SEM2, W2, #2: MANDATORY VOCAB STORY

This entry is mandatory. A separate quiz grade will be given for every student’s entry.

  • “A” = a truly unique story/description that shows a sophisticated use of the words and the willingness to develop the idea(s); it’s clear that the story works even without the vocab words being the focus.
  • “B” = a creative idea with potential (if more time was available) with a solid use of the vocab words; perhaps a bit rushed; the vocab words seem to be the focus (with the story seeming to be ‘added on’ a bit).
  • “C” (or lower) = seems to be rushing through the assignment with minimal development/understanding.
  • “F” = no entry.
  • Note:  Mr. Long may substitute “F” with a “zero” in the grade book if the student has a pattern of not doing these vocab entries over the quarter.  If only one mandatory vocab entry is missing in the quarter, then an “F” will offer a minimal penalty grade-wise.

Directions:

  • Write a brief story or description of the image.
  • Use all 10 of the following words from the January 26 list seen below.
  • Include:  definition and part of speech (as you use it) in parenthesis to receive maximum credit.

The words:

  • apprise
  • diatribe
  • distend
  • latent
  • mollify
  • placate
  • proliferation
  • rancor
  • surreptitious
  • vituperative

Remember: Include the definition and part of speech (as you use it) in parenthesis to get maximum credit

Image 1 (link: http://tinyurl.com/b68l82)

bluepuzzle

Image 2 (link: http://tinyurl.com/asgv7s)

so-funny

Image 3 (link:  http://tinyurl.com/bsbl6b)

livelovelaugh

Advertisements

69 responses to “SEM2, W2, #2: MANDATORY VOCAB STORY

  1. As I woke, the sky was obstructed by abnormal blue leaves. It’s been fourteen days since I was abandoned on this planet, and so far I’ve managed to stay alive despite the mistreatment of these horrendous beasts. They feed me seemingly random scraps from their earth. The food is round and has a gritty texture, and the juicy inside adds such overwhelming flavor it’s hard to swallow. The food has proven to be rather unfulfilling, and before long my hunger flares up once more. During the day, I sit and observe these monstrous, ugly creatures, and at night I contemplate a way to escape this bizarre realm.
    I can remember what had happened to land me in such a predicament quite vividly. I, along with four of my comrades, was sent to a new planet that had recently been photographed by one of our space stations. This had been the first planet we had discovered in a long time, and the masses were shaking with anticipation when our shuttle was launched with the mission to explore this fantastic planet. The voyage took four long years, during which time we prepared for new atmospheric conditions, strange plant life, and uncanny life forms, be they friendly or otherwise. We five explorers landed in the same dense jungle that I now reside in and we took in the beauty of this extraordinary, perplexing new planet.
    I had never seen so many colors before in my entire life. Shades of green, red, blue, yellow, and other colors I could not comprehend seemed to distend (verb; to stretch) across the entire horizon. Once we had landed, seemingly hundreds of winged beasts screeched and flew in all directions, but this was the only sign of life we had seen just yet. I could hear my space suit analyze the air and determine that it was safe to remove my helmet. My friends seemed to be just as awed as I was, and we were all but excited to remove our helmets and fully take in the alien air. The smell was moist, but pleasant, and it goes without saying that I had never smelled anything like it. I remember that at first I loved this new world, but my comrades were not as delighted. Their countenance was filled with awe, but I could sense a latent (adjective; present but not visible) fear. In an attempt to mollify (verb; soften) their fright, I suggested that we spend the night in the shuttle, and begin exploring in the morning. This seemed to placate (verb; satisfy) them, and we retreated to our shuttle and went to sleep.
    In the morning, our scanners woke us and apprised (verb; to inform) us that a plethora of life forms had huddled around our ship during the night. We checked the video monitors, but everything seemed as it was the day before. We grabbed our weapons and lowered the platform. I was sent alone as an ambassador to the alien creatures, in an attempt to make peace with them. I volunteered for this job because I had felt an innate, empathetic bond with this planet from the moment I had stepped foot on it. Besides, I feared that at the first sign of rancor (noun; hatred or malice) my friends would kill the poor creatures and ruin any sort of diplomacy we may have had. After stepping foot on the soil, I slowly inched forward and spoke kind, amiable words in the softest tone I knew how. Slowly, the creatures seemed to peek out of their hiding places in a surreptitious (adjective; sneaky or unauthorized) manner and muttered amongst themselves. I took this proliferation (noun; rapid spread or increase) of animals as a sign of acceptance, and I proceeded towards them in with a calm heart and a peaceful disposition.
    Suddenly the creatures leapt from their hiding spots and screamed in an alien tongue. The wielded barbaric, sharp sticks and threw hard pieces of earth at me. I tried to turn back to run towards the shuttle, but the aliens had grabbed me. My friends had raised the platform and were already beginning to ascend into the horrid blue heavens; the cowards! With my last conscious breath, I cursed them with as many vituperative (adjective; characterized by violent denunciation) remarks as I could recall.
    Now I lay in wait, planning my escape from this wretched place as soon as possible. I have learned little about this place and these terrible creatures; I bear a deep resentment for all of them. I know that the land is referred to as “the earth”, and I am a prisoner of it. I hear repeatedly the word “man” in reference to another being; I assume that is what they identify themselves as. I do not know what they think I am, or why the want me here, but I know who they are. I know that if I ever do make it back home, they will suffer. Man has treated me as an animal and when the moment presents itself, I shall show them who the real superior being is.

  2. Blue filled my dreams even as it filled the sky above me and melted into a cascade of hues and shades too beautiful to be described with the simple word ‘blue’. A storm was approaching. A storm unlike any I had ever seen. It was the kind of storm that you heard your granddad talk about on the porch with his fellow ancient brethren. They would always go on about the infamous storm of ‘56, and I never knew what they were talking about. I didn’t know how could they remember one storm out of the thousands that create chaos in the sky whenever the weather permits. Only now, after observing this magnificent symphony of blue play throughout the sky and after feeling the electricity coarse through the air, could I possibly understand the remembrance of that storm of ‘56.
    The sky had begun as a light, mollifying(v)(soothing) shade of blue that created a complete serenity that trickled through every pore of every living being. That light, smooth blue placated (v)(pacified) my soul and took over. I wanted to lie down in the fields and stare upward, into the blue, and lose myself in its depths. However, I had no false impressions, for in that tranquility of the blue, I could sense a latent (adj)(hidden) power that silently pervaded the soul of the earth and the throb of energy was almost audible. The storm would soon show its true self, reveal its surreptitious(adj)(secret) power that would rock the foundations of every house and cause every one of my senses to stand on point in defense from that beautiful, terrifying power.
    That precious blue soon faded to reveal a color more akin to the power that accompanied it. A dark blue penetrated the sky and created a stain in the glass of the sky. It began as a faint smudge, but that deep, gray blue soon distended (v)(expanded) and blotted out any light in the sky. As the color spread and wiped any remembrance of the previous, tranquil blue, a faint hum settled over the air, dominating my every thought and creating a rhythm by which I moved instinctively. I felt the sudden urge to be protected, to seek shelter from what I knew was coming. Every animal that had been hiding or slowly clawing out its existence by gathering meager scraps bolted for the nearest shelter, regardless of any harm that may come its way during the flight. I fought the instinct, I stayed on my porch, well apprised(v)(informed) of the dangers that may be coming. I wanted to experience what the blue gray depths had to offer so maybe some day I too can sit on a porch and reminisce about the storm of ’09.
    As quickly as it had come, the dark blue gray disappeared and was replaced by a haunting, blue purple cloud. The proliferation (n)(rapid increase) of the clouds was astonishing. Starting as a small wisp, the airy matter gathered within itself and blossomed out, constantly adding to its magnitude. Along with the blossoming clouds, a cannon boomed deep within the depths. Deep in the center of that chaotic and beautiful mass, a cannon roared. Screaming its fury and declaring a rancor (n)(long-lasting ill will) against the earth, the great cannon announced its hope to ravage the land and leave nothing left. With every sounding of the monster, a surge of electricity infiltrated the air, making the hair on my neck stand to point. That electricity had a power that came from more than just the storm. The power for life to exist and the energy that fueled all life was hidden in the storm. Every shock of static sent a surge through life, renewing and promising to destroy at the same time. I don’t know who or what caused such a diatribe (n)(bitter scolding) by the sky, but this storm was sure to undo any wrong or erase any trace of the error that had been committed against the powers that controlled the sky.
    The haunting purple tinge to the clouds disappeared as black, with a slight overshadow of blue, replaced the purple of the clouds. Everything was dark, the first stage of this storm had been kind, almost caressing. However, this dark promised only a vituperative (adj)(abusive) end as the storm worked its way into its climax. I needed to hide, every sense, every instinct told me to run. I tried to turn away from the sky, but I was cemented in place. I could not bear to tear my eyes away from the sky and tear my eyes away from that symphony of blue that played itself out in the heights of the world. I stood, defiant to reason, defiant to sense, as the storm hit me.
    A wave of wind, blowing in as many different directions as there were, struck me completely from every side. A pelting of water struck me from all sides, with the velocity afforded by the wind, I felt as if rocks were drumming into the very bones of my body. Everything was cold, my senses became more numb with every passing second. Soon, I could not feel the rocks and cold, I could not see the symphony of blue, I couldn’t hear the boom of the cannon stretch into every cranny of the land, I couldn’t taste my own tongue as I began to lose all feeling in my face, and I could not smell the crisp, wet soil emanating from the earth. I let myself become lost in the storm, caught up in its chaos and frenzy, caught up in its subtleties and nuances. I lost myself was never found.

  3. The extravagant colors of the flowers distend (to extend by stretching)(v.) themselves into shadows on the earth. A proliferation (a rapid and often increase or spread)(n.) of layers, different shades of blue amalgamate to placate (appease or pacify)(v.) and mollify (to soften in feeling or temper)(v.) the naked eye. To the naked eye a latent (present but not visible, apparent, or actualized)(adj.) system much like our own is living. Peaceful beings that do not diatribe (a bitter, sharply abusive denuncation, attack, or criticism)(n.) one another or have any rancor (bitter, long-lasting resentment)(n.) of our actions upon them. They are not surreptitiously(obtained, done, made)(adj.) created by men alone but by themselves and their mother. They are not vituperatively (characterized by abuse or scolding)(adv.) raised but are let free to grow. They give no apprise (to give notice, to inform)(v.) upon arrival for there is no need to, this is their land, it always has been and always will be.

  4. Kiddy Pool Showdown

    “Why are you screaming, I just met you at summer care like five minutes ago girl, you really need to shut that mouth,” I said to the little asian girl. “I don’t know if you have ever been apprised(verb, informed) of this, buuut, you really aren’t that good of a singer.” The little asian girl replied, “what was that big word you just used, were five, speak english.” I replied, ” I’m a baby genius.” The asian girl gave me a surreptitious(unauthorized, adj) glance. “What? Never seen a baby genius? I know you have a latent(undeveloped,adj) brain, but those dirty looks are going to have to stop. If it mollifies(soothes,verb) your harsh feelings, maybe someday you can be as smart as me.” The asian girl replied, ” well, my teacher says I’m reallllly smart. And I know I am. So, your vituperative(abusive,adj) mouth better stop. I got news for you, I’m a baby genius too. I bet you that my proliferation(rapid increase,adj) of brain cells is like ten times higher than yours.” I was starting to get mad so I told the asian girl, ” your diatribe(criticism,noun) is pointless, and I can’t describe my rancor(hatred,noun).” At last, my words seemed to distend(expand,verb) across the kiddy pool. And I was finally placated(satisfied,verb). The asian girl was struck and awe. She looked at me and began to cry. I turned my back to the asian and walked away.

  5. Vases are a great centerpiece for many things. They hold beautiful flowers and add latent (adj.) (hidden) artistic values to the house. Yet none are so interesting then the vases in this house. Three vases that have a pure white color and have three surreptitious (adj.) (secret) words, “live, love, laugh”. Now what kindof vasese are these. Vases are suposed to mollify (v.)(soothe). These three however apprise(v.)(inform) us of something. Everybody always have something on there mind. Sometimes it drives them crazy to where they are vituperative (n.)(abusive). With that comes diatribes (n.)(bitter scolding) which proliferates(v.)(rapid increase) your heart to deistend(v.)(expand). Maybe pass out or become broken. Well all I can say is maybe these vases are trying to tell you to remember the 3 important “L’s” in life. Live, Love, and Laugh. Well you gotta live, you gotta love somebody at least, and laugh/be positive/be happy. Maybe remebering these 3 words will placate (v.)(pacify) some people who are feeling angry about life. Just remeber to live, love, and laugh. Thats all that matters. These words will not be rancor(adj.)(long-lasting ill will), for they will stay with you and guide you through life very well. Live, Love, Laugh. Maybe they should have a poem about this.

  6. To (apprise) you of the story, (diatribe) teasing occured in the (surriptitious) fishing trip. To (placate) the angry little girl, the (vituperative), mischievious boy stole her fish. The (latent) truth (distended) in bellowing laughter caused (proliferation) of her heart rate. To (mollify)her hurt fellings he shared his dinner so that there would be no (rancor) between them.

  7. Little Johnny was going to pay for this that’s for sure. My mother tried to placate (to make someone less angry, v) me as my chest distended (to expand v) with large angry breaths. This time…the grudge I will hold against Johnny will be rancor (long lasting adj). I had taken total confidence in Johnny and what I told him was surreptitious (secret n/adj). Johnny deffinatley did not honor that and I would never forgive him. I at first didn’t even know he had told anyone until Spanish…..4th period. My best friend had chosen to apprise (to inform v) me about this information about the whole school knowing my secret via text in the middle of class. What else is one supposed to do besides scream and curse when your secret is bluntly being spread around the school? The teacher didn’t know what the heck was happening except that I was screaming during the middle of her pointless boring lesson. At first she tried to mollify (to sooth v) me to make me stop shrieking but her efforts were worthless. Moments later another text from another friend saying the secret was on proliferation (rapid increase adj) and was making it up into the senior class. Perfect just what I needed in my life. Usually I was not a vituperative (abusive adj) person but as I stormed out of the classroom I fond myself knowing that I would become more violent once I found out who had told my secret. I stormed down the hall right past the principle who gave me a scowl. I knew I would receive a diatribe (bitter scolding n) from him later that day about my outburst. But right now I didn’t care and I only had one thing on my mind. Johnny. I found him in the middle of the school loafing around as usual skipping class most likely. I stormed past him grabbing his arm as I went and towed him into the utility closet. Once inside my once latent (hidden adj) rage….more than I had shown in Spanish class came out all at once. In a matter of seconds I was screaming and thrashing all at once. Suddenly my head was spinning…..he had told a different secret. The secret that I liked Johnny like liked him….as the teenagers call it. And his secret was…that he liked me too. So I guess I wont be holding a grudge against Johnny after all….unless its for making me scream which resulted in that afternoon detention for my outburst during Spanish. Oh life!

  8. Live, laugh, love. Those flowers vases are a reminder to me every day. To apprise (verb, to inform) me that it’s a new day and that is can go on with my life. Ever since I got out of there I tell myself, Anne you did it. You finally escaped from his vituperative (adj, abusive) ways. Luke can never hurt you again. But it’s hard to believe. Some mornings I wake up and I still feel like I’m back in that apartment, trying to get out. The more I try to placate (verb, to make less angry) him, the worse it gets. It starts with the diatribe (noun, bitter scolding) and builds from there. His voice gets louder, carrying across the house, distending (verb, to expand) through the empty rooms. I sit, waiting, hoping that it will blow over. But it never does. I try to mollify (verb, to soothe) myself, to think it will be all right, but I can’t lie to myself like that. It’s a surreptitious (adj, secret) storm that I bear. No one can ever know. You just say that you are fine and they move on. But inside, you are bearing the weight of the world. I guess it’s a way to protect those you love. Tell them what they want to here and they won’t ask question. Yet every single time I would say nothing is wrong, my heartbeat had a massive proliferation (noun, rapid increase). I hate having to hide everything that really matters. Having to put myself last to remain sane. It’s a latent (adj, hidden) part of me that no one can understand. Always having that memory of Luke tears me apart. But even when I try to forget I can’t. It’s almost like I don’t really want to. Like I want to hurt forever even though I just want to get rid of him and everything he has done to me. I guess it’s his rancor (noun, long-lasting ill will). When I left he said I would never forget him, and if I did, then he would find a way back to me. So maybe it’s better to remember, as long as I never see him again. So until something happens I will try to live the best I can. Try to laugh as much as possible, but I’m really not sure if I can ever love again.

  9. Live, love and laugh are latent ((adj.) present but not visible) stuff in the world. They really existent but not visible, because they only appears in your heart, surreptitious ((adj.) acting in a stealthy way) proliferation ((n.) the growth and production). This three stuff are only appears when you want to represent your feeling. Live, love and laugh are only appears in the good feeling, but when you get diatribe ((v.) a bitter, sharply abusive denunciation) your feeling will go bad, this will distend ((v.) to expend by stretching) your bad mood and created that vituperative((adj.) characterized by or the nature of vituperation) rancor(( n.) bitter, rankling resentment, and those represent will not appear anymore, but if someone placate ((v.) to appease or pacify) at you,) your feeling will get mollify( (v.) present but in feeling or temper) you feeling will go back and those represent will showed up again. So now here I want to apprise ((v.) to give a notice) you one thing, that don’t make your feeling bad all the times, because if you have bad feeling, it will decrease you passions, you don’t have passion you cant do anything, nothing will be success, so be happy all the time, it will be great for you.

