Prolixity- a tendency to speak or write at great or tedious length
Walking out of his cottage, Devon knew by the sway of the branches that stumbling out on a procellous day like today was taking a chance that could have heavy consequences. Devon’s leg had not healed properly, was still very sensitive to the touch, and if he fell he was risking damaging the work the doctors had put into reconstructing his thigh after the accident. Were he a woman, he would choose to wear a Kimono to both hide the bandages and provide the loose comfort his wounds yearned for, but for now he would have to focus only on the path in front of him and nothing else. Knowing his luck he would snag the silk on a twig first thing outside and fray the precious silk anyhow.
Devon wasn’t sure why he felt like heading to Marta’s house now. She was a conversationalist with prolixity and he often wanted to leave her company only seconds after she started speaking.
Upon reaching Marta’s door, Devon cleared his throat and knocked on the heavy, wooden door. He didn’t want to show how much he wanted to see her; but he was here and would stay for a while. When Marta opened the door the first thing Devon was hit with was a strong smell of wild strawberries along with warm air of her oven. He would have to try and coax her to let him try whatever it was that she was baking. She was a fantastic chef and never haughty. Sometimes she even acted as though she had never stepped foot in a kitchen before. Devon was hoping the perilous walk here would be worth it!
Veva knew the dance would be postponed but she still wanted to buy a pretty dress. She went to the special dress shop at the mall and fell in love with the gown in the window. It was iridescent and had flower petalsswirled around the bodice. Her mood suddenly lifted; she felt spirited and had more inspiration to pull her grades up so she could go to the dance without worrying.
Dreading the thought about the work she needed to complete for class, she turned her focus to the boy who wanted to accompany her to the dance. He came from an affluent family. His father’s family was indigenous to the area, giving her a dose of history when she spent time with them.
On the other hand, his mother was native American and came from the west coast. When she was growing up the mighty hummingbird signified virtue and peace.
Becky wished she had been alive during the Renaissance because of her love of classical philosophy. She loved the way people came together to meld literature and art. If she could have been there, she thought, she could have come away with gold embellished leggings as a souvenir. But for now, she held her thumb against the fabric of her nylon leggings, trying to tuck the tag back in.
Becky was looking forward to her date that evening with Roberto. She had met him in the half empty train station, and it had been coup de foudre. She knew her best friend Jenna did not believe in “love at first sight.” That particular day Roberto had been standing in the ticket line that was coiled around the pillar in the station. He had been wearing a crisp, new polo shirt and Becky felt he looked sumptuous! If they had met during the Renaissance, they would have fallen in love just as quickly as they had that day. Becky loved that Roberto was as romantic as she was.
Once upon a time there was a ruthless leader who thought he could trump all the other rulers. He was a hypocrite of sorts, saying the country needs justice, but defiling all his democratic contenders. He was a sad man, not sorrow that would be felt for others, rather a pathetic sort of sadness that for whatever reason even his sycophants couldn’t see. When his blunders were made public he acted like a turtle, hiding in a shell, denying all wrong doings, until the anger came to an end and he could come out again without strain. He left his country feeling dead to the world, no longer the nation they were once proud of.