCormick red food coloring. While other girls her age spent their babysitting money on cds and t-shirts, Bethany spent hers on concealer and bottles of food coloring. One four ounce bottle was the exact amount she needed for a two-layer red velvet cake.

Continue reading “Red Velvet Sunday”