  10. The Tale of Ossacip

    A long time ago, high in the clouds above the wild Spanish lands, there lived animals of the skies. Among the animals was a very audacious little gray horse, whose name was Ossacip. Ossacip was very close friends with a little goat, who was often very quiet and moody. One day Ossacip could not find his friend and went running to the greatest of all the sky animals, a great bull.
    “I cannot find my friend the goat,” Ossacip whinnied. “Have you seen him?”
    “I am sorry, Ossacip,” the great bull said, “but your friend was very sad. He no longer wished to live.”
    Ossacip was shocked at what the bull had apprised (verb: informed) to him. He knew that the bull didn’t like him much for how overconfident he could be, so Ossacip thought that perhaps he’d surreptitiously (adj-adv: secretly) hidden the goat from him.
    “You sent him below the clouds, didn’t you?” snorted Ossacip, surprised at his own vituperative (adj: abusive, scolding) tone. “I demand that you send me down as well, so that I may look for him!”
    “My poor Ossacip,” rumbled the bull, attempting to placate (verb: pacify, calm down) the angry little horse, “you do not understand.”
    “I demand it!” Ossacip cried. “Send me down now!”
    The old bull often spoke warningly to the other sky animals of the lands below, of how terribly different they were. A life on land was nowhere near as comfortable and easy as was a life in the clouds. Even animals’ eyes were different. Where up here they could see everything clearly and beautifully, down there their eyes were crippled by both darkness and bright light.
    The bull, however, was growing weary under Ossacip’s insistent diatribe (noun: verbal attack, bitter scolding) and had given up trying to mollify (verb: soothe) him.
    “Fine!” he roared. “Go down below! Look for your friend all you wish!”
    The bull stamped his great front hooves, and the winds wavered. They gathered and swirled about little Ossacip, faster and faster, until they blasted through the soft cloud floor and propelled him to the hard earth below.
    Ossacip landed in a tangle of gangly legs and hooves. When at last he straightened himself out and got to his feet, a dreadful sight met his eyes. All he could see was gloom, dyed navy by the dark sky. The shadowy blue pastures and fields distended (verb: stretched) out in all directions as far as he could see.
    The little horse suddenly felt very alone. He knew now that the great bull had been right. His latent (adj: hidden, dormant) grief for his friend now broke over him, and he sobbed in the gloomy blue night.
    For hours he plodded along alone, head hanging in dejection. Poor Ossacip did not know if the great bull would forgive him and let him return to the beautiful skies, or if the bull’s rancor (noun: long-lasting resentment) would leave him wandering in the darkness forever.
    Then, after what seemed like years, Ossacip glimpsed something up ahead. The heavy blue was leaking out of the sky, to be replaced with a warm pink, and a figure stood against it. The figure turned toward him and gave a friendly whinny. It was another horse, a beautiful little mare.
    They galloped toward each other, dancing about and tossing their heads. A proliferation (noun: rapid increase) of rosy light filled the sky, and Ossacip felt the rising sensation of love. Though he’d lost a dear friend and traveled though a time of blue, he’d found another, brighter friend, and he’d reached a time of pink.
    Ossacip never returned to the clouds, but instead continued to live upon the lands below, galloping happily with his love for the rest of his life.

    …(Cough, blue period, cough cough, spell Ossacip backwards, cough cough cough)…

  11. Becaue of the economic situation, I have been working harder than ever. My work hours have distended(to stretch)(v) from the early, blue morning to the late, pitch black night. Because of such work, I have sometimes just blacked out because I was so tired. This has caused my boss to have diatribes(criticism)(n) towards me. After struggling to work every day, every week, every month, and every year has caused me to lose my life. There has been a proliferation(spread)(n) of sadness throughout my life. I, along with this gloom, have attained much rancor(hatred)(n) as well. All happiness in my life was terminated. All it was about was working to survive. As work became more intense, I began to receive some more “pleasant” comments about my work from my vituperative(verbally abusive)(adj) boss. One day, I got a call from my mother, apprising(to inform)(v) me that my dad’s birthday was tomorrow. She asked how I was doing, and I replied, saying my life was horrible. She asked me if I was having any fun, but I replied with a no. I told her I lost my pleasure in life. She told me “Look, your latent(apparent)(adj) happiness exists, just unlock it with the key. Maybe the three Ls will help.” She hung up, saying she had to go. Her words mollified(to soften in feeling)(v) me and made me curious. I pondered on what she told me. What was that key? A picture, a break, what? What was that key to placate(to pacify)(v) my anger? As I walked through my home, I tried to look for those three Ls. I found three bottles my mother gave me when I first moved. They were sort of like vases, to hold flowers. Each one had a philosophical word on each: Live, Love, and Laugh. Each one sparked something in me; I don’t know what. After staring at those vases, I had somehow achieved a surreptitious(obtained secretly)(adj)desire for some fun. How? I don’t know. But now, I was able to finally free myself from the chains of anger and enter life.

  12. I watched as these three small children played in a small hot tub. The water not quite to diatribe (scoding, adj). It was the perfect temperature. After a long day of playing outside the three children needed to molify (soothe, v.) their muscles. One kid seemed particularly vituperative (abusive, adj.). He kept on splashing the water and moving his friends away so that he could distend (expand, v.) his area in the hot tub. I always though a hot tub was a place to placate (soothe, v.) people, but that kid obviously thought otherwise. I’m sure all that splashing will leave a rancor (long lasting ill will, n.) on the other kids.The other two kids had a surreptitious (secret, adj.) and latent (hidden, adj.) plan. They combined forces and just started completely covering this kid to apprise (inform, v.) him to quit, but that did nothing, but make a proliferation ( a rapid increase, n.) in the horseplay. It really made me want to be young again.

  13. Iridescent blue foliage at eye level, and above, a murky gray ceiling is most of what’s left of this once beautiful earth. Below the discolored leaves, there is only a distended (adj, swollen) sea of polluted water. The vast reaching sea was born from the destabilization of melted ice from Greenland and the West Antarctic islands. Deforestation and the destruction of other key habitats has proliferated (v, grown exponentially) the damage of living species at a rate similar to the extinction of the dinosaurs. Approximately sixty-five million years ago the dinosaur era fell prey to an uncontrollable event. On the other hand, it is us, and us alone, who are to blame for the current environmental havoc and potential extinction. We have been warned that this mayhem was coming, many years before An Inconvenient Truth was produced in May, 2006. This catastrophe should come as no surprise. Scientific information about global warming, CO2 build-up, and its deleterious effects has not been kept surreptitiously (adv, in a clandestine way) from the public.

    Several years ago in January, 2009, I attended a lecture that featured a Nobel Prize Winner / former Vice-President of the United States. We were apprised (v, informed) about how we were individually and communally responsible for our environment.

    The speaker’s message was loud and clear to those who were willing to actively listen. In no way could anyone in the audience claim that the speaker’s message was latent (adj, hidden). We were implored to take accountability for how our every day habits were destroying our planet. We were also strongly encouraged to modify our habits, so as not to vituperate (v, abuse) our natural resources, our skies, our lands and ultimately, our ecosystem. Many seated around me were listening apathetically. By the listless looks on their faces, I surmised that they dismissed the speaker’s words with indifference. It seemed to be just another boring diatribe (n, accusatory, prolonged discourse) they were forced to sit through. In retrospect, I was one of “they”.

    I did nothing to lessen my carbon footprint, nor did I implore any of my friends to do so either. Occasionally I would attempt to recycle, brush up on the “greenhouse effect”, or pick up a National Geographic and read about the slow but meticulous melting of the Polar Cap. I now realize I did this in an attempt to placate (v, appease) my guilty conscience. Perhaps if I would have done my part to be more eco-friendly, autumn leaves would be a reddish orange again. Maybe if I would have used my electric car, instead of my pollution mongering coupe, the sky would again be blue with wispy white clouds. I could have and should have, but I didn’t head the speaker’s call to action. My internal rancor (n, animosity) spread to the millions of other “me’s.” My frustration could no longer be mollified (v, tempered).

    Why are the leaves iridescent blue? Why has the sea level rising to historic highs and flooded once thriving low lying cities? Why are our skies so ominously a gloomy grey color? The answer is clear. It is because I and “they” deliberately chose not to do our civic duty – to protect and preserve Mother Nature to the best of our ability.

  14. Image 1:

    Once again, I raised my head and saw the blue tinted tree leaves above. Forcing my eyes shut, I hoped, prayed that when I opened up my eyes again that I would be in my room again. Then, I slowly pried them open, but no. The trees were still there, mocking me with their fiendish blue leaves. I don’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve been having this dream, it’s been months, years probably. Except this time the dream felt different. I don’t know how to describe it, what it is I feel that made this particular dream strange from the others. I apprise (to advise)(v.) to you however not to interpret my story as if you were observing a diatribe (forceful verbal criticism)(n.) of what you shouldn’t do. Feel free to strive for what you wish to learn about the dream. This is just my unfortunate account of what has happened to me because of it. It all started a few years ago, when an idea distended (to swell)(v.) in my mind to try and control the dreams of other people. I toiled for many years in my laboratory desperately seeking the answer to the quest of which I had set for myself. After many obsessive hours spent working I finally managed to create a machine that allowed me to manipulated the thoughts of those that were asleep. Seeing no eager volunteers willing to become a subject for the machine, I myself decided to test out the prototype. When I first went to sleep under the influence of the machine I found myself in a curious place. It was a place very similar to our own world, except for a notable difference of the proliferation (reproduction)(n.) in color of everything. What really intrigued me the most were the trees, which were curiously shaded with a bluish tinge. However, upon closer examination, what I thought to be the wood and bark of the tree was actually living tissue. I touched a part of one of these seemingly humanlike trees and it recoiled from my touch. The other trees reacted in a surprisingly aggressive manner, swinging their branched in an attempt to hit me. I quickly backed away from these creatures and proceeded to explore the rest of the dream world I was in.

    The city that I saw was indeed composed of the same buildings back on Earth, but they looked abnormal. Each building had a recognizable shape, yet the entire city, even the very air, seemed to quiver and shake with a life of their own. Thick grey fog covered the streets leaving me with only a latent (covered)(adj.) trail of clouds for guidance. What I saw next disturbed me beyond words. The people of this place were horrific; they weren’t anything like the people of mankind that was back on Earth. These creatures all looked similar. Each one had ghostly pale skin and wore tattered white robes and whenever they walked, it seemed as if they were floating. What terrified me most however was their face. Each one was wrinkled beyond recognition and had eyes without pupils that gave off an eerie glow. They didn’t have noses and their mouths were large circles of void surrounded by rings upon rings of teeth. One of these creatures spotted me walking and stared at me. I stopped moving and held my breath, hoping the abomination would be mollified (appeased)(v.) at my intrusion and ignore me and move on. Alas, the creature kept on staring and just as I was thinking that it would go away, it shrieked a cry so dreadful it sent chills up my spine. The thing started to sprint towards me on all fours at an alarming speed, screaming at me with rancor (malignant hat)(n.) and I fled. I ran as hard as my body would allow, not wanting to think about what would happen to me if I got captured by that…that thing! I managed to run back to my laboratory and slam the door shut just as the creature lunged for me. I felt the thing crash against the door and was afraid that it would break through, but it held firm despite the thing’s efforts. I spent a few minutes gasping for breathe, trying to recover from my escape and collapsed on the floor. What I had that thought as a marvelous discovery turned out to be a machine of horror that should never be used. I went back into the machine, eager to escape this horrible place and went to sleep, once again under the machine’s influence.

    I awoke and ended where I am now. Still inside this other world, perhaps stuck for eternity, until time erodes my bones. Everyday I go back to my laboratory trying to think of something, anything to help me get back to the place I once called home, but that was years ago and the creatures that I have managed to run away from on that first day have learned of my presence. Every night I see them. Surreptitiously (done by stealth)(adv.) prowling around my lab, hungry, waiting for me to come out. I’m safe during the day because I have learned that those things are afraid of sunlight, although this doesn’t placate (to pacify)(v.) the fear I posses for those creatures, and can only come out and hunt during the night. But every night I have to go to sleep hearing the shrieks and howls of those creatures ever cautious of the possibility of them breaking into my fortress of safety. I say to you with vituperation (abusive criticism)(n.), never make the mistake that I have sadly made. Because of the error I will never know if I will be able to escape into my own world. Yet I still try to get back, hopefully opening my eyes every time I wake up, that I will be in my world again. Until then, I have to live, I have to remain. I must survive.

  15. I’m falling, again, seeing swirls and delightful nothings that pertain to everything. Bright blues, radical reds, glaring greens, and other colorful alliterations randomly mixed together into a massive twist of random. Dull, latent (adj) diamonds come out of (hiding) and kill inanimate objects, causing the light to fade, which makes the diamonds sparkle. My entire world is engulfed into nothing and all that is left is an eraser that instantaneously transforms into a vituperative (adj) vampire apple. It keeps (insulting) me, bringing back memories from my childhood and using them as witty come backs.
    My heart suffers from a proliferation (noun), its rate (increases rapidly) to a point where I cannot count the beats. I probably should be dead right now, but I have suffered from my fair share of near death experiences in this, dream? There was the executioner with the stunning orange outfit and a very dangerous-looking picture frame, and let’s not forget the mumbling lady-bug shaped piano charging towards me from above. That piano had a surprisingly clear sound; one would think it would have been muffled from behind the bright blue leaves on the purple tree-OW!
    He hit me.
    “Laurel, get away from me, I was having a…very strange dream”
    “I don’t EXIST, remember? And neither does Henry. You can’t refuse to talk to us and expect us to cater to your every whim.
    “Henry is a snowball, Laurel. Aw! Crap. I’m not talking to you as of now”
    Laurel rolled his eyes and walked away from the area in the field I had been sleeping on. I am NOT supposed to speak to him. He isn’t real. I can’t get better if I continue to acknowledge him like that. Schizophrenia doesn’t run in my family, is it even an inherited disease? He seems so real, but no one else can see him. Him and that strangely beckoning snide grin of his. Rancor (noun) would have formed a while ago if he wasn’t so awesome. (Resenting) Laurel is impossible.
    It took me a few months for me to realize that the person I was talking to only existed in my head. Laurel and I ‘met’ at this very field when I was eight, the one on the outskirts of my house. I just figured he was just walking to enjoy the beautiful day so I didn’t think much of the odd person in the middle the daffodil patch. He said they were his favorite flower, I had never heard someone of the male persuasion ever admit that he had a favorite flower. I thought this would be one of the most surreptitious (adj) thought that would ever go through a guy’s mind, so (secret) that he was embarrassed to even think it.
    Constant diatribe (noun) ran through my head, ‘you should never turn your back on a true friend’. Unfortunately my true friend wasn’t a real friend so the (scolding) in my head continued. I can’t exactly trust my head, seeing that is exactly where the problem lies. He stopped walking, and sat down. He’s there to spite me, I know it. So typical of my imaginary friend. I walked to where he was and sat down next to him. His presence seemed to mollify (verb) my crazy head. The thoughts were (calmed) for a second.
    “I thought I wasn’t real.” He had to bring them back.
    “You’re not. And I’m not talking to you either, I’m talking to myself. People talk to themselves all the time so this is a completely normal thing to do. It just so happens that my best friend is myself and there is nothing wrong with that.”
    “You see, that makes no sense.”
    “I realize that.”
    “If you would just believe me when I say that I’m real and stop being so stubborn we wouldn’t have this issue.”
    “OUR issue is technically my issue.
    He just stared at me with a very confused facial expression but left the conversation at that. Laurel has attempted to convince me of his existence multiple times before, but I can’t get over the reaction that comes when I talk to ‘him’ in public. The only person that ever didn’t think I was insane when I asked “Do you see this man?”(And I must point out, it took a lot of courage to intentionally look like an idiot and say that) was a five-year old girl. The rest just apprised (verb) me that I might have a serious mental issue. Thank you world, you don’t need to (inform) me of this valuable information, I already know. KCHOW.
    “Ow, what the- Laurel!”
    “Did you feel that?”
    “Let us investigate Laurel’s mystery of the day, of course I felt it!”
    “Then I’m real.”
    “No, you’re not. I’m S-C-H-I…schizophrenic, Laurel! Because you’re in my head, my head decides what I feel. I can see, hear, touch, smell and taste you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re here.”
    “Gross.”
    “What?”
    “You said you could taste me.”
    “God, grow up Laurel.”
    “The only way I could grow up was if I existed, which I obviously don’t! If I want to be immature, I will be. “His face was (blowing up), distending (verb) with an angry red color. “ I’ve decided to get over the initial insult of my false existence and go with whatever you think is great.”
    Laurel huffed and fell with his back to the ground. I had upset him. Even if he wasn’t real, I still had to deal with him being here and I actually felt bad. The only way to placate (verb) him would be to believe he existed. I knew it would (make him less angry) to say the words “I believe you” but I couldn’t lie to him, he was my best friend.
    “Prove to me that you are real.”
    “What?”
    “Prove it to me, you seem so sure of your existence, and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I suddenly believe you because you’re mad. If you are real, then this should simple.”
    “Am I important to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then I’m real.”

  16. There once was a boy named Larry whose always had this weird sickness which no one could really figure out until one day he went over to a friend’s house. His friend, Johnny, told him that he had 3 special objects that always mollify ( to ease or soothe, verb) whenever he is sad or upset. Much to Larry’s surprise, there were 3 vases each with one word ” Live” ,”laugh”, or “Love.” Usually these were used to placate ( to pacify verb) Johnny in a time of a crisis. For Larry, it was the catalyst for the proliferation (spread of noun) of his sickness. He twitched slightly with sweat dripping down his body. He said to himself ” They’re uneven… It’s not symmetrical!” His rancor (long resentment noun) continued to grow every second he looked at it. Larry’s friend asked what was wrong, but he refused to apprise ( to inform or give notice verb) him with an answer because he thought it wasn’t worth him knowing. Johnny wasn’t dumb though, he knew something was up so being a good friend he wanted him to have it, he seemed to needing those vases, or so he thought. Larry felt like this request was a vituperative (abusive, adj) remark, an insult if you may. Johnny said, ” Hey, why not put them in your house? Let’s go!” As much as Larry said, “No,” his friend’s latent (apparent adj) disregard was more than obvious. As Larry and his friend walked into his house, in an instant, you could easily see what Larry’s surreptitious (secret adj) sickness was. Everything from his house layout to the paintings on the wall were symmetrical. It was a square house with 8 rooms. As they walked through the crazy yet perfectly symmetrical house, there in his room was a mantel piece of his most prized possession, a painting, unique in its own way, perfectly symmetrical and with 2 candles next to said painting burning at the exact same height. When Johnny looked at this painting, it was like the room had distended ( to stretched verb) far and wide. He put the vases on mantel piece ruining the symmetry and putting Larry into a swirling void of depression. He looked like his guardian had given him a long and drawn out diatribe (scolding, noun) of annoyance. His friend said, “Now you must live with your sickness and learn to get over it. I know it’s not the best treatment, but it’s a start. Tell me how you feel tomorrow. Bye,” and he walked out of Larry’s house and back to his own. For the rest of Larry’s life, he would come home to the setup once loved to the one he now loathes every second of his life.

    Moral of this story, pick better friends!

  17. If you look at glass filled with flowers it makes you think of happy, sunshine. A beautiful day with nothing but greatness. But for one little girl this glass was the inication that life was happening without her.

