Paltry

paltry \PAWL-tree\, adjective:
1. almost worthless; trifling
2. of no worth; contemptible, despicable

Poultry. Cold, damp, goose-pimpled. Layered with a thin, slimy membrane of skin. She runs her fingers over it, feels its slight give with her slight pressure. Readying herself for what she knows she has to do, that as a child she told herself she would never do. Like cooking raw hamburger meat. She could never be in the kitchen as a girl when her mother was making tacos, as the pink flesh turned to brown, sizzling in the pan, withering away in its own juices. The smell so awful and thick, it permeated everything.
Now she stands at the kitchen sink, staring down at a featherless bird with its head and feet cut off, trying to muck up the courage to actually hold the thing in her hands and push globs of stuffing into its hollowed center with her bony, shaking fingers.

Narcissism

narcissism \NAHR-suh-siz-em\, noun: excessive love or admiration for oneself

Just out of the shower, she wipes the condensation from the glass, leaving globlets of water in trails. She wipes her palm against the towel draped taut across her hip, then, reaching back up, she uses the tip of her pointer finger to dab away the bubbles she's created. Leaning in closely, she stares into her own eyes, judging their green-ness, the depth of her pupils, looking for what others might see in them. Moving her glance upwards, she follows the curve of her eyebrows, up and around to the height of her cheekbones, down to the width of her mouth. She perceives the hint of a frown. She forces her mouth into a plump pout, a grimace, a toothy smile. In each pose, her fingertips trace the lines and divets and changes that her face makes. Once again she is drawn to her eyes, and she delicately brushes the feathery points of her lashes. In the corners, on either side of the bridge of her nose, she presses into the soft tissue there, where beneath she imagines her tear ducts lie.

Laggard

laggard \LAG-erd\, adjective, noun: a person or thing that moves too slowly or falls behind

"Hey, did I ever tell you that joke with the tomatoes and the ketchup?"
"Isn't that the one when the father tomato tells the baby tomato to 'catch up'?"
"Oh, so you've heard it before."
"Yeah, I've heard it before."
We continue to shuffle along the sidewalk, me just ahead a little. Sam a little ways back, stepping in my shadow. This is new and I can't figure out where it's come from. It's a bit unsettling, if you want to know. Sometimes I try to walk a bit faster, but Sam's got long legs. I can never lose him.
"Hey, how about the knock-knock joke about oranges?"
"The one where you keep repeating 'orange you glad' until you get to bananas?"
"Yeah..."
"I hate that one."
"Yeah...I could see that."
I step on any fallen leaves that I come upon. They are just starting to fall. I even go out of my way to crunch them, which is strange. It used to be that I would pick them up, collect them. Just the new ones, the first ones. And I'd bring them home and put them in the basket on the table in the kitchen. Mom would dump them once they got old and crinkly, but for a while she'd let me put and keep them there. Mom let us do most things. She was always good like that. As long as what we did didn't hurt anybody, she didn't mind.
It's funny how things change.

Jaded

jaded \JEY-did\, adjective:
worn out; tired, weary

The bell above the door still jingling from the last departing customer. The tables still filled with the debris of leftovers: ketchup-ed plates, crumb-smeared faux-leather booth seats, froth-crusted milkshake glasses, chewed red-striped straws criss-crossed over one another, depleted peeled-back plastic cream containers lying on their sides and gaping. Dropped silverware still lying on the floor. Tips, crumbled dollars, half-resting in puddles of soda and coffee spills, the green of the paper slowly turning to the same dull colored brown of the floor. Boot scrapes and chair digs accentuate the old linoleum. A mop only sweeps away the tiny stones and mud trails, but leaves behind everything else: another day's worth of aging.

The people behind the counter move slowly, only mildly surveying what is left to be done. Someone pours the remains of the pots of joe down the drains, after first leaving a few mug-fulls for anyone who may be wanting. Sponges and rags are dragged across surfaces, sliding a layer of soapy water across the flat faces and tops. Bottles of condiments are refilled from buckets of the same kept in the back beneath the wells of sinks in the kitchen, where now the things which need cleaning are brought to soak. No one bothers to scrape off the remains of meals into the garbage pails, and so the pieces of food float to the top and bob, bob, bob.

At the end, when all that can be done is done, one by one the night shifters jingle the bell with the door as they leave, pulling keychains from pockets, and walk softly to their automobiles. They bring the smell of the place with them in their skin and in their clothes and in their hair. At home they unbotton and slip out of their uniforms. They comb and pluck and brush. They shower, shampoo, and scrub themselves, and after rinsing, they repeat.

Fabricate

fabricate \FAB-ri-keyt\, verb:
1. to make, build, or construct
2. to make up, invent
3. to fake or forge a document or signature

Fictional characters fabricate fundamental philosophies of un-functional familial affectations of affection.

Beatific

beatific \bee-uh-TIF-ik\, adjective:
1. exaltedly happy; blissful
2. blessing or making exceedingly happy

A warm breeze on a fall afternoon
inciting the excited whispering of the leaves
which color the trees

A single circular patch of lush green
in a field of crab grass and tiny stones,
the perfect place to sit and be

Waking up to flannel sheets
warm feet against warm feet
a yawn and a sigh, a smile

Egg nog in a breakfast blend
let it linger on the tongue a bit
lap it up but slowly

A kitten sitting on a windowsill
the blue and sunlight coming through
so you must sit and watch it too.

Sequacious

sequacious \sih-KWAY-shuhs\, adjective:
1. proceeding smoothly and regularly
2. disposed to follow, especially slavishly

"You follow her around like a puppy dog," they say. With a growl. A sneer on their faces. Like I sicken them. And I don't know what to say in response, so I don't say anything. I hardly ever say anything at all. Ever. Only to her. I don't have any other friends. Which is fine by me. And even with her I don't have to say much. Or if I do, it's a script we've gone through so many times before that I barely even have to think what comes next. With other people though, it's different. It's gotten to the point where I've developed an almost imperceptible stutter when I talk to someone that isn't her. I can tell that others are beginning to notice it. Even in classes, I try not to raise my hand to answer questions too often, but just enough as to not raise suspicion or draw unwanted attention to myself. But of course, that's all I tend to do. Attract attention. And not the good kind either. It's all whispers and stares and glares.
I'd like to say it's because they're all jealous of me, but I know that's not it. And I couldn't care less what they think of me. I'm just tired of the remarks, the looks, the assumptions. They assume I'm just like them. I mean, honestly, at the root of it all, they must assume I am just like them, and therefore believe that they can judge me by the same standards by which they judge themselves. But that's where they've got it all wrong. I'm nothing like them. Nothing.
That's why I prefer her company to anyone else's. She knows I'm not just the same as her. I'm not special. She's special, but I'm not. She's amazing, and I'm lucky that she lets me walk with her to school and back to our street again at the end of the day. Lucky that she lets me sit with her in the cafeteria and share the contents of her lunch box most times when I've got nothing. That she invites me to her house after school to do homework and never asks when I'm going to go home. That she let's me in when I climb up to her window on the really bad nights, and stay in her room until I calm down. Lets me crawl into her bed with her when I'm afraid to go back, because I know it won't be over yet.
And in my bones I know that if I could, I would follow her forever, because she lets me cry and holds me when I shake so bad from sobbing.