One Word.

I started this blog so that I could write often.  Writing often is one of the most major parts of writing well, in my opinion.  So, when I stumbled upon oneword, I was obviously quite excited to give it a try.  I've been doing one a day for a few months now.  You should head over and write one. It only takes sixty seconds.

Here's my entry for today's word, radar.

Radar. Radar. Forwards and backwards, the same.  Forwards and backwards, but there were still no dots appearing in the grid.  Palindromes flooded my mind- shamefully, because you were lost somewhere in the dark waters.  With every fruitless blink of the screen, you grew farther and farther away. Visions of racecars at noon. You were probably gone by then. 

And, reader.

On the table, it was a maze of tiny dots.  His fingers navigated them effortlessly, tracing the tips along pathways that were invisible to me.  I imagined him suddenly shrunken to the size of the reader, running breathlessly through mountains of plastic.  His eyes, a gentle shade of dull blue, were useful only to me. They betrayed moments of brief discernment as his hands brushed particular spots of the page.  They flashed abruptly, and he quickly withdrew his hands.  I could tell that he had seen me. 

    

 I might be addicted. average.

His appearance was nearly average, but there was a warmth in the eyes.  The corners of his mouth gently coaxed his lips into a timid half-smile.  I liked the wringing hands.  Strangers to labor, I could tell. They looked soft, like two delicate things quarreling.  They gripped tighter. He exhaled his words effortlessly, maybe tenderly. My forced passivity grew more unbearable with every syllable.

lousy.

It fell. It collided rudely with objects on a reckless path towards the ground.  She could see its scornful shape as it sunk through the air. Her own words entered dutifully into battle, punching blindly as they also descended.  The hopeful victors met at her feet, but the assault had moved to her mind.  All of them lay still at the end of it- vile bodies born of crooked letters and ill intentions.