    Hi, my name is Lizzy and i am a 10 year old girl living in the attic of my home. I have been a surreptious (n.), or secret, my whole life. I have never had a friend, never gone to school, or ever played a sport. I clean, cook and sleep very few hours. My real parents died when i was very young and i was sent away to a foster home. this family was suppose to be the best but all it did was turn into a nightmare. But it turned into a proliferation (n.) of torture. I knew that someone someday would find me and set me free but when that day would come i never knew. I would sit night after night staring at a vase of flowers and just wait for one to fall because that meant that life was going on and i was getting closer and closer to being able to leave the hell house i was brought into. Live, Love ,Laugh was written on those pretty little vases with gorgeous yellow flowers. I wished that one day i could look at those and say i did all those today. I dream every night of finding the perfect life, or perfect in my eyes. The diatribe (n.) given to me by my “parents” was unbearable some of the times. To mollify (v.) my soul at night i would pray in front of those little vases. It was like if i could say it to the glasses that had those three amazing words on it someone would hear it and come to my rescue. It never happened but i never gave up hope, faith and love. I have had an imagination since i can remember. But what i liked to do most was remember the good times i had with my mommy and daddy at the park and in our old house. I could still smell the smell the fresh air when my momma would push me on the swing set and when my daddy would push me on my bike. The pretty yellow flowers in the window seal remind me of that great happiness. It’s amazing how the smallest things in life can give you hope. But all this joy stops when my “mom” calls me downstairs. As i try to placate (v.) her and do more than she asks she continues to beat me like a mad man on a punching bag. I tell her I’m sorry continuously but it changes nothing. And my “dad” is always drunk he doesn’t even know me more than half the time. I live in a world where being invisible or gone would be the greatest happiness. I finish what she has me do and i return to the small attic. I had a hidden dream that only my real mom, dad and Jesus knew. I was a girl who prayed every night for the same thing. I had a latent (adj.) stash of paper under my sleeping bag and every night i would write a message on a piece and stick it on the window. Every night before i went to bed i would write a long note to my family in heaven and then when i would go to sleep i would think that they would read what was going on in my life. I loved waking up to know that they had been kept up to beat in what was going on in my life. The funny thing about me was that i never had an ounce of rancor (n.) in my body because i knew that bitterness poisoned the people around me and hope and care made them stronger. So why spend your whole life putting people down if what you expect in return is the opposite? I loved that every night i could sit and just talk to my parents as i iced my legs that would always be covered in whelps from the early day beatings. The vituperative (adj.) family that i was given to i figured if i smothered them with kindness they would eventually return it. They never did and one night after a huge fight they were having i heard gun shots. As i hid under the covers in fear one of them would come after me i didnt move for hours and then eventually got up. I apprised (v.) myself that whatever happened that i wasn’t alone that my real mom and dad would always be there for me. I walked downstairs to find that both my “parents” were dead as i dropped to my knees in tears the police rushed in and carried me outside. I didn’t really know why i was crying because they were nothing but bad to me but i felt as if even they didn’t deserve to have a short life. As they were putting me in the car i screamed and ran back inside. I ran to the attic and grabbed the three vases that always sat on the ledge of my window seal. i held them so tight and began to cry again. I went back outside and got in the car. On the way to the police station they asked me to distend (v.) on what i knew and i told them i had no idea. The officer told me it was all going to be ok. That i would be sent to a great family soon. I told myself that whoever it was this time i would be ok because i lived through the last one. A few days had gone by and today was the day that i would be given to yet another family. As they police knocked on the door they told me that i would be very happy here. When the woman opened the door she said that she was in the middle of baking cookies if i wanted to help. I was a little nervous but i said ok and went into the kitchen. She talked to the officer for a little bit and walked him out. She came back into the kitchen and just started talking to me like old friends. i was more comfortable the first night there then i ever was in my old house. She told me that tomorrow we would go to church because that’s what she does every Sunday. i told her i have never been but i would love to. She hugged me goodnight and shut the door. I then unloaded my backpack and put the three vases on my nightstand. I looked at the one that said live. I knew that that word was finally coming true. I shut off the light and went to bed. The next morning my “new mom” took me to a class where there were kids just like my age and everything. She said i would learn here and that she would be back in an hour. The teacher began to speak and told us to write something we loved about Jesus. She came over to me and said i dont know if you know who he is but…I stopped her there, i pointed to a picture of a man on the wall. i said i dont know much about that man on the cross but i know he got off. Because he was there with me in my old house the night that my parents died. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. I said he held me close to his side as i hide from the reality of another death. I told her he was the only person i had ever let into my heart. She looked at me and said that i had touched her heart that something amazing was in store for me. When i returned home that day i went upstairs to my room. I looked at my pretty little vases and said that today i learned to laugh and found what it meant to love. And i learned the most important one, love, from Jesus, my momma, and my daddy. My life has begun and i am going to live it to the fullest every day.

  18. It was 6 in the morning. I lay, watching the summer sun creep through the blinds warming my pale face apprising (v; informing) me a new day had began, and the night had ended. Told me my old friends were probably already at the beach surfing, taking in the soft Florida morning sun. I hated that sun, and I hated day. I hated them because along with their beauty and life came my realization that I would not be here much longer. That I may only see another year of days, or maybe less. But, the vituperative (adj; scolding) sun would not listen to my complaints and rose in spite of me.
    Still, my hate for the sun could not match my hate for those three vases illuminated on the window sill. ‘Live’, ‘Laugh’, ‘Love’. It was not my idea of consolation needed in a terminal cancer ward. Bright yellow, so gaudy compared with the stark white sheets and walls. I tried to lift myself from my bed but with no success, I hadn’t felt so weak since the start of my chemo treatment. It wasn’t going to be a good day. I was sure I was the weakest 18 yr old guy ever. Still, I forced my bones to move, forgetting my useless muscles. I had to deliver my diatribe (n; bitter scolding) to those vases. I had to prop myself up enough to glare at those reminders of my sickness. Ha! Like I needed that reminder in this hell of a place!
    I was able to lift myself up enough to just see the garish yellow flowers sticking out the top of my ever hated vases. My rancor (n; long lasting ill will) for those objects had lasted ever since I was admitted to this death house two and a half years ago. Ever since I knew I was not leaving. Since I found out that I had a progressive tumor on my spine, one that had with proliferation (n; rapid increase) paralyzed my legs and left me an incapacitated worthless creature just awaiting the morning I would not awaken to hate the day again.
    The sun was at a higher angle through the glass, distending (v; expanding) into a beautiful orb over the distant ocean that I could just make out from my awkward angle I was still in, too weak to readjust myself. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Great, I could tell from the way the ground shook that it had to be the nurse that was assigned to me. She was my personal hell. Her name was Dr. Torgerson and it was her lovely job to take absolute care of me.
    “Mark!” she called as she saw my blue eyes open. “Already up sweety?” she laughed making her excessive body weight bounce hideously. “You ready for your bath?”
    At those words my already wonderful mood dropped to absolute mad. “Aww” she said trying to placate (v; to make less angry) me, seeing the cold fire in my eyes. She came over to my bed and used her six foot tall frame to easily lift my 110 pound frame of six two into her arms. However long I was in this hospital I don’t think I would get over how degrading it was to have to be bathed and carried around. It was so unfair. I couldn’t stand how my body wouldn’t do what I told it! How I had to be cared for like an infant.
    My morning went as usual, being humiliated beyond belief. Then off to get x-rays, chemo treatment and then back to the surgeon where he would tell me my tumor looked the same though I knew it was steadily growing. Like it was surreptitious (adj; secret) my condition was worsening. And like they had any right to keep it from me, I was an adult after all. In fact it was completely typical until noon, when I met someone that would change my life forever.
    “Baby, you’ve got a new roommate” Torgerson told me as she wheeled in what looked like a skeleton of a little girl. I looked at her half expecting the thing to fall out of the wheel chair and into a proverbial grave. But in spite of my expectations she smiled at me, setting her eyes a light. I stared back in shock, before realizing my mouth was open. No one in that condition could smile so genuinely.
    “Thank you” she trilled to Torgerson revealing the sweetest voice in the world. When that huge lady left the little girl turned to me. “Cancer too?” she asked and then pointed to her and my bald heads. I nodded still taken away by her smile. “I’m Daisy and I’m seven but I’ll be eight in a month” she continued “How old are you?”
    “Eighteen” I mumbled
    She smiled again “Why are you so angry?” she blatantly asked. “I can tell, you look like you want to kill every one” she giggled. “Whats wrong?”
    “Whats wrong?” I almost shouted “Are you joking little girl? I have been stuck in this place for almost three years. I have a tumor in my spine that is going to kill me in probably less than a month. I have no friends; they all forgot me after my third month here. I can’t move my legs! I have to be cared for like an infant! Damn it I’m DYING!”
    She just stared back at me, confused. As I practically hyperventilated from the effort it took to say that. “That’s all?” she asked. I stared back incredulous. “Oh, sorry” she smiled. “You’re scared of dying” and she leaned back on the pillows “That makes sense”.
    “I am not scared” I was able to whisper. Though it was not very convincing neither to her nor to me.
    She had been transferred here from a larger hospital she told me. Of course she was, she was getting healthier she probably be gone before her birthday, be back to being a normal child. No wonder she was so positive. However, she did inform me that both her parents had died in a car crash soon after her diagnosis; at least we had something in common besides cancer. She remained with me for the week always smiling and making me feel uncomfortable. She was able to make me feel so guilty that I wasn’t happy.
    But early on Saturday I realized she was missing from the room. I didn’t know why but I missed her. I really missed her. So when Torgerson came in around eight, I was forced to question where Daisy had gone. Probably home, I was probably deserted by my friend (if you could even call a seven year old a friend) yet again.
    “Mark, she’s undergoing some serious treatment.” I was answered “She has a brain tumor that is putting so much pressure on her brain; it’s a miracle the girl refuses to take any pain medicine.” Though I told them not to my eyes immediately diverted to my morphine drip. “She probably only has a few weeks” she said and I could see tears in her eyes.
    “Oh” I nodded. So she was dying too.
    Later that night I woke to her being in the bed by my side.
    “Hey” she mumbled
    “Hey” I answered
    “Anything interesting happen when I was gone?”
    “No,” I said “ But I found out you are dying too’’
    “Awe man, who told you, Torgerson? I knew it” she answered my nod.
    “And you’re not scared?” I asked trying without success to keep my voice from cracking.
    “Nah, not of dying. I’ll see my family. But I am scared that you won’t enjoy your life, which you hate so much you will never be able to live”
    And that was the last time I ever talked to her. The next morning she was gone, her bed empty and her small sack o belongings out of sight. She had died sometime in the night, her tumor had put too much pressure on her brain, and had killed someone with so much latent (adj; undeveloped) potential.
    I realize now, two and a half years later that she saved me. I also realize that she wasn’t in my life for years and that the change she caused was gradual. She turned my life around in a week and a half, something I can never be too grateful for standing on the steps of Harvard medical school, completely healed. Though it mollifies (v; soothes) me to know I will devote my life to cure others like her I can never completely pay her back. She was God sent in a time I wanted it all to end but was too conceded to admit I was afraid of the end.
    She taught me how to live, though she never got the chance to. She taught me how to love life, every part of it that was given to me.

  19. Idol Effort

    “How do you feel?” I hear these words as I open my eyes to a squint blinded by a bright light, that forces a sharp pain through my head. “God?” I hear the lord’s name spoken and realize that this must have come from me, considering I was in great pain surrounded by a shining light. “No, I’m your nurse, my name is Cindy and you are in the Gulf wait psychiatric ward.” My body becomes tense and I cannot process the information I have just been given. Psychiatric ward? I assume this is simply a dream, which has consumed me to the point where reality was not recognizable. I lift what seems to be a badly bruised and battered arm and begin pinching bits of my skin, not covered with bandage, to wake myself from this dream. I hear a frantic “Doctor, hurry she needs to be restrained, help me mollify (v; soothe) this one!!” Without question that this doctor will be Patrick Dempsey considering he is in all my dreams, always there to soothe me when the nurse calls for it. And as a tall round man with a barren scalp and four chins enters through the still blurry doorway I close my eyes. I pinch myself as hard as I possibly can, and have to apprise (v; to inform) myself that there is a large chance this is reality, and not a dream. Despite the fact that I was bewildered beyond belief, I found the strength to force my eyes open. When I did this the muscular shiny-headed man was placing cold plastic to my skin.
    “What are you doing?” Even these four words shoot pain through my aching head, sharp pains that seem to penetrate even the strongest medicine induced fog. “You are a danger to yourself and to your nurse,” a stern voice barks back at me. I didn’t argue but simply shot him the dirtiest look I was capable of in such pain and attempted to discover a few moments of comfort. “Perhaps this will help you remember! And I enjoy speaking to you in a vituperative (adj; abusive) way, and until you quit shooting me dirty looks the abusive tone is going to continue! I’m a med school grad and I am just as tough as I look lady.” This was spoken as the stern voice shoves a black and white picture in front of my glazed field of vision. As I will myself to sit up, and the plastic barriers pull on my short arm span, I look upon three happy children. My mind gave a jolt and began to venture into reality. “ Are these kids mine?” As I ask the question the answer is given to me in the laugh that moves my body. “I don’t know missy, are they? Wait, before you say anything let me get the psychiatrist. I’m not trained to deal with psychiatric issues just physical problems.”
    This picture was the answer to my questions and the proof that there was no Dr. Mcdreamy because this was no dream. A shorter but still bareheaded man enters my room as this realization is brought to my attention. Before even sitting down he says with no sympathy in his voice, “Ok, tell me what happened and what you remember. And why you feel the way you do.” This was spoken with such monotony that it was evident this man had spoken these words a million times before perhaps even today. “Don’t worry the pain will begin to get better, we’ve renewed your morphine drip. The drip is causing you to distend (v; swell out) quite a bit, but swelling is part of the body’s healing process. Oh and don’t get too excited the drip wont be there for long.” Once again I look at him with the ugliest expression I’m capable of plastered across my face. “I’m no drug addict.” I whisper this as to prevent excessive pain. “Sure, sure, just tell me your story. And could you please raise your voice this is not a surreptitious (adj; secret) matter. That means secret matter, because everyone here has seen your audition on TV Miss. Know what I’ll start you out, you were at the American Idol auditions in Houston Texas and…”
    My memory truly comes to life with the mention of the auditions and I begin to speak, I can definitely tell that the morphine is 100% effective by this point. And before I can tell him that I am fully aware of the meaning of surreptitious, my story is being told. “ That’s not completely accurate Mr. they were the auditions in my hometown, Gulf wait, thank you very much. This is what happened, I went to the auditions because I figured this was a once in a lifetime chance. I have always been very serious about my music, I listen to all the greats, and I’m just as good. Anyway, so I leave my house at like three in the morning and when I got to the audition site there was already a line two blocks long. I stood out in the hundred-degree weather for twelve long excruciating hours. This was just to get actually into the building. Once I reached the doors, I was forced to basically sell my soul to even get an audition. They make you sign over, your name, your audition, your personal story, and any activity you participate in within the building from that point on.”
    “Now I knew why they wanted me to sign that, because they assumed I was going to be one of the really hilarious auditions people could make fun of. Well I assured them that they were completely wrong and rushed into the audition waiting room to wait another three hours. Then I saw him, Ryan Secrest. I was so excited that I ran over and gave him a huge hug. He complemented me on my leg warmers and my matching lime green sweatbands. I thanked him naturally because I have impeccable manners. And explained how I feel 80s and 90s music needs a revival. I told him I was single handedly going to bring back the ages of Backstreet Boys and Madonna. “ I have to stop myself for a moment as I process how what I have just said sounded so much better when I was talking to myself in the mirror the night before. “Anyway Ryan really was interested in my story and so he let me cut in front of a whole crowd of people in order to get into the actual audition room. I couldn’t believe it; I knew my chance had finally come. I ran into the room and just told them the same thing I’d told Ryan. And Paula completely agreed with me, she really knows talent. So Simon told me to get on with it and I began to sing ‘Lets get physical’ by Olivia. I wasn’t even into the 2nd verse when Simon yelled, ‘Stop!’ So I stopped, and was real excited to hear their comments.” The doctor begins to speak after this,” Ma’m please slow yourself down a little, your heart rate is experiencing a proliferation (n;rapid increase) and that’s not salubrious with all the morphine we have given you. That means that your heart is- “ I interrupt him, “I am aware that you have told me my heart is beating faster and that’s not good for my health, I did go to school ok?” “Sorry ma’m, you may continue with the story.”
    I have to stop for air and the bald man says with little enthusiasm, “And what did they say?” “ Well first let me tell you that my talent may be what you doctors would label a latent (adj; underdeveloped potential hidden) talent, but that was because I did not want to ruin the rawness of my talent with lessons, so I wasn’t expecting fantastic comments just good responses. Randy was first and he barked at me, then that new girl just shook her head, Paula told me I was a beautiful person and that she loved the 80s too. Then it was Simon’s turn and he said in his smug way, that ‘he stopped me before I could ruin the music of the whole decade for him rather than just one song’, then he said ‘oh and that was dreadful, but I refuse to deliver a diatribe (n; bitter scolding) to you for butchering that song, because you are not good enough to even scold with that severity.’ I was humiliated and really angry so I just walked away, and as Paula said ‘take care.’ I said ‘ya’ll too, take care, and be careful.’ When I said this that new girl leaned over to Simon and whispered something, I figured she was just trying to placate (v; pacify, make less angry) the man, because he is angry twenty four seven. Then they called after me asking me ‘if that was a threat.’ Honestly it wasn’t a threat, it’s just something you say to people you know, ‘take care and be careful.’ Anyway as they asked me this I remembered that I had given myself sort of a secret weapon if they said no, which I thought was impossible. So I said, ‘it definitely wasn’t a threat but here.’ And as I said this Paula yelled, ‘ She’s got a gun!’ Oversized men tackled me, knocking me out and destroying my chance at fame. That is where all these bruises came from, they were at least 400 lbs each.”
    This was my story, and I began to tear up as I concluded the memory. The doctor looks to me at the conclusion and says, “Did you have a gun, and were you going to shoot them?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing, now that the pain has completely been relieved I can raise my voice and so I do in yelling, “Absolutely not, I’m not some psycho!! And don’t raise your bushy eyebrows at me, I was going to show them this picture of these kids to see if I could warm their hearts and guilt them into giving me a ticket. It was just a bad audition ok? My voice was just tired, and-“ “Are those your children?” the doctor asks. I feel myself becoming more upset and insulted and filled with maternal pride until I remember that, “No, they actually are not, I don’t have any kids. It’s just a picture I found on the Internet, do you think they would have believed it? I bet I would have gotten through if it weren’t for those crazy security guards, do you want me to sing you something?”
    “No, that’s ok I’ll just take your word for it, I’m sure you would have gotten through. Rest lady, that’s the only thing I can prescribe you until the morphine is out of your system.” The bald man says these words like I’m some kind of crazy person, which I definitely am not, and he would realize that if he could just hear me sing. Maybe I sound better in my own mind then I do to other people, but I still must be pretty good because Ryan loved it. “Physical, Physical, and…” “ Doctor patient number 10 is singing badly! Patient 10 please don’t punish us all due to your rancor (n; long-lasting ill will) in relation to your eternal place in the American Idol blooper reel. We shouldn’t have to suffer for your bitterness.”

  20. I saw them every morning last summer as I made my way downstairs into the small breakfast nook. This area would distend (to expand, verb) into the bright kitchen where all of the morning action occurred. The smell of eggs and bacon permeated my Aunt Rita’s entire house, placating (to pacify; to make someone less angry, verb) anyone who was in an unpleasant mood. When I took my seat each morning at the table cramped with various family members, I would look over and stare at the three vases that remained in the window. I had begun my days with those three words, live, love, and laugh. I often felt as though the words spoke to me and no one else in the house. My Aunt Rita was such an optimistic person, always finding ways to make one smile. She had a latent (present but not visible, hidden, adj.) ability to lift your spirits. After breakfast every morning, the family would emerge into different activities. As my siblings and younger cousins left the table to go and play outside, I would stay behind to help my Aunt clean up. We had a special connection, she would tell me, unlike the others in the house. We always understood each other, and I would say that I was closer to her than I was my own parents. When the dishes were cleaned and put away in the cupboards, she would take me to the backyard. We would play on the old wooden swing that hung from the large oak tree, or search for butterflies in her flower garden. I loved those breezy summer days where we would lie in the grass and stare at the magnificent clouds that filled the pastel sky. Her backyard was our surreptitious (secret, adj.) place. No one was allowed to be vituperative (abusive; scolding, adj.) or say negative things there. What are the words to live by; Aunt Rita would always ask me. Live, love, laugh, I would reply. That’s right, she would tell me, and don’t ever forget that. Those three words would guide me throughout the rest of my childhood. But it wasn’t long until things began to change in our summer home. There was a proliferation (rapid increase, noun) of anxiety and irritation amongst the older members of my family. Something was different, I could feel it. The look in my Aunt Rita’s eyes had taken a drastic turn for the worse. I hurried down the steps the next morning in hopes of everything being back to the way it was. To my dismay, there was no one in the breakfast nook. No smell of a warm meal through the house. I stood there for a moment, unable to move my limbs. I could hear a low murmur of voices coming from around the corner. I eventually made my way to the small den where the majority of the family was. The room fell silent upon my entrance. My mother took me by the hand and set me on her lap. Everyone was there, except my Aunt Rita. Uncle Robert began to apprise (to inform, verb) us about Aunt Rita’s “situation.” My dear Aunt, my best friend, was dying from a brain tumor. I was in shock. I wasn’t able to fully comprehend what he was trying to tell us. My sweet Aunt had never even given a diatribe (bitter scolding, noun) to one of us children, so what could she have possibly done to deserve this unfitting fate. Tears fell from my eyes and my mother tried to mollify (to soothe, verb) me with gentle words, but I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to stop and hold them back but the tears kept coming, forcing me to breathe in heavy gasps. A rancor (long lasting ill will, noun) filled my body as I struggled through my mother’s arms and ran up the stairs. I was so angry and confused. That was months ago though. After the funeral, I had gone into a slight depression. I still had some uneasy thoughts today but they were much better. My Aunt Rita had been the most affectionate and gentle person I had ever known. My memory of her would never fade. Never would I forget the three words she always told me, Live, Love, Laugh.

  21. Love blossoms. Laughter can grow. I guess life swells, but neither of those things could have mollified (to soothe, v) my bitter frustration towards the women that had taken all splendor of the task at hand. I have been used to the bickering since elementary school. I have witnessed my two best friends nitpicking at each other for six years now. But never have the tables been turned like now. It wasn’t my friend versus the other friend, for the first time it was them against me. I was the dart board and they’re constant flow of criticism and urges, were the darts that slowly nighed my core.
    “Can she…?”; “She must or else…”; “She was starting to get so excited…”; “You said…” were the accusations that pierced my skin; rapid, sharp and sudden like the needle of doctor who couldn’t find the right vein to inject. Tierra, my closer of the two friends at least attempted to placate (to pacify, to make someone less angry, v) me, she could at least sense my rising temper level. I haven’t had a real outburst since years, I may get offended easily but I would never go and shout back. Unfortunately, my second opponent, Katy, knew of my skill to bottle things up and take one blow after another. I didn’t want to fight; I can’t hurt people with words. Tending to try and identify the core problem was an easy task this time; I invited them to visit me. That was that. I spoke before thinking of what I wanted out of the visit; I said words that made one more person excited about flying half-way across the world before I contemplated the idea of her coming as well. Katya wanted to come to my home as well. At first the idea of her coming wasn’t as horrendous but as the reality of things sunk in, my stomach contracted and wanted to take back every word that had ever left my mouth.
    “See thing is, is that Katy and I don’t get along well, and that’s why I want Katya to come too”, said Tierra. I understood, but couldn’t two almost adult girls be in each other’s good books for just a week? I apprised (to inform, v) them multiple times, that spacely wise and financially it’d be easier on all of the people involved if just two people came to visit me.
    Katy’s nagging voice came to me again: “Yes, but my parents wouldn’t allow it and you know Tierra and don’t get along and we’d be only two on that long flight. And Katya isn’t as much of a party girl as she seems” and… and… and. All I heard was criticism of how I ‘said this’ and I ‘said that’. All I heard was their wishes and not their concerns about how I’d manage to house and feed them. I have a big family, we have little money. We managed to get a car were we can squeeze in two other people but not more. How can they say, that I’ll figure something out to make three people work, when they are the ones intruding into my life? At this point I wanted to just call it all off. My temper had succumbed to proliferation (rapid increase, n) I wanted to scream and shout. Wishing to unleash my latent (hidden, adj) monster within my mind starting racing with malevolent thoughts. I wanted to be that crazy bridezilla on TV that fusses at everyone and doesn’t seem to notice. But I couldn’t, I can’t diatribe (bitter scolding, n) at my friends. I couldn’t form vituperative (abusive, scolding, adj) words that could change my friend’s minds.
    I had many at time wanted to be honest, to reveal my surreptitious (secret, adj) wish for only my two best friends to come and not with another girl that I recently befriended. But now Katy’s parents had entered the playing field and I was still just one, against many. They wanted three friends as well. But this was too important to me give up my dream of just two of my friends seeing my world for once. I always have had the feeling that her parents had an undesirable rancor (long-lasting ill will, n). This entire situation had distend (to expand, v) itself to the size where I just wanted to give up. I wanted to tell them to find their own way here; I wanted to let them know that without me, that opportunity didn’t exist. I wished we could just go back to the time, where my trio was loving, laughing and full of life.

  22. Since no one felt the need to apprise (to inform) [verb] Abby about the trip out to the Cherry Cove Beach, she had no bathing suit. Her mother told her it was fine, but she had heard the repeated diatribes (denunciations) [noun] against her naked body. She did not appreciate the others talking about her, telling them that God made every ones body and there was no need to hide his creations. When that did not work, she tried saying that her suit was latent (present but not visible) [adj]. The only one who did not seem affected by this was her new friend Charlie. Charlie was too nice to Abby. He mollified (to soften) [verb] her temper, in hopes that she would just have some fun. Similarly, he placated (to pacify) [verb] her by stroking her long, soft hair. Also, Maddy, her sister tried to help by saying that she would gladly distend (expand by stretching) [verb] her swimming suit so that Abby could fit in with her. Finally, she tried having some fun by building a sand castle. After a couple of minutes, Charlie came to help her. All of a sudden, the castle proliferated (to increase at a rapid rate) [verb]. It was almost like Charlie had some kind of a super speed super power. When some little boy came over and ruined their sand castle, Abby felt a surge of rancor (hatred) [noun]. So, Abby surreptitiously (secretly) [adj] tied the little boys shoes together. Her vituperation (criticism) [adj] of that little boy went a little too far.

  23. I sat in front of our fire, staring at the blue leaves. We have been in this forest for two weeks and I’m still not used to these leaves. All the leaves on the trees and on the bushes are blue. When we were apprised (informed)(verb) of this blue forest, we didn’t really care we thought it would be interesting to explore it but you can’t make money on interest. Then we found out about latent (hidden)(adj) oil wells in this strange blue forest. This got our attention, so far not many had actually explored at all in this blue forest, much less look for oil. We had a chance to not only find and own multiple oil wells, but explore this new and wondrous phenomenon before anyone else explored it in great detail. Soon after we arrived we found that this forest not only held great riches but also great danger. Two of our team was killed on the first day. They were killed by toxic gas that is produced by these plants we had never seen before. They are like pods that distend (expand)(verb) with gas and then release it. The two we sent to examine them were killed in a few minutes. One made it far back enough for us to retrieve him and examine him to find out the cause of death. The other didn’t make it far enough, we watched him die and be pulled into the plant by its roots to be ‘digested.’ Hostile plant life isn’t the only danger, the first night we experienced a sudden proliferation (rapid increase)(noun) in humidity and a drop in temperature. Usually in this part of the world it is quite warm even at night, so we weren’t ready for this humid cold every night. In this almost alien place with all these dangers around it is very easy to get on edge. The fire and the thought of oil are the only things that mollify (soothe)(verb) us. As I was staring at the leaves, Joe walked by me. Joe has had a rancor (long lasting resentment)(noun) towards me ever since our last expedition. At the end of the expedition we were supposed to give all our samples up to our employer. Joe surreptitiously (secretly)(adj) held on to one of the samples to conduct further tests. When our employer found that a sample was missing he told us that we didn’t fulfill our part of the deal and he wouldn’t pay us. The entire expedition was a failure. When I found out what Joe had done I gave him a diatribe (bitter scolding)(noun) and I even became so angry that I hit him. He accused me of being vituperative (abusive)(adj), but I thought he deserved it. I was very angry at him for weeks until I found out just what he had done with that sample he had sold it to make twice as much as we would’ve gotten from our original agreement. This placated (pacified, calmed)(verb) me but my relationship with Joe will never be thee same.

  24. Flowers are always a great thing to look at. Placed in a dark room, they can light up the space with their sometimes latent(hidden)(adj) beauty. They also apprise(to inform)(v) us to stay happy and content. Someone’s diatribe(bitter scolding)(n) against another person can be mollified(to soothe)(n) by these surreptitious(secret)(adj) plants.
    If flowers are placed into for example an office or school, they can achieve a proliferation(rapid increase)(n) of will to work. They can also placate(make someone less angry)(v) someone if they got a bad grade or if they are angry at their boss. Their distending(to expand)(v) bloom gets rid of all rancor(hatred)(n) and vituperative(scolding)(adj) language. They are great to have around the house to make the ambience warmer and friendlier. Everybody, if they are not allergic, should have flowers as decorations in their house.

  25. Image 3

    I woke up on tuesday morning to laughter downstairs. I disteneded (verb, to stretch) in my bed and went down. My father apprised (verb. to inform) me that it was their anniversary today and mollified (verb, to soften) his voice to me that I should go get some nice flowers for mom. I guess it was latent (adj. apparent) to him that I had not gotten a gift for her, so I listened and went and got changed and left. I was placated ( adj. satisfy) to see that the flower market was open so I went in and looked at the different types of flowers they had. I asked for some assistance to see the different pricings of each type of flower, and in a little bit a nice lady came to help me. The lady had told me that women usually have a type of rancor (n. hatred) for the purple flowers. As she told me the prices of each one in the corner of my eye I noticied three pots of nice yellow flowers. We walked toward them and she said there has been a proliferation (adj. increase) in price of them lately because they are so popular. On the flower pots it said, live, love, laugh and I knew that was a perfect aniversary gift for them. The lady helped me with the one of the pots and I went and checked out and placed them carefully into my car. I admired the lady’s diatribe ( adj. criticism), it showed that she was honest and really did want me to get a good type of flower for my mom. As I was getting near the house I knew I had to be very surreptitous (verb. sneaky) when I went into the house, so my mom wouldnt notice I had went and got flowers for her. When I got in, I placed the flowers neatly on the kitchen table. She walked in a short time after I had set them and was shocked and came and gave me a big hug. She had loved the flowers alot and told me that yellow was also her favorite color. I told her that these are all things that are important in life.

  26. The bright sunlight peeks through the office window between large yellow flowers . Half constructed structures of bare concrete can be seen every few blocks, as if to apprise (give notice, inform: v.) the city of the hard times. The proliferation (rapid increase/production: n.) of every good under the sun, that had caused the city to distend (to spread in all directions: v.) for a decade has long since slowed to a standstill. The latent (unseen, dormant: adj.) potential for poverty unleashed upon a frivolous people a force and condition all but forgotten. The diatribes (bitter, abusive denunciation: n.) of the past against a disgraced leader have cooled. The people mollified (softened in feeling or temper, pacified: v.) by an acceptance of pure failure. The vituperative (using or containing violent condemnation or denunciation: adj.) rancor (bitter resentment or ill will: n.) has been placated (to appease or pacify: v.) by the realization of the helplessness of those in power. Slowly, around the country, surreptitious (obtained, done, etc. by stealth or in secret: adj.) celebration of life renews. And on the window sill three words stand in the sun: “Live, Love, and Laugh.”

  27. The sheet seemed to distend (to stretch)(v.), however, what was pulling it now appeared latent (present but not visible)(adj.). It was just an uncontrolled proliferation (a rapid spread)(n.). While it was being thrust upon me the engulfing monster managed to mollify (to soften in feeling or temper)(v.) me. Suddenly, as it became laid across me, I felt placated (to appease or pacify)(v.) and every diatribe (a bitter, sharply abusive denuncation, attack, or criticism)(n.) ever vituperatively (characterized by abuse or scolding)(adv.) shot at me had to be what this beast was swallowing. I was instantly drained of past rancor (bitter, long-lasting resentment)(n.). Once this sheet had been fully tucked under the mattress, the surreptitious (obtained, done, made)(adj.) bedding wrapped itself around my figure, as though to apprise (to give notice, to inform)(v.) my nerves of the night ‘s comfort. Everything goes dark and a familiar voice silently speaks to my inept ears,”Good night, my sweet child.” If only I were of age to comprehend and dignify a response.

  28. These three flowers placate (verb, pacify) my living room, which has two windows that look upon the lake. Not only do these vases mollify (verb, soothe) the room, these vases remind me of what’s most important in life; living, loving, and laughing. This reminder apprises (verb, informs) me everyday not to get caught up in just ‘going through the motions’, but instead distend (verb, expand) these three words everyday. In other words, live everyday like it’s your last and make it your goal to live, love, and laugh. I guarantee you if a proliferation (noun, rapid increase) of these three things in your life, you will experience at least twice as much happiness and joy that your already experiencing. These are no surreptitious (adj, secret) messages, their just forgotten in everyday life. When you get too busy in work, school, and sports its important to have latent ( adj, undeveloped) messages that could bring you anywhere. If you experience these three things there will be no rancor’s (noun, ill will) in your life, nor will there be any vituperative (adj, abusive) situations. If you don’t take my advice there will be no diatribe (noun, scolding), just unhappiness in your life.

  29. To say that Mrs. Crowley liked to garden is like saying Michelangelo liked marble, or that Tolstoy wrote books. Mrs. Crowley’s gardening was an integral part of her soul, situated comfortably in between her left and right ventricles. The tulips were her children, the Japanese maples her grandchildren, and the huge elephant ears made her eyes fill with joy every time she passed them. The dianthus had heard all her surreptitious (adj; secret) truths, the lambs ear frequently mollified (v; soothed) her soul. The garden was her hobby, her family, her identity.
    I cannot remember a time, countless as they were, that Mrs. Crowley was not in her garden. Her house seemed unused, like a place to store things but not live in. “Dear,” she used to say, “a home is wherever I am happiest. I am in my home.” She would send me into the house to get sandwiches and chips for lunch, and then sympathetically trimmed her wildflowers as I apprised (v; to inform) her of my troubles at school. “Sugar, come and help me weed these darlings. There is no better way to placate (v; to pacify) than by telling the plants. They will always listen and never be vituperative (adj; scolding)- that’s why I prefer them to most people,” she said, winking. When winter blow in, Mrs. Crowley left her garden in my capable hands and scoured all of Virginia for the best flower bulbs. When she returned, exhausted but exhilarated, she would show me the boxes she had procured. I would wrinkle my nose at the ugly things, wondering why I had let myself be convinced into three days of nonstop work for a few dead caterpillars. “Honey,” she covered my dirt-encrusted hand with her own, “surely you have heard of the ugly duckling. Well, these ducklings’ beauty is latent (adj; undeveloped) as well, but come spring you shall see.” And she was right, for every April her tremendous garden was ablaze with color. There were more colors in her flowers than those in a box of ninety-six crayola crayons. I used to think it was so bright her flowers could be seen from space.
    Mrs. Crowley entered Williamsburg’s garden contest each year, and each year she increased the other ladies’ rancor (n; long-lasting ill will) for her gorgeous garden by winning all seven categories. She used to say her garden was the best only because of the love she put into it. “Flowers feel our feelings. When we are sad, they are sad. They are the most sensitive, sympathetic friends we can ever find.”
    Her theory held true, especially during the last months of her life. We had all seen her body distend (v; expand), but thought nothing of it as she was naturally a small woman and a few extra pounds wouldn’t hurt her. She never went to a doctor because she said she already knew what was wrong with her and only the plants could help her. She put all of her diminishing energy into her plants and her garden had a depth and beauty I had never seen before. When she became too weak to work, she sat in a chair, sipping lemonade, indicating with a finger what plant to prune and which needed water.
    The only time I saw her true psyche exposed was when the web worms attacked. I came over one day after school, and did not find her in her rocking chair. Alarmed, I began to look around her house until I found her on a ladder, hacking down the filmy webs. Her diatribe (n; bitter scolding) of the pests was the only cruel words I have ever heard her speak, “Damn bugs, why can’t you just leave us alone? We haven’t done anything to deserve your unwelcome visit and yet here you sit, feasting on both of us. It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! GO AWAY!” she cried, sobbing. When she saw me, she pushed back a hair and wiped away her tears. As we walked slowly back to the porch, she stopped suddenly, grabbing my arm. “Sugar, I want you to promise me something. when I am gone, hush now, don’t pretend like I am a Tuck. Now, I want you to take care of my plants. I do not want my children to die just because I have gone to the Lord. Do you promise me?” I promised.
    From then on her decline proliferated (n; rapid increase, or in this case, v; increase rapidly). When she could no longer sit on the porch, she sat inside, looking at her plants. When she was confined to bed, she had me bring the plants to her, filling her room with bright daisies and sunflowers. Her sole, strong tie to life was the fragile golden tulip by her bed.
    On the day she died, the Japanese aralia turned blue. We had never see anything like it; we just figured the chemicals in the soil had changed. But I knew; her plants, her children, were mourning the loss of their mother. The wind picked up that night and in the morning, the sad leaves were gone– scattered to the corners of the earth to spread the boundless wisdom only a flower can bring.

  30. Flowers are an amazing thing. They give life to the surroundings and bring light to a dull room. They can make the most latent (hidden) (adj) rooms light up. They are a symbol of peace. They placate (pacify) (verb) the most terrifying rooms. You see flowers every day on your way to work. They might have a surreptitious (secret)(adj) meaning. Perhaps like an anniversary present. They mollify (to soften in feeling or temper)(verb) most people who just had a fight. You usually bring flowers to bring peace between someone. Flowers don’t mean anything negative like insanity, death, or foolishness. Maybe when your wife is angry at you and giving you a diatribe (bitter scolding) (n) you can send her flowers to make up for what you did. In the morning flowers distend (expand) (verb) and get rid of all the rancor (long lasting ill will)(n) in the air. You can start off fresh in the morning with not a single bad vibe inside of you. If everyone buys the flowers, the florist will be sorry to apprise (inform) (v) you, but there will be a proliferation (increase) (adj) of them. Even the most vituperative (abusive)(adj) couples will be in harmony together again. All this can be achieved if flowers are in your presence.

  31. Image # 1

    Finally, they sent me a picture of the blue plants that were choking off the lake. The pictures justified my dark premonitions about the future of our planet. Just two days ago, the EPA inspectors apprised (v. informed) me of the invasive new breed of aquatic plants which were completely alien to them. Apparently, the fishermen who first discovered the plants were extremely upset and went into a diatribe (n, bitter scolding) about the invasion of a “plasmorphisis.” The EPA did their best to placate (v. satisfy, pacify) them, but they could not hide their own fears from me as they forwarded the pictures.

    Since I took over the government’s surreptitious (adj. secret, sneaky) but powerful Space Plants Conquest (SPC) five decades ago, I had been working on developing plants to conquer Neptune, the only planet in our galaxy with intelligent life. Neptuians sent friendly signals to our government, but we would have none of it. We were the masters of universe and their uranium-rich rocks were ours for the taking. We humans have a natural rancor (n., hatred) for our neighbors, and we have perfected the art of survival of the fittest for millions of years. We will not stop until we are sure that our dominance and control over all other species on earth as well as in the universe are complete.

    Publicly, our leader, the Emperor of UN, the ruling body of the earth, set up the Earth Protection Agency (EPA) to vigilantly watch for any signs of invasion or attack by the Neptuians or by any space life for that matter. The latent (adj., hidden) motive, of course, was more offensive in nature. Under the Emperor’s direct command, I, the most preeminent scientist on earth, was to develop weapon-grade plants to invade and conquer the Neptuians. My authority distended (v., stretched) over the entire earth and my budget was unlimited. The Emperor tended to burst into vituperative (adj., abusive, violently demanded) speeches once in a while, but I knew how to mollify (v., sooth) him by showing him some aggressive and exotic plants in the laboratory. I never intended to use the plants for nefarious purposes, but I had to show the Emperor something.

    I was constantly worried that my clandestine stratagem would be discovered. The Emperor must have accessed the laboratory at the SPC. After examining the blue plant made of live plasma cells with malevolent intelligence which has taken over the green native plants of the lake, I knew my secret was out. Proliferation (n. continuing, increasing) of the new plasma species would mean certain death to our own planet, as well as Neptune. I cringed as I opened my secret trap door to let my nanobyte bugs that devour intelligence out. As I expected, the same lever that opened the door also dropped anti-insect shield from the ceiling, which allowed me to sit back and watch. I saw all the destruction of the nanobyte bugs, how they brought an end to the aggressive, intelligent plants, as well as the innocent intellectuals, and the Emperor himself! When all intellectual beings, except me, were destroyed, the bugs shut off and fell out of the sky lifelessly. Once again, peace reigned on Earth, as it did before Eve took the bite out of the apple.

  32. As she set the flowers neatly on the window sill, a wave of sadness came over her. This wasn’t the first time; this cloud of gloom had been following her for months. She knew these feelings had always been there, lying latent [adj.- hidden] in the back of her mind. Her reflection was suddenly interrupted by the sound of small feet sprinting through the halls. “Jonathan! How many times do I have to tell you to take your shoes off before you come in the house?! Am I going to have to punish you?” Jonathan’s face appeared around the corner looking slighty stung by her words. She instantly regretted her diatribe [noun- bitter scolding] and with a sigh motioned her son over to her. She had become so impatient lately. “I’m sorry I yelled honey. I would just really appreciate it if you could run in your socks. They don’t stain mommy’s pretty floors.” With a nod and a smile Jonathan shot out of the room just as quickly as he’d entered. She turned and looked at the clock; 4:30 already. The knot in her stomach that had become somewhat constant tightened. At what point did she lose control of her life? If she was so unhappy, why couldn’t she just make things right again? Oh, but life was never that simple. There were bills to pay, jobs to do, and her son. Her beautiful baby boy. Every ounce of anger that consumed her when she thought of her husband’s absence instantly melted away when she looked into his clear blue eyes. She had been the only constant in his life, but really he had been the only constant in hers. That’s why her worsening temper worried her so much. After her own childhood, she had even more reason to avoid being vituperative [adj.- abusive;scolding] at all costs. It was 4:45; she tried to shake off her bad feelings, but they were ever present hiding behind her brown eyes and warm smile. She had vowed never to let life harden her, but she was beginning to think that sheer willpower wouldn’t be enough. Finally breaking free of her thoughts, she began to gather what she needed to make dinner. The sounds of the kitchen and the glow of the setting sun were always there to mollify [verb- to soothe] her. Not much could placate [verb-to pacify; to make someone less angry] her these days, but she would take any small comfort she could find and cling to it. She hated feeling sorry for herself. She was never one to play the victim, acting as though the rest of the world had feelings of rancor [noun- long lasting ill will] toward her. She had made it this far on her own and had no intention of giving up. “Jonathan! Time for dinner!” Of course, in all of this hardship there was one huge positive. Every time she looks at her boy, her chest distends [verb- to expand; swell out] with pride. There were many things in her life that she regretted, but she had never for even one second been sorry that she kept her child. Her love for him proliferated [verb- rapid increase] more each day. If she couldn’t do it for herself, she knew she would have to persevere for her son’s sake. She never wanted him to learn of her surreptitious [adj.- secret] grief. She was there to show him unconditional love and apprise [verb- to inform] him of life’s joys while she still could. She had complete confidence that if she could achieve this, they would both be just fine.

  33. The children are young maybe 5 or 6 years old. The boy is laughing, and the girl looks like she is filled with rancor (n. long-lasting ill will). She may be annoyed that the boy did not apprise her (v. to inform) that she would have to stand out there wet with sand stuck to her and with no shirt on. If she were older I might think she was jealous of the surreptitious (adj. Secret) glance he made at the other girl. Maybe he teased her about her stomach that is slightly distended (v. expanded). The other girl looks like she wants to laugh but is afraid to. She could be afraid of the diatribe (n. bitter scolding) that could come if she does laugh. In the past she has received vituperative (adj. Abusive; scolding) lectures about laughing at others. If she wants to continue playing and having fun with her friend she needs to find a way to mollify (v. soothe) her friends anger. She could placate (v. to make someone less angry) her by telling her how good she looks with wet hair. She could tell her how great her sand castles look and what a good swimmer she is. She could tell her she has a latent (adj. hidden talent) for swimming. She could encourage her to continue swimming and with a lot of practice, she may experience a proliferation (n. rapid increase) in her swimming skills. Then she could challenge the boy that is laughing at her to a contest. He would be impressed with her skills and would respect her to much to laugh at her again.

  34. I was four years old at the time. I never meant to draw rancor(ill will)(n.) on myself. I never meant to be vituperative(having abuse)(adj.), never meant to seem mean spirited. I can see it now though. On that day I had made a particularly long rant which may have seemed a diatribe(bitter scolding)(n.). I followed it with a proliferation(rapid production)(n.) of jokes at her expense. I can see it now, although I couldn’t see anything that would have apprised(informed)(v.) me that there was a problem. If I had known, I would have tried to placate(appease)(v.) her surreptitious(secret)(adj.), latent(dormant)(adj.) anger. If I had known every joke caused her resentment to distend(grow)(v.). Even though I can still see her face that day, that deap frown as I laughed my guts out, it was still quite a shock. When she tried to kill me.

  35. The dyer looked down at the blue leaves dubiously. His boss had apprised (v. to inform) him that this particular plant was very good for dying plants a blue color, and he had thought that by dying things blue he would be able to open up a new market. The dyer had no idea if this was going to work, but he had no wish to be fired from his job by uttering diatribes (v. criticisms) against his employer, so he gathered up as many leaves from the plant as he could carry. He then took a piece of twine, that could distend (adj. to stretch easily) easily, and he secured the leaves with them. He then wiped his hands on his pants to get rid of any latent (adj. passive) dirt that was left on it and proceeded back to his master’s shop. He prepared a dye in due time then brought it before his master in order to find out it’s effectiveness. At first it only yielded a sleight, light blue but not the deep rich royal blue the color of the leaves had lead the dyer’s master to believe. This made the master very angry, since he had a lot riding on this, and the dyer did everything he could to mollify (v. to appease) him, even attempting to placate (v. to appease through conciliatory gestures) him by saying that maybe he just had to few leaves. Then, to both the dyer and the master’s astonishment, the dye turned just the color blue they needed. The master was so happy that he decided to make the dyer a partner in his business venture. The first few years were very good and their business had great proliferation (v. growth, particularly in a business venture) but after a few years the one time master grew jealous of his partner’s position in they company. He had risen greatly in the favor of the public and was know the man who ran the front counter, while the master tried to think knew and better dyes. Soon his jealousy turned to rancor (adj. deep hatred) and he decided to have his partner suffer a small accident. A few days later, the former dyer was walking home form the shop, when he saw an unsavory man acting surreptitiously (adj. to act in stealth) on his neighbors front lawn. He walked home cautiously, and when the unsavory character followed him with unblinking eyes, he panicked and ran up his front porch and into his house. He was so scared however that he gathered some of his belongings and went out the back door. He was somewhat paranoid, since he was fairly famous, locally, and not particularly well liked among other dyers. He wondered who would be so vituperative (adj to be characterized by extreme censure) as to have him watched that he almost didn’t notice that he had walked straight into the unsavory man, who had apparently climbed his fence in an attempt to get to him. The former dyer attempted to scream for help, but the unsavory character was quick he quickly injected the former dyer with a drug that would induce a blackout followed by amnesia. It was ironically distilled from the same plant that had started his fortune so long ago. When the former dyer woke up, he had no idea who he was or where he was. He was seen a few days later wondering out of town.

  36. COMPANION STORY TO VOCAB STORY FROM WEEK 4

    I woke up, only seeing leaves of blue, feeling a soft bed beneath me. This didn’t make sense. I had fallen asleep on the hard cot in the orphanage. Why was I here? Where was here anyway? I was so confused and something foreign was poking in my back. Curious about what it was I sat up and looked for something in my bed that could be the cause but found nothing. Looking around the room I saw that the walls and floors seemed to be made of earth and the ceiling covered in the strange blue leaves. There was a mirror on one wall, a small wooden bedside table, and a door leading out of the room.

    I got up out of bed to explore further, and caught my reflection in the small mirror. I couldn’t believe the reflection that greeted me. My heart proliferated. (rapidly increased, verb) My once tan skin and average brown hair was now ghostly white and an intense black. I also seemed to have lost a ton of weight, my bones now creepily stood out and my back seemed hollow. What scared me the most were the black demonic wings growing from my shoulder blades. Before I could regain my composure a young woman walked in. Her hair was an astonishing red, and she too had wings, only hers’ were shining and translucent. All colors shined as the light hit them. She was beautiful, and she captivated me.

    “Hello Lily, my name is Adriana. Welcome to Freona, land of the Fair Folk. I know you are wondering where you are and what you are, and if you wait for a few moments I will apprise (verb, to inform) you. I would like you to hear my story first though.” She paused for a moment, as if asking for permission to continue. I nodded, so she went on.

    “I awoke one morning, expecting it to be like any other day, and went down to eat breakfast. My vituperative (adj, abusive) parents, and seemingly perfect younger sister were sitting around the table, and when I walked in they stared at me like I was some kind of freak. I asked what was wrong, they told me that they were afraid of what I could do to them, and I told them I would never hurt them. When I told them that I felt a power surge through me and they were all unconscious on the floor. I ran, and when I was on the subway I was cornered by the fairy sage, he told me that I was filled with latent (noun, undeveloped potential) and that I was important to the health of the universe. From that day on I trained and waited for my time to come, and eventually fell in love with the Fairy Sage, he and I are now partners for life. I know you are wondering why I’m telling you this, I am not even sure of the reason, but I have a feeling that you have a story similar to mine and that this knowledge will help you.”

    I just nodded. I could see the similarities between us. Both shoved into this world and both holding rancor (noun, long lasting ill will) against our parents. She because they rejected her and I because they abandoned me. I also didn’t understand the feeling of rage that took over my being when she mentioned her love for the Fair Sage. I couldn’t be jealousy, because I don’t like girls like that. I was so confused. She also still hadn’t told me what I was, so I decided to ask.

    “You know you still haven’t told me what I am.”

    “Oh yea, sorry. I got sidetracked. Anyway, you happen to be a dark fairy. Your pale white skin and demonic wings mark you as one. Being a dark fairy, you have the powers of mind control, and the power to take life. They are obviously not the happiest powers, but they are extremely useful none the less. I happen to be a fairy of the light, basically my powers balance out yours. I can give life when it has been taken and free people of mind control. There are also surreptitious (adj, secret) powers, that have yet to be discovered, if we were to work together.”

    This was so much to take in, I wasn’t sure if I could handle it all. Before I could over think things Adriana continued on. It seemed as if there was still more news to take in.

    “What the elders, and the Sage figured out is that you are part of the prophecy too. My world altering decision has something to do with you. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

    This drove me over the edge.

    “What!!! Now not only am I some kind of creature, the fate of the world depends on me and some crazy decision you make about me! I can’t handle this.”

    Before Adriana got the chance to mollify (verb, to soothe) or placate (verb, to make less angry) me I felt energy distend (verb, expand) from my body, and the mirror in front of me shattered. The last thing I saw was pieces of glass flying towards me.

    When I woke up a tall dark haired man was leaning over me, with a furious look on his face. Before I got a chance to speak he started to give me a diatribe (noun, bitter scolding). He went on and on about how I put his love in danger, and by putting her in danger I could have destroyed the earth, and how I needed to learn how to control my powers and emotions. The anger shining in his eyes was terrifying. I was starting to shake from my fear. It was then that Adriana woke up.

    “Love you are scaring her. You must remember she has been only been one of us for a few hours, she has not had time to learn.”

    Again I felt that strange feeling of anger rise in me as she called him love. I was so confused. I half hoped that this was all a dream and I was going to wake up soon, but I was also curious. Not only about this whole new world, but about the girl that was to guide me trough it. The weight of the world was on our shoulders, and I could only hope that we would be able to hold it.

  37. We all have heard this saying many times, but ever on three different vases with yellow flowers in them. There may be something latent(present but not visible, apparent, adj) about the way it is set up. Its almost like they are trying to apprise(to inform, v) or distend(to extend by stretching, v) us of something more meaningful then just the phrase ‘Live, Love, Laugh’. Just these three words can placate (appease or pacify,v), mollify( to soften in feeling or temper,v), and proliferate (rapid and often increase or spread,n) someone who is sad or depressed. Three simple words can influence someone’s life forever and make them surreptitiously (obtained, done, made, adj) susceptible to all their surroundings. When thinking of this phrase nothing of rancor(bitter,long-lasting resentment, n) or diatribe(bitter scolding, n) comes to mind. Someone of vituperative (characterized by abuse or scolding, adv.) might think rancor, but no one I know would do that.

  38. As you can quickly tell it looks as if the child in the middle has been marked by some vituperative (marked by harshly abusive criticism) remarks, most likely made by the child on the right. It also appears that the child on the left is trying to get some surreptitious (obtained by stealth) laughs in herself. I would like to apprise (inform) the reader here that it is very latent (apparent) that the child has been very diatribed (criticized) by the others. These mockings seem to have placated (appease) the others very much so. The middle child looks very rancorous (bitter) after these remarks have been said against her. The child on the left seems to be trying to mollify (to soften in temper) the middle child while also trying to keep from laughing herself. However the middle child’s anger seems to be proliferating (a rapid and often excessive spread) itself through her. I personally think that the next picture taken would have been of the middle child violently distending (to expand by stretching) the right child’s face.

  39. Image three 🙂

    In high school, Robert had an assignment where he had to explain what three things he thought were the most important to him. It was to be something that could apprise (v, inform) a pre-school child of the joys of life. He also was allowed to potentially try to receive an extra grade with a visual presentation as well as an oral one. Robert thought if he used alliteration it could be very effective and easy for a little boy or girl to remember. He was trying to think of a surreptitious (adj, stealthy) way to get his point across to all of these pre-schoolers. He thought of his mother, who always encouraged him to LIVE his life to the fullest; of his father who told him to LAUGH about everything and to never regret a thing; and of his grandmother who told him to LOVE people with all he had. Robert knew this was what he would say to distend (v, to extend by stretching) out to the little children to get his point across. He knew he also would have to placate (v, to pacify) any children or teachers who could potentially be enraged with what he had to say. Robert knew these chances would be slim to none, but wanted to be 100% sure that he avoided any diatribes (n, criticism) or rancor (n, ill-will, hatred). Robert wanted to figure out a way to make his mother, father, and grandmother latent (adj, present, but not visable) , almost as if their spirits were present. He was so determined to proliferate (v, spread rapidly) the wonderful words of wisdom of his parents and grandmother. Robert was not a vituperative (adj, in comparison to the nature of verbal abuse) person, so he knew exactly how he was going to mollify (v, pacify) any angered person. After several weeks of preparation, it was the night before presentation day. He knew that tomorrow would be a very important day and now that he was done with his oral presentation, he wanted to get the extra grade. Robert always helped his grandmother with her garden and saw that she had three pots; one saying live, another saying laugh and another said love. He knew this would be the visual presentation for his project. Robert went to sleep and woke up three hours earlier than usually, anxious to present. The time rolled around and he was extremely nervous. He was determined to succeed and knew he could. He was next. “Robert, your up!” said his teacher. He took a deep breath, walked to the podeum and began his presentation.

  40. Sam is not happy right now. We can apprise (to give notice verb) from his expression. The rancor (hatred noun) will never mollify (to soften in feeling Verb). His mom try to placate (to appease verb), but the angry latent (present but not visible adj) never decrease. It all happens in one day, he walks surreptitious (secret adj) to his mom room. She finds out that it is why her money was gone. She asks him why he wants to do that, but Sam just gives her the same expression. He says it is a Diatribe (a bitter noun) for him. His mom said he needs to stop doing that. If he doesn’t have money he should just ask his mom, not just steal it from her. It shows that something is wrong with him, bad thing distend (to expand by stretching) in is heart. Sam knows that he is wrong, he tells his mom don’t tell his dad. He is going to vituperative (characterized by or of the nature of vituperation adj) him. He tells her that he won’t do that again. During the dinner time, Sam talks to his family and he finds out that happy can be proliferation (spread noun). He is not the little boy we know before.

  41. It was early June, summer had just officially started for all of us in the district and my friends and I were more than ready to start living it up. It was the summer I turned seventeen, and like others my age I believed I was invincible. I had never really given much thought to my actions, especially how my actions would effect others, and I didn’t care. I was the least compassionate person in my town by far. I liked to think it was because I was pristine and nothing bad ever happened to me, but I knew it was because I was selfish. I was regarded as ‘the girl who could never be broken’, until I became friends with Francie Mullen.
    I had seen her around school and everything, but the only reason I even noticed her was her fiery red hair. She was such a surreptitious (secret; Adj) girl that I had never really tried to talk to her. On June 4th though, I had decided to go for a drive just to get out of the house. It was raining hard that day so the thing I least expected to see was someone walking down the street. The rain was pouring down so hard in the grey sky, that I couldn’t make out her face, but I pulled up closer to the curb and realized it was Francie.
    “Do you need a ride?” I asked confounded to why she would attempt to travel in such weather.
    She hopped in without any hesitation and without saying a word.
    “You do realize that it’s pouring outside?” I asked a little vituperatively (abusively; Adj) considering she looked like a lunatic and was getting my seats all wet. When I realized she was crying I became very uncomfortable. I didn’t like crying or having to deal with it and I had no idea how to mollify (soothe; V) her.
    “Ummm…” I started.
    “I’m sorry. I just saw that cross on the side of the road back there and well…I’m a baby. I’m sorry.”
    “Did you know the person?” I asked. I knew I had seen that cross before; I’ve passed it by a thousand times going to school but had never given it a second thought.
    “No,” she replied. “But could you imagine what it would be like to lose someone you loved and have a constant reminder on the side of the road that no one gave a second thought to?”
    It was like she was reading my mind.
    “I mean no one cares what the family is going through or how they feel as long as it doesn’t involve them and it doesn’t affect their social life they don’t care. People are so selfish.”
    This started her on another crying tangent. Just when I was about to give her a diatribe (bitter scolding; N) she said this: “imagine if that was someone you loved.”
    This stopped me for a second but then my old self shined through.
    “Where do you want me to drive you to?”
    “36th and Maple. It’s not too far from here.”
    On the way to her house we talked. It turns out Francie and I were a lot alike. She was very privileged, loved old movies and oldies music, hated playing basketball, and was a junk food junkie. In fact, our parents did the same exact job at different companies; our mom was head of treasury and our dad pretty much ran the place. Our favorite flower was this exotic almost extinct flower that was bright blue of which almost no one had ever heard of. We both even wanted to be marine biologists when we were older even though we were both scared of the ocean. It was like looking in a mirror. Despite the fact that she wore crazy colors and miss matched shoes, I could see she had sort of a latent (undeveloped potential; Adj) to be my friend. She perplexed me to no end, but something about her made me drawn to her. The next day when I told my friends about the incident they were ruthless.
    “She is such a freak!” they said. “You should have just let her walk in the rain.”
    “Hey, have a little compassion. She is a nice girl.”
    My friends stopped in their tracks and raised their eyebrows. “Did you just say to have some compassion?” They began to laugh.
    I think I will always have some rancor (long lasting ill will; N) towards them. One for laughing and two for knowing of my cruelness and not trying to change me.
    Maybe my friends were right, what was I thinking? Me be compassionate? Ha-ha. And I began to laugh along.

    The next week I was back to my old self with Francie out of my mind completely. My friends and I were sitting on my roof having fun because my parents were in Jamaica. My roof was perfect for sitting; it was almost flat with only a slight tilt. The tiles were rougher so it was easy to keep your footing while you climb up it. It was already dark outside at 7:00 pm and I was having difficulty navigating across my own roof. It was a beautiful summer night, humid yet a cool breeze would blow right when it got too hot. I was switching positions because my foot was falling asleep when I suddenly fell off of my three story house, splat Into my thorny bushes and hitting my head on the stone borders surrounding my flower bed.
    When I woke up I was in the hospital. I had a throbbing pain in my arm and when I looked at it I could clearly see it distended (expanded; V) a lot and was wrapped tightly to stop the swelling. It turns out I had broken my arm in two places and had gotten twelve stitches in my head. Looking around the room I saw a figure sleeping in the corner with fiery red hair.
    “Francie?” I mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
    “I heard about your fall and came to see if you were ok. Your friends were here earlier but they had to leave. I told them it was scummy leaving you here all alone, but they left anyway.”
    “Well they can’t stay here all day.” In my head I was covering for them leaving.
    “I can,” Francie said bubbly. This wasn’t helping my friends’ case.
    Before long there was a proliferation (rapid increase; N) of my health and I was free to go home. After that incident Francie and I became very good friends. She was a better friend to me in the three weeks I had known her than in the life time I had known my other friends. On the 20th of June we celebrated my seventeenth birthday together and on the 29th we celebrated hers.
    As our friendship blossomed we discovered something incredible. Because of Francie’s admiration for everything in life, her love of the little things began to rub off on me. I started noticing smaller things now and stopped to smell the flowers. That is why one day we were walking down the side walk and both of our eyes caught something bright blue.
    “No way, it can’t be,” I said. “These flowers only grow in the tropics.”
    “I’m telling you it is our favorite flower and it is growing here right in our back yard.”
    “But the climate isn’t right.” I continued.
    “I guess anything is possible.”

    The summer ended too soon and we began our senior year with eyes as fiery as Francie’s hair. I was so scared of growing up and having these good times end but Francie assured me everything would be fine. Her compassion rubbed off on me as well as her admiration and love of animals and nature. Now when I saw a funeral procession or a cross on the side of the road I stopped and thought. Those kind of things still didn’t affect me as much as they affected her, but no longer was I a brick wall. Senior year ended faster than the summer had and I was apprised (informed; V) of the whole college world and even got accepted to a couple of them, much to my surprise. Francie had a promising future ahead of her. She had decided she was going to Duke and she couldn’t be happier. I was happy and proud of her too, she deserved to go to Duke; it was what she dreamed of her whole life. We promised to make our last summer together a great one. We said we would meet at my house for an old movie marathon, but she was an hour late. I began a walk to her house because I was sure she had forgotten like she usually did and she had broken her cell phone a week before so I couldn’t call her. I noticed something peculiar as I walked by our ‘flower patch’ as we called it. We had been watering the patch that our favorite exotic blue flowers grew everyday since we discovered it. It was growing quite nicely and even spreading. But looking at it now, it was dead, and I swore they were alive yesterday. Something inside me told me to run and upon arriving at her house flashing lights and caution tape engulfed the area.

    It was June 29th again and Francie’s birthday. Because she loved flowers so much I decided to get some for her. On my way to Francie’s I began to cry. I saw some crosses on the side of the road. I guess I can be compassionate after all. Francie had taught me so much and had such a promising life ahead of her. Everyday now I will appreciate the little things just like Francie had. Though I will miss her as I head off to college I know that I’ll never forget her. Remembering that night not to long when I got to her house to discover flashing lights and that she was hit while walking on the side walk by a drunk driver I tried to placate (make someone less mad; V) myself and calm myself down. In the hospital she told me she would be alright, and I believed her. I know in my heart she will be fine, she is Francie after all. I finally arrived at Francie’s. A single tear ran down my face, I kneeled down, and placed the flowers on her stone.

  42. It was a hot summer day and my friends and I were out playing in the suns warmth. One of my friends particular diatribes ( opinion/ view ) Noun, was of my hatred of physical activity. I had recently distended ( strech ) Adjective, one of my joints in a football game the day before. I had been tripped by another boy in my village, he was one of my few enemys. He and I shared much rancor ( hatred/malice ) Noun, on the playing field. Today was a remach except this time the winner was the new village champion.

    When both our teams arrived on the field that morning there was a latent ( apparent ) Adjective, tension in the air. There had been much proliferation ( spred/increase ) Noun, throught the village, and everyone was buzzing about our little match. My father had apprised ( inform ) Verb, me and told me of his days playing on the village field. His information calmed me for the start of the game. As we walked onto the playing field I caught sight of my opponents surreptitious ( secret/stealthy ) Adjective, gaze, I was wondering what was going through his head. We had gotten our ball from my father, whom I had placated ( appease ) Verb, by doing all my chores. This was it time to get down to business. Everyone had been so vituperative ( harsh abusive criticism ) Adjective, of my team, well it was time to prove ourselves. I would not be mollified ( softened ) Verb, by my cursed enemys smiles at midfield, I would brutally conquer them! We lost forty five to fourteen. I stood in anger as I watched the opposing team hoist the trophy, my friends stairing and laughing.

  43. Image #2
    Images such as these show the growing proliferation (noun;spreading) of poverty in lesser known sectors of our world. It is important for all of us to apprise (verb;to inform) those around us of this ever-growing problem. It’s like a cancer that feeds on our greed and fear. When a group of people is stuck in such a situation, it brings out the latent (adj.;hidden) evils of human nature. It can also account for why so many people want to estroy our way of life. When one sees a country where there is plenty and they struggle every day to survive, they are filled with a rancor (noun; bitter resentment) of us. If this is is the case, wouldn’t it make sense to mollify (verb;soften) their resentment of us through a means of esaing their burden. We hear diatribes (noun;a tirade) against these people all of the time for hating us, but have we ever trie to placate (verb;pacify) them through the extension of the hand of friendship? No, so in response to our turned back, their hatred and resentment of us continues to distend (verb; to expand). And in response to their attacks, we send a more soldiers to die. Instead of vituperative (adj; abusive) responses and surreptitous (adj;secret) attacks, why don’t we be the first to extend the Olive branch and prove ourselves to be the better country?

  44. I really have absolutely no idea what to do.
    Well, that’s not strictly true. I have a couple options, but I really don’t wanna do any of them. So they don’t really count.
    I’m walking along outside, the grass rustling under my feet. It’s kind of a gross sound. Grass shouldn’t sound like that. It should mollify (adjective; soothe) me, as opposed to making me more confused and upset. Grass should sound like a whisper, rather than a hard crackling.
    I should really be doing homework right now, but the sun is shining and it feels like fall. Well, a Midwestern fall. My sweatshirt is warm, and my hair is pulled back from my face so I can see things. But it’s hard to see anything, because I’m kind of crying. Even looking at the big tree, whose name is Fred, doesn’t placate (verb; make less angry) me. I’m just so…hopelessly confused. I walk over to the little creek that winds its way through the back of my yard. It’s filled with garbage, and when I first found it my mother apprised (verb; informed) me that I was not to try to save this creek. I couldn’t take any of the garbage out of it. Looking at the creek makes me even sadder. Surreptitiously (adverb; secretly) I pick up an old bottle and bring it next to the door, so I remember to throw it away later.
    I came outside to think, but I feel kind of suffocated even out here, in the sun. I lie down and pull my hood up. I bet I look like a dead body to the cars that pass by. I stare at the sky and see the blue. Just blue. I’m blue. Actually, I really am. My jeans, my sweatshirt, and even my shoes are all blue. Like the sky. Like this one really pretty picture on my mom’s wall of some blue leaves. Blue is an interesting color. It has a latent (adjective; hidden) sadness to it that no other color expresses. Blue is pretty much what I’m feeling right now.
    I don’t mean that in the sad way. Well, I do, but there’s much more to it than that. Wearing blue makes me feel distended (adjective; expanded), kind of. Like I’m part of the sky.
    I get up and brush the nasty bits of grass from my sweatshirt. Then I start walking. I walk around and around our yard, watching the sky and questioning it. It gives me no answers. I ask it what I should do, and it stays silent and blue.
    Suddenly I feel the need to run. Just run. My speed undergoes a proliferation (noun; rapid increase) as I start pounding across the dry old grass. I don’t stop till I get to a sign at the front of our cul-de-sac. It’s this big brick structure with two pieces of wood in between a series of bricks. Perfect to sit on. I climb up, carefully checking to make sure the wood won’t crack beneath my weight. Then I’m on it. Sitting. Cars pass, and they’re so close that my hair blows in the wind that they create. I should really be doing my homework. My mom’s gonna give me diatribe (noun; bitter scolding) the moment I step inside. So I don’t. I’m gonna put that moment off for as long as possible. Besides, I want to forget about homework just now, and focus on my problem.
    Nothing seems right. I want to, need to, but can’t, but should, but…it’s a flurry of leaves in my head. They blow about, settling on my mind one at a time, but none seems right, feels right. The blue is laughing at me. The blue sky is laughing. It’s saying, “Make a choice, fool! Don’t you listen to your heart?” But I doubt my heart. Is that so wrong, or so right? My heart has betrayed me in the past. I mean, it’s not like I hold some sort of rancor (noun; ill will) against it…but then again…I kinda do. I’ve trusted it before, and it led me astray. So I’m reluctant to trust it again. What does it have to offer me?
    “Lots,” answers the blue, which now seems to enjoy telling me what’s what. “What you want. It can give you what you want. Just listen to it.”
    “But I can’t,” I answer. “I can’t just listen to it! What if everything goes wrong? What if my heart is wrong?”
    “You’ve ignored it long enough,” says the blue vituperatively (adverb; in a scolding manner). “You need to give it a second chance.”
    “But it’s been wrong before. Deathly wrong. Like, so wrong I wanted to kill it.”
    “You can’t kill it,” laughs the blue. “It’s as much a part of you as your arm or leg.”
    “My heart’s not really saying anything,” I say sadly, and angrily. “It’s just this weird looking organ that’s pumping blood through my body. It tells me nothing. I can’t trust a bloody looking lump.”
    The blue is stern. “Your heart IS saying something. It’s saying quite a lot of things. But your heart isn’t your HEART. Lemme explain. What is your mind?”
    “My brain,” I answer promptly.
    “No, it isn’t. Your mind is something you can’t actually feel or touch, or dissect. It’s kind of invisible, if you will. It’s more of a feeling, but that makes it no less real, kid. It’s as much a part of you as anything else. So’s your heart. It’s different from the blood pumping thing that lives in your chest. Sure, they share the same name, but they’re entirely different. Your heart is as your mind. It’s sort of invisible, but quite existent. Do you understand?”
    “Kind of,” I say ruefully.
    “Your mind and your heart are always battling. Sometimes one gets ahead of the other, and that’s when you make a decision. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t listen to your mind, but…your mind is the rational part of you, right? It’s the part that tells you not to trust strangers, tells you that you oughta be nice to the lonely girl. All that’s great, I’m not sayin’ it isn’t. But your heart…it’s the emotional part of you. It’s kinda like you got two brothers living in your head. One of them’s the smart guy, the one with glasses and a button up shirt and suspenders. You can trust him to tell you what’s reasonable and rational. But the other one’s got long hair and a dreamy expression, and he’s your heart. He’s not so rational. You’ve got reasons to not trust the guy. He’s got nothing to back up the crap he tells you!”
    “So why listen to him?” I can’t help interrupting. “He’s an idiot.”
    “Now, now, I didn’t say that, did I? I just said he’s not rational. Sometimes you have no idea why he’s saying the things he says. He’s got no proof, no logic, makes no sense. But something makes you want to listen to him anyway. He’s not tricking you; he’s honestly telling you what he thinks. Sometimes, he’s even right.”
    “Right is a relative term,” I say defiantly.
    The blue chuckles. “Quite right. Who can say what is right and what is wrong? Both your heart and your mind could be wrong, or right, or somewhere in between.”
    “But how do I know who to listen to?” I cry. “I don’t know if I can trust either of them!”
    The blue seems to shrug. “You can’t just listen to one or the other all the time. That’s…it’s not the way things go, kid. You need balance. And lately…you’ve been trusting your mind quite a bit, haven’t you?”
    I purse my lips.
    “Your heart can lead you the right way, kid. Yes, he’s led you down the wrong path before. But you’re human. You got plenty of time to make mistakes and get back where you wanna be.”
    I look at the ground, the hard, crusty grass, and then back at the blue.
    Who winks.

  45. I would like to apprise (verb, to inform) you of my most vivid childhood memory. It was a day I had received a bit of diatribe (noun, criticism) from my fellow classmates. Some of the kids were very vituperative (adjective, abusive) but I just tried to placate (verb, to pacify) their mean words. But I had surreptitious ( noun, secret) that they did not know! I was getting to go to Disney world! I had been keeping this a big latent (adjective, hidden) because I didn’t want my classmates to make fun of me even more. As the days of our arrival became closer my anticipation began to distend ( verb, to swell). To mollify (verb, to soothe) my anticipation my parents tried to keep me focused on other things, but nothing could help! Once there the days were not proliferating ( verb, to multiply) as I thought they would. So before I knew it I was back in the classroom filled with my classmates who had a bunch of rancor ( noun, ill will).

  46. As Katrina sat next to the other children, she wanted badly to be APPRISED (informed verb) about what was so funny. She thought the SURREPTITIOUS (secret adj.) source of the laughter was coming from a little girl named Isabella. The LATENT ( hidden adj.) source actually came from a little puppy that kept tripping on the beach. There, was no RANCOR (long lasting ill will noun) to the PROLIFERATION ( rapid increase noun) of the laughter. In fact, it seemed to MOLLIFY ( to soothe verb ) or PLACATE (to pacify verb) the dog. However, the overworked owner of the dog gave the dog a vicious DIATRIBE (bitter scolding noun) in a VITUPERATIVE (abusive adj.) manner. This did not DISTEND (to expand verb) the ongoing humor. In fact, it happened to silence the children. Except for one boy who, for some unknown reason, kept laughing. Katrina quickly ran to her mom and they left.

  47. It was first grade and we were on a field trip to a field. We were on a wildlife observation trip. We were first in a museum learning about animals. I recall seeing a garter snake, a raccoon, and a fox. After our host finished telling us about the animals we got to pet them. The snake felt like scales and other animals felt relatively normal. After me and about 24 other kids felt up these poor animals we went on a nature hike. I actually thought it was pretty nice. There were trees every where and a whole bunch of plants everywhere. There were insects everywhere as well. I saw a random group of odd-looking plants in a large clump on the forest floor. As I looked around I saw that they were distended(v)(spread out) through out one side of the forest. They were slightly latent(adj)(hidden) due to how small they they were. The way the sun reflected off of them made them seem like they were a kind of blue. They looked kind of pretty. I went up to them and started touching them and I smelt them. I don’t know why I smelt them I just did. Nevertheless, they smelt like a mixture of dead skunks and rotting garbage. Too bad they didn’t smell pretty as well. And to think I was about to eat them! I quickly walked out of this pile of poo-leaves and went back to my group. Then when we almost out of this forest I was overcome with nausea. I proceded to vomit. As I was busy having my innards rip out of me my teacher was panicking. She was new, straight out of school and had barely any experience. So our host went and apprised(v)(to inform) my parents. Eventually I had to go to the hospital to get well. When I was in the hospital the doctors found rashes on my hands. As I laid down in that hospitable bed, my inside sore, I hoped for the extinction of those smelly, vituperative(adj)(abusive) plants. I would go into a diatribe(n)(public denouncement) over those stupid leaves. Nothing could placate(v)(to satisfy) my rage. The doctors and my parents thought differently. They said that I got sick because of food poisoning not because of some strange plant that I was talking about. The rashes were because of poison ivy. Over the next few days they would proliferate (v)(original word is a noun)( rapid spread or increase) over the next few days and nothing would mollify(v)(to ease, to sooth) the itching. My anger towards those surreptitious(adj)(sneaky, tricky) plants festered into a rancor(n)(long-lasting hatred or ill-will). Eventually it died down and went away. I still to this day believe everything that happened that day was because of those leaves. It was first grade and we were on a field trip to a field. We were on a wildlife observation trip. We were first in a museum learning about animals. I recall seeing a garter snake, a raccoon, and a fox. After our host finished telling us about the animals we got to pet them. The snake felt like scales and other animals felt relatively normal. After me and about 24 other kids felt up these poor animals we went on a nature hike. I actually thought it was pretty nice. There were trees every where and a whole bunch of plants everywhere. There were insects everywhere as well. I saw a random group of odd-looking plants in a large clump on the forest floor. As I looked around I saw that they were distended(v)(spread out) through out one side of the forest. They were slightly latent(adj)(hidden) due to how small they they were. The way the sun reflected off of them made them seem like they were a kind of blue. They looked kind of pretty. I went up to them and started touching them and I smelt them. I don’t know why I smelt them I just did. Nevertheless, they smelt like a mixture of dead skunks and rotting garbage. Too bad they didn’t smell pretty as well. And to think I was about to eat them! I quickly walked out of this pile of poo-leaves and went back to my group. Then when we almost out of this forest I was overcome with nausea. I proceded to vomit. As I was busy having my innards rip out of me my teacher was panicking. She was new, straight out of school and had barely any experience. So our host went and apprised(v)(to inform) my parents. Eventually I had to go to the hospital to get well. When I was in the hospital the doctors found rashes on my hands. As I laid down in that hospitable bed, my inside sore, I hoped for the extinction of those smelly, vitperative(abusive) plants. I would go into a diatribe(n)(public denouncement) over those stupid leaves. Nothing could placate(v)(to satisfy) my rage. The doctors and my parents thought differently. They said that I got sick because of food poisoning not because of some strange plant that I was talking about. The rashes were because of poison ivy. Over the next few days they would proliferate (v)(original word is a noun)( rapid spread or increase) over the next few days and nothing would mollify(v)(to ease, to sooth) the itching. My anger towards those surreptitious(adj)(sneaky, tricky) plants festered into a rancor(n)(long-lasting hatred or ill-will). Eventually it died down and went away. I still to this day believe everything that happened that day was because of those leaves.

  48. Dawn’s rosy fingers stretched across the darkened sky. The night fled into the distance as the sun revealed its glowing rays that bathed each and every leaf in warmth. The river was pacified. Its usual current had ceased in a bewitched immobility and hung still in the air as if the thread of time had been cut. No morning symphony broke the silence, nor any whirring of transclucent dragonfly wings.

    The river had a broad expanse, as if distending (verb; expanding) endlessly in either direction; it stretched at least twenty yards across. Submerged wreeds and towering strands of wild grass bordered the edge of the shallow ends; beyond them stood magnificent willows of early descent. Their delicate leaves hung over the river, as if embracing it in a still clutch to keep the current from flowing.

    The wind whispered, as if agitated by the silence. It pushed against the branches of the willows, vituperatively (adv; abusively) rustling the leaves and apprising (v; informing) its discontent. A single leaf broke free from a thin branch. The wisp of green twirled in the wind’s push and landed abrubtly upon the undisturbed water. Instantly, the water reacted; small eddies murmured in confusion, seemingly annoyed by the disturbance. Pushing and pulling, the water submerged the leaf in mild rancor (n; long-lasting ill will) before finally calming. Silence and immobility returned once again.

    In the day the river was seemingly lifeless; but at night, it was an oasis of life. Its latent (adj; hidden) potentials were revealed: the croak of frogs could be heard and the symphony of crickets lifted the air into a warm stillness. A mollifying (adj; soothing) atmosphere of thick air could be felt. Fireflies usually dotted the horizon with their flashing luminescence, like christmas lights bordering a summer’s night. A place on earth truly worthy of the title ‘sanctuary’, its atmosphere was capable of placating (verb; pacifying) the unruliest of men.

    Dawn turned to noon, and noon to dusk. The sun and all light fled quickly away, as if offended by the worst of diatribes (n; denunciations). Night settled upon the river and the moon rose high above the treeline to reveal her silky, pale face. However, there were no fireflies or frogs or crickets that sang and flashed tonight; life was hushed into silence, eerie yet majestically played.

    Twilight arrived. The pearly moon played shadows across the trees’ leaves, creating dancing images and glowing brilliance. The willows hung silently over the river, their leaves a brilliant blue in the twilight hour. Against the light of the moon, they shone with a cobalt glow.

    A call suddenly broke through the foliage of the trees and reverberated through the river’s expanse. It was a soft cry but was one that was strong at the same time; confident and beautiful, yet shy and eluding. It rode the twilight’s wind, floating ever so lightly upon the air that supported it. Eerie echos followed, in rapid proliferation (n; rapid increase). It faded away, now an echo that dared to break the stilled silence. And soon came its source.

    A figure rose through the trees. It skimmed the tops of them gracefully and rose to meet the face of the moon. The surreptitious (adj; secretive) form of this being was revealed against the pallid light. The shape of the creature was distinctively a bird, with an elegantly carved beak and a long wingspan. An elongated tail trailed behind the creature like a mist that clouded around the sky on a dreary day. The creature floated effortlessly on air, its wingbeats scarce as it quickly dove to meet the glimmering, darkened water.

  49. My sisters are so annoying. I am always around them and they never leave me alone. When I wake up, they are always screaming and having fun. I try to apprise(to inform v.) them that they are always annoying and I ask them to stop, but of course they never do. Every so often, I hit a day where I cannot take it anymore. Those days aren’t pretty and if you were to see it for yourself, you would know to stop. I give them a diatribe(bitter scolding n.) which is exactly what they deserve. Everyday my anger slowly distends(to expand v.) to every end of my body. It’s really not that I don’t love them, but they are the most annoying people I know. My parents say that I’m eventually going to be able to convert this anger into energy while I’m a lawyer. My parents want me to become one because my father is. They assume I have some kind of latent(hidden adj.) ability to become one. The only place I can get peace and quiet is in my room. I believe that my room has the ability to mollify(to soothe v.) me. It’s the only thing around me that helps out a whole lot when I’m stressed out. Just looking at my room placates(to pacify v.) and relaxes me. Maybe I should get my sisters a room like this. The only times I am able to get away from them are at school, home alone, and of course my room. But as soon as they get home, they come running in, screaming through the door running around. That is the exact moment when my anger proliferates(to increase rapidly v.) and I go to my room. My parents have noticed the bits of rancor(long-lasting ill will n.) that I have for my sisters and they tell me not to worry. They say that when they grow older they will become mature and relaxed people. This talk I constantly have with them is a surreptitious(secret adj.) conversation so my sisters can’t hear. They say I shouldn’t have such a vituperative(abusive adj.) talk with my sisters and get along with them a bit more. Who knows? Maybe I should.

  50. Breaking the surface, a whooshing noise as I watch the fallen leaves come closer and the water fly past me. It mollified (v, to soothe) my skin, rubbed raw from coarse clothing. No summer day would ever again be this beautiful. After this summer, I would have to leave and never return. One day’s difference between breaking the rules and leaving the rules altogether. So many rules are imposed on my town, but all to keep us protected.
    Mam was forced to leave long ago. She had reason to refuse to adhere to the rules, but no one believed her when she tried to apprise(v, to inform) the elders. No one believed her, so she left. She has been gone for six years. I do not pretend to know much about the outside world, our small community encompassing the entirety of my life. I know only what my mother managed to tell me before she was sentenced to excommunication. She told me of many things we were not permitted to use or own here. Electricity, cars, fancy clothing, objects of beauty, and freedom. The one she could never get out of her mind was the freedom. As she washed the clothes, she spun me tales of the freedoms of the outside. I would sometimes play pretend games where I was released from the town, and I was so lightened that I flew.
    That was when I was young and foolish. Sometimes I wish I could return to the naivety of youth. I watch my hair swirl in the water, ebbing and flowing with the river. I knew that if anyone caught me in my underclothes, I would be punished severely. I don’t know why I am concerned with such a thing, as I plan to leave tomorrow. That is when I turn eighteen. It sounds like a death sentence, but it is merely a choice. I don’t get to choose not to be eighteen, but I do get to choose if I want to stay.
    I don’t know why Mam left. She was excommunicated, and any contact she tried afterwards was shielded from me by my father and brother. I would receive a diatribe(n, bitter scolding) if ever I tried to speak to my mother, so the attempts starting coming less and less. One day Mam stopped coming. No one could console me. I was an empty shell in my last year of schooling, information being poured into my ears and falling out of my mouth, like a fountain that wouldn’t refill. When school finished, I became a mindless drone to all around me, working efficiently, but with no conversation to speak of. My surreptitious(adj, secret) trips to the river and around the houses of the others in my community were all of a soul that was left inside of me. My imagination withered and died, taking my confidence and nearly my will to live.
    I began to watch the schoolhouse, seeing the rules professed and learned mechanically, and the wheels in my head turned with proliferation(n, rapid increase). Only one way could I placate(v, pacify) my tattered heart: I would have to find my mother.
    She had had a rancor(n, long-lasting ill will) for the town’s elders, passing judgement on the young and old alike. She somehow knew exactly when something was off with them. They always seemed a little more vituperative(adj, abusive) when they convicted someone. They were always banished and excommunicated. Mam had suspicions of foul play in these reviews. They said that everyone was given a chance to present their case of innocence, then allowed to repent. When the once-public affairs began to occur in small, disclosed rooms, a latent(adj, undeveloped potential, hidden) possibility rose up into my mother’s mind. She never told me what she thought, but one day she went to see them in private. She told me that she would be back soon, so I waited on the porch steps. As the shadows grew longer and began to fade, my worries for Mam were even more acute.
    I stepped inside to go help my younger sisters with dinner, but as we shelled peas, my Dat’s face was a stony safe. He knew what had happened to Mam, and I knew that there was nothing that could get it out of him. When Dat came to tuck us in our cots, he whispered in my ear, “Forget your Mam, she has done a bad thing. You can never see her again.” He must have said something of the sort to my other siblings too, because when I awoke to milk the cows, Ellen, the oldest after me, was making breakfast, which Mam had always done.
    A somber mood occupied the house as the days wore on. My heart felt as if it had distended(v, to expand) to the point that it should burst out of my chest. My Dat knew something about Mam, but he wouldn’t tell a soul. That’s when the letters from Mam started appearing in the river. She sent them down as boats to me, knowing that I had always enjoyed a swim.
    I received letters long after Mam had left, and the most recent was on this eve of my eighteenth birthday. Now it was time to make my choice. I could leave, as Mam had, or I could stay in our community, dull but unchallenged. I dripped on the shore as I gathered the supplies I needed. I chose to leave…(continued on next week’s entry)

  51. Student Response #1

    I know this doesn’t count as a blog grade, me commenting on other stories here. I also don;t need it to considering how I have already done 6 blogs.

    I just wanted to say how great I thought student #1 and student #2s stories were. I was reading other stories before I wrote and submitted mine and after I read the first and second story I was like “man those are great, there is a lot to live up to on this blog.” I honestly usually don’t think that and I just wanted to share my opinions on their stories.

    I thought #1 was really creative and unexpected. You had me thinking that at the begining of the story that the humans were visiting another planet, not the other way around. I thought it was interesting how you did it from the aliens point of view because it is a twist of the usual. Lastlt, I love the cliff of wonder you left at the end. You had me wondering if you were going to write another story where the aliens got revenge on the humans.

    Student #2 had the best descriptive language. When I was reading it I could invision the storm coming and was wishing I could write as well as you. I loved the line about the old men sitting and talking about the storm of ’56 and how you wanted to talk about the storm of ’09. I thought your story was very beautiful and clever.

    Just wanted to tell you.

  52. The smurfs had taken over. All the world’s inhabitants were now their slaves and everything was blue. I had been apprised (verb, to inform) this information after waking up in my hospital bed. The doctors told me I got into a scuffle with one of the little blue creatures after it had given me a diatribe (noun, bitter scolding). As a result, my forehead was distended (verb, to expand) out past my brow thanks to a forceful blow from a tire iron. I was feeling a little odd after being pumped full of pain medication meant to mollify (verb, to soothe) the aching. It had all happened so quickly. For years these little men were just another segment of my Saturday morning cartoons. Now here they were, in the streets where I grew up, wreaking havoc on the things I loved. They were invading with proliferation (noun, rapid increase). I just needed something to placate (verb, to pacify) my anger. I left the hospital despite my doctor’s vituperative (adjective, abusive) orders not to. I needed answers that nobody was able to give. I decided to make my way home, to my grandfather’s house. I had lived with him most of my life since my parents passed away in a tragic car accident when I was just six years old. When I arrived, I looked around the house, searching for something that could help me understand why this had happened. Just when I was beginning to lose all hope, I noticed a small marble box laying on Grandpa’s bed. I had seen this box before; Grandpa told me years ago that I was never allowed to open it, and I hadn’t thought about it since. But something told me that he wanted me to open it now. Inside the box was a single piece of paper, a letter addressed to my father. It looked like my grandfather’s handwriting. I read it over carefully several times, but it still didn’t make any sense. If the things said in this letter were true, then it meant I have a latent (adjective, hidden) sort of magical power for fighting smurfs. I couldn’t believe it. How had my family kept this so surreptitiously (adverb, secretly) for all these years? I came to my senses and realized I didn’t have time to think about it. I needed to save the world. The rancor (noun, long-lasting ill will) of these smurfs would soon come to an end, and the planet would be free again.

  53. She told me to smile, like my life depended on it. Christopher thought is was the funniest thing he had ever heard, he didnt know she was serious. But I was tired of her pushing me around like her slave. I might have been only 7 years old, but I knew enough from the world to know my rights. And the longer I was around her, the more I had to listen to her vituperative (adj. verbal abuse) language.

    Every time I was around my step mother, she made me do stupid things like pick up something she purposefully dropped on the ground, or help (mostly I just did it by myself) take things out of her car. And everytime she made me do this, my heart was filled with more rancor (hatred, n.) towards this woman, that I was worried I wouldnt be able to control it. She had two children, Christopher and Max. If they werent such nice people and were so nice to me, I’d think that I was really living in a Cinderella story. In that picture, I was actually having a pretty good day. Actually, it was one of the best days I had had in a while…

    Max, Chris and I had decided to take a trip to the new water park down the street. We left when mom was taing her 5hr nap. Max loved to be surreptitious (adj. acting stealthy), and Chris just liked to have fun. I was just glad to be around people that cared about me. Plus, whenever I was around Max, I was calmer, she helped mollify (v. to soften in feeling or temper) my emotions, which was exactly what I needed.

    We played around at that park for hours. The pretty water flew out by the sence of proliferation (rapid growth n.). I chased Max around, pushed Chris down a dark slide that made him scream so hard he wet his pants, and swam along side my two best friends with the biggest smile on my face.

    The fact-of-the-matter is, the water was also calming to me, it placated (v. appeased) me to my inner self. I felt so alive and free, that I made a promise to myself to leave this old town, to some place with lots of water, like Florida maybe. We played around in the water for a few hours more, not realizing the time, or the creepy guy that had sat there the whole time and watched us. He was clearly latent (adj. present but not visible), but it was so hard to notice him, until he spoke. Which is probably why we didnt see him before. I heard him on the phone when I was at the hot dog stand. He was talking to her, my evil step mom that wouldnt know fun if it was thrown in her face. I knew he was telling her that we were here when we werent supposed to be, and I know I was going to come down with the hardest punishment, like always. But I wasnt going to let this happen AGAIN. I ran over to Chris and Max and told them what was happening, and they agreed with me. And just like I knew she would, Max hatched a plan to save our skins, and put a stop to all these wrong doings. We decided to apprise (to inform; v.) all the kids at the park then of our plan, Max said they would come in handy, and all of them were excited to help. We walked over to the mysterious man on with the phone and Max said this:

    “Mister, we dont know who you are, but we know who you work for. If you cooperate, we wont hurt you, but you will wish that you never came here today. If you try and run, me and my buddies here will tie you up, and pull your arms and legs in all directions and distend (to expand by stretching; v.) them for a while.”

    I really hoped she was lying because I didnt want to hurt anyone. We had planned to tie him up and put him in the kiddie pool with everyone in it so he couldnt get out. But this was getting out of hand. I whispered to her that her child like diatribes (a bitter critisism; n.) were starting to sound like her mother’s . That stopped her right in her tracks. She turned to the man, looked him in the eyes, smiled and said “get him”.

  54. Image #1

    Leaves falling from trees are blue, or are they brown, or just black? These are questions that I will never know. Many have apprised(to inform; verb) to me me that the leaves are green or yellow, but how do I know. I make up the 6 percent of males in this world who are colorblind. When I was younger it was latent(hidden; adjective) becouse everything was the right color to me. My parents thought it best to keep it surreptitious (secret; adjective). But as I got older it was a diatribe(bitter scolding;noun), I was looked at as the boy who was diferent. From first grade up to now I have been in a state of depression that continues to distend(to expand; swell out; verb). This dipression is a tumor of proliferation(rapid increase; noun) that cant be treated or removed. I fear that soon the rancor(long-lasting ill will; noun) of this tumor will be the death of me. So here I sit in, in a park, trying to mollify(to soothe; verb) the pain that I feel. But the more I try to placate (to pacify; to make someone less angry; verb) the pain it becomes more vituperative (abusive; scolding; adjective). As I sit here on this bench I stare at the leaves on the trees as they fall. I look next to me at the bench, and out over the lake. I don’t know what color the lake or the leaves are, and I will never know. To me the leaves will always be blue.

  55. The diatribe (bitter scolding; noun) parents of these three little children do not realize that their vituperative (abusive; adj) actions are crushing their young’s latent (hidden; adj) skills. The rancor (long-lasting ill will; noun) words that come out of the parents mouth will destroy any good future they might’ve had. Even if you were to apprise(inform; verb) them of this surreptitious (secret; adj) knowledge they wouldn’t stop what they’re doing. It would take serious mollifying (soothing; adj) to change these kids into normal human beings. If this does not change, the harsh behavior will distend (expand; verb) from generation to generation. It is a proliferation (rapid increase; noun) of wrong parenting that needs to be placated (pacified; adj) and stopped at once.

  56. My name is Keira and I am five centimeters tall. Actually I am quite tall compared to the typical Floran. We Florans live in a large cave in the forests of Mambo. My house is a blue cave flower called “Ponke.” My people used to live in the trees along with a group of people called the Runshkies. They were vituperative (abusive)(adj) and rancorous (having long-lasting ill will)(adj) toward us Florans. One of us was always receiving a diatribe (bitter scolding)(n). There was nothing we could do to placate (to make someone less angry)(v) them other than getting Kundo beans from dragon lairs for them. We were perfect for getting the beans because we are so small and quiet. We were able to sneak into the lairs surreptitiously (secret)(adv) and gather the highly coveted beans. Soon the Runshkies made us their slaves. We served, but our latent (hidden)(adj) anger grew. In time, our elder decided enough was enough. We had done everything for the Runshkies, yet still we could not mollify (to soothe)(v) their tempers. In addition, our population had proliferated (to increase rapidly)(v) and we needed to relocate. Our elder called a meeting with me and apprised (to inform)(v) me that I was in charge of finding a new home. I had heard stories of dragons from my dad, who was not originally from our clan. In fact, he was a shape-shifting dragon. I told the elder of a plan I had devised to escape and he agreed that it might work. That night, we fed the Runshkies Kundo beans until their bellies were distended (expand)(adj) and they were immobilized. Then we picked up our assembled belongings and traveled to the caves. There, my father changed back into his true form and made a treaty with the dragons. To this day we still live up to our bargain to protect the Kundo beans. This is the story I will always think of when I stare up at my blue ceiling.

  57. The only way she could escape her problems was to swim. The feel of being immersed in water always mollified (v; soothed) her. She could feel her lungs distend (v; expand) with every stroke which pushed her to go even faster. Thinking about her life at home was something she tried to avoid, especially at school. She knew if she ever started crying or anything that showed she wasn’t alright, she’d be approached be everyone, especially her school counselor. If her counselor was not around to see her outburst, someone would certainly apprise (v; inform) her of the incident. She decided it was best to keep all her emotions pent up until she could get to swim practice. The thing she loved most about the swimming was that she could cry all she wanted and everyone would assume her face was wet with pool water, not tears. She hated running into Tom though. He was the only person who knew what her home situation was like. He urged her every day after practice as her mother pulled up out front to tell someone. Although it was nice to know someone cared, she wished she had never told Tom about her vituperative (adj; abusive) father.

    Even though she loved the water, even the pool betrayed her. On multiple occasions, her makeup had worn off and she had to make an excuse for her bruises. Although she was so accustomed to lying about them that everyone believed her, she hurt a little bit more every time she blamed her ‘clumsiness.’ Leaving practice was almost as painful as a diatribe (n; bitter scolding) from her father. She felt so safe in the pool, no one could catch her. She was the fastest on the team and her coach could see her latent (adj; hidden) talent.

    When her coach called the house to inform her that she qualified for a tournament she had been training for for months, her father answered the phone. While her father put on his disguise of a charming business man, both she and her mother watched fearfully in the kitchen. When he put down the phone, she felt her pulse proliferating (v; rapidly increasing). While alcohol placated (v; to pacify) some and put them in jolly moods, drinking did exactly the opposite for her father. He was an irritable man without alcohol and it just amplified his anger. While she anxiously waited for his response, she worried much more for her mother. Her mother knew her place and always kept her mouth shut. This method reduced the number of beatings she had received over the years. She looked over at her mother and knew exactly what she was feeling. Her mother had gone behind her father’s back once before and had clearly not forgotten how he had responded. Her father had a rancor (n; long-lasting ill will) that she had never seen in anyone else. Despite this, he only yelled at them for about an hour and warned he would deal with them more in the morning but he clearly was too drunk and tired to do any physical damage tonight.

    She and her mother did not sleep at all awaiting his reaction when he gained more strength in the morning. Her mother dressed early, quietly so she wouldn’t wake her husband, and went and prepared breakfast. When he walked in, both she and her mother waited for his reaction. He simply kissed his wife on the cheek and grabbed the paper. They stared at him for a while and then at each other completely confused. Then simultaneously they realized what had happened. Her father was too drunk last night to remember anything that had gone on. Relieved, she surreptitiously (adv; secretly) packed her swim bag.

    As she she was getting out of the car when she arrived at school, her mother kissed her and told her that was the last time they would lie awake in our beds at night. She promised that they’d be out of there soon. She knew things weren’t that simple and she had been promised this before. And although it was likely nothing would change, there was hope.

  58. The soldiers were running through the forest to apprise (to inform/verb) the officer in command that their was an incident and someone is massively hurt but, then the soldiers all sort of stopped at the same time and look at each other and back at this one single tree that stood alone in a forest. They all looked at each other and one of the four soldiers said, “What’s our plan to placate (to pacify; to make someone less angry/ verb) the captain?” And the other soldier responded “Let’s just tell him that he was being vituperative (abusive/ adj.) towards us and then we had a proliferation (rapid increase/ adj.) of anger towards him and acted upon it unintentionally.” They all looked at each other with a look of acceptance but then they all look back towards the same tree but this time it was surrounded by bushes and covered with blue leaves. They all felt as though their was some surreptitious (secret/ noun) behind this blue leaved tree so they all walk towards the tree but as they did the tree started to distend (to expand/ verb), which was odd the a tree would grow so fast. As they watched this tree growing it seemed to mollify (to soothe/ adj.) them as if they hadn’t just hurt their friend, they nearly forgot about it until one of the stronger minded soldiers snapped out of his hypnotism and realized a latent skill that he had, psychology. He then awoke his friends from their hypnotism also with diatribe (bitter scolding/ adj.) commands. Then they all went to the captain to face the rancor (bitterness/ noun) of the situation with confidence following behind them.

  59. Live. Love. Laugh… Sure.

    This is what I truly thought. My views were rather vituperative (adj, bitter) for my ‘youthful soul,’ but I didn’t really care. I mean, I didn’t want to care…

    Grannie’s house. Her kitchen was our place. This is were we would spend hours together; me just sitting on the countertop, watching her bake while I would babble on about the childish things that I thought were so important. I loved watching her cook. As I got older, I would get to help her more and more in that kitchen. It was our playhouse. She was my best friend that I could giggle with and talk to about anything, not like I really had situations that needed intense mentorship at that time.
    In front of the window that was along the counter, she had three milk bottles with flowers in them. They read “Live. Laugh. Love.” I adored these bottles. I went by this slogan, I almost worshiped those three bottles. I picked out flowers every time I was there from her flower garden to place in them.
    It was so different there, at her house. Smells, sounds, the soft carpet on the floor, and the knowledge of acceptance and love that I had never felt anyplace else.

    They took my grandma away from me. She was a brilliant lady, and she worked in the cooking industry. Grannie made several cookbooks and had a shop that was always crowded and sold out of bakery items everyday. She was envied. Her house was broken into. They stole everything valuable to her, and broke everything important to me. Live, love, laugh. The objects that woke Grannie up to hear them sneak in. They caused her death, indirectly. They panicked when they heard walking, and shot her.

    Why her? Why not someone famous? Why my innocent grandma?

    The death of her caused the death of my once worshiped slogan. No living, no laughing, no loving. Stereotypical of a teen? My mother boxed up those broken bottles, she knew I liked them. Life was hard. My soul was full of rancor (noun, bitterness) and hatred. Everyone goes through hard times. Someone always has it worse, others always have it better. Each diatribe (noun, a forcefull and bitter verbal attack) I lashed out at people made me hate even more. I became latent (adj. hidden, concealed) with my emotions, keeping them all inside. As I got older, and passed through high school, my anger boiled inside me, I swear my lungs distended. (verb, swell out because of pressure from inside) I couldn’t understand the cruelty of the world, and I hated feeling like every other person who had suffered in their life. The grief was severe. After senior year, I moved out of the house, into my apartment. The pain wasn’t over my grandmother anymore, it was caused by the cruelty of man and the constant battle of morals and motives. I thought to much, and I ate to little. Nothing could placate (verb, make me less angry and hostile) my hatred. Yoga for one class made me puke. Sewing just made me think of Grannie. ‘Friends’ attempted to lift my spirits, and tried to mollify (verb, reduce the severity of something, soften) my feelings by ignoring the fact that I was suffering. I guessed that was considerate. But they just thought I was going crazy, really. I knew I couldn’t tell them about my hatred toward man and the creator of decisions. My surreptitious (adj, to keep secret, because it would not be approved of) thoughts were mine. I couldn’t tell anyone.

    I got a job, working at the Sam’s club as a check out lady. I didn’t like it at all, but what’s new? An old lady worked there, too. Sometimes, she would talk to me constantly. I wouldn’t listen half the time. She blabbered on about her husband leaving for the war, and all of her chores and such. I swear, some days, my old hatred combined with cranky shoppers and her story telling made a proliferation (noun, rapid increase) in my hatred toward people.

    One day, she said something, that made me hate her, and appreciate her at the same time. She apprised (verb, inform or tell) me, “live, laugh, love. That’s my goal. Seems way to optimistic, honey, but I believe it. All this world needs is sincere, honest people who can know when grief is necessary for closure and when smiles are necessary for healing. Everyone suffers, everyone should respect everyone else. That’s why I work her. Not for the money that comes with this job,” she smiled, “or the fame that it gives me,” another soft laugh, “but because a sincere smile is all it takes to make someone second guess this life we have.” Her eyes sparked. Something in them fascinated me and made me melt down. A tear rolled down my clinched cheeks. I squint, and attempted to smile at her. She looked at me like she knew my problems, but not in that judging way. She changed my life. All it takes is a little bit if living, laughing, and loving to realize that this is not a tortured life to be in. Grannie would be proud…of her, and me.

  60. Boy do I remember the rancor (adj; long lasting ill will) look in that boy’s eyes. He was so mad at me, and only me because a huge group of kids tried to tell him he needed a hair cut. We all understood he was trying to be in style, but we were just trying to apprise (v; to infrom) him of his ridiculous appearance. He was hoping his hair style would distend (v; to expand) with the rest of us, but no way would that style have a proliferation (adj; rapid increase) in popularity with us. He always told us it as a very latent (adj; undeveloped potential) style, and that he was just ahead of the game, but he really wasn’t, he acted like it was his own little beauty surreptitious (n; secret) and that we could never know really how to master the style, but the thing was, none of us wanted to even know how to. Well anyways we all knew this kid could get a little violent or vituperative (adj; abusive) when he gets angry so we all tried to placate (v; to make someone less angry) and mollify (v; to soothe) him so he wold stop his diatribe (adj; bitter scolding) towards us. We were just trying to help a kid out, but never once will I ever comment on somebody’s hair again. I learned my lesson that time, and I guess some people are just more confident in their looks than others. He might have thought it was cool, and if he felt comfortable in it, then good for him, I shouldn’t have said anything.

  61. She is a vituperative (adj) and diatribe (adj) person. Her scolding proliferates (v) to my very core. The bitter scolding that rapidly increases to my center of being rips and tears it to shreds. I have always hated her, and I don’t care what anybody says. I don’t care who she is, or what anybody says about her. No one deserves to be treated the way I’ve been. Soon, very soon, I will escape her maniacal clutches and be free from her impending punishment. I have been apprised (v) of a very surreptitious (adj) place. Finally, with my informed self, I will be able to leave my prison, and escape to the secret place that is my sanctuary. The timing must be perfect though, for her watchful eye is always on me. Every move I make is known by her, sometimes even before I act. I have dealt with her punishment long enough…

    I have finally escaped her, and I am now free from her abuse. The place that I have found is most beautiful, although I must admit, quite l0nly. However, it is mollifying (adj), in which it soothes me into forgetting my harsh life. This place is alive with the most passionate blue my eyes have ever gazed upon. The light dances off of a lake in the middle of a grassy gnowl, causing the water to gleam like diamonds. The lake pulses with benign energy, distending (v) out words and healing the deep wounds of my heart. It expands and swells out and over my body encasing everything around me in a divine aura. I love to watch as the leaves gently grace the earth with their presence. The leaves, of a strange tree which I have never seen, giving birth to blue leaves as they fall to the ground.

    I plan on staying here for the rest of my life, keeping this land latent (adj), well hidden from the malignant influences of the outside world, and also safely protected from her rancor (v). Her vile, ill will, that spreads like poison to all things that are around her. Just thinking about her makes my skin itch, like it’s on fire. But now I have started to think of her, and I grow annoyed at the nasty thought that soils my mind. I will look upon my blue area, and try to placate (v) myself by staring into the abyss that is peace. The pacifism of this mystical land has the power to drown out the most evil of thought that come across my mind. But I must remember to think about nothing, and let my mind wonder, in amazement of everything that is in this land.

  62. Picture 3:

    She got the phone call early this Wednesday morning. The caller apprised (V.) her of her husbands conditions. After hearing the news the phone slipped the grasp of her hand, shattering on the floor. The following week was the funeral; she would never be the same again.

    The weeks passed by along with the seasons. Her family tried everything they could to mollify (V.) the pain of the lose. She was once a loving and nurturing wife and became a verbally vituperative (adj) person. Her life was flashing by but she was not living it, not loving it. Everything was in slow motion. Her neighborhood was blossoming with yellow and white flowers and the neighborhood children were chasing each other around their front lawns with hoses. She would occasionally glance out the window, the sunlight almost blinding her. She could not remember the last time she had been outside. Upon glancing outside, one of the neighborhood children caught her attention. The girl was wearing a red sundress and hair in braids, her name was Abigail. The little girl was standing there looking straight into the window from across the street. She had to look away from the girls’ intense curious glare. She closed the blinds and realized that her heart had a proliferation (N.) in beat from when she had first looked outside. After that day, flowers ended up on her doorstep, no letter no name.

    Abigail skipped across the street with an arm full of flowers hoping to cheer up the sad face in the window. She slowly walked up the steps to the lady’s house but after two steps forgot about the promising creak. The wood steps creaked under the weight of the girl and seconds later the lady was standing in the doorway of the front door. The girl’s shoulders dropped expecting a diatribe (N.). The lady noticed that this one girl had eased her pain more in one day then in all the counseling classes she had been to in the last year. This girl placated (V.)all the lady’s frustration and grief. She decided to invite Abigail inside and give her a snack. “Why did you leave me flowers?” asked the lady. The girl’s response surprised the lady, “You looked sad and flowers make my mom happy.” With this statement the lady had a latent (adj) smile within. The girl asked the lady what she was lacking in her life. The lady replied with only three words, to live, to laugh, and to love. The girl giggled and said she would give the lady those three things back into her life. Before being able to ask Abigail what she meant the girl quickly snatched a cookie they had eaten earlier and ran out the door, skipping down the street.

    No flowers were to be seen on the lady’s doorstep all week. The lady began thinking the girl had forgotten about her and became too busy in her own life to think about her. The lady didn’t realize the surreptitious (adj) plan Abigail intended for the lady until the next day. The lady woke up with a fever and felt her stomach starting to distend (V.). The doorbell rang and the lady made her way carefully to the front door. Opening the door she saw Abigail with her mother, a box in the mother’s hands. Abigail took the box from her mother and the mom guided the lady back to her bed. Abigail and her mother left after taking care of the lady. Two days later, the lady was better than ever and yet still had not figured out what was inside that box. The lady did all her routine activities; made coffee, checked the front door, and looked out the window. When walking in the living room to the window she then knew what had been inside the box. All the rancor (N.) in her previous life faded when she glanced at the light filled window. The blinds were drawn back letting in an endless supply of sunlight. In the window, sat three vases with the same flowers Abigail had been leaving on the doorstep. The vases read live, love, and laugh. Abigail had given her the three things that were missing in her life. She would always remember this day, and always remember Abigail.

  63. “Live, love, laugh” is a great message to follow in your life. Living by this message mollifys (v, to soothe) all dangers life brings. It’s not a proliferation (n, rapid increase) to the years of your life, but simply a method of making life more enjoyable. This is no surreptitous (adj, secret) message, but more of wisdom. You can not go through life with diatribe (n, bitter scolding) and hatred. When you forget about the evil and the vituperative (adj, abusive) actions in the world and relax, you relize how precious life really is. The message is latent (adj, hidden) in what we do every day. If the message has had an impact on you, then apprise (v, inform) somone else. If you know somebody who has rancor (n, long-lasting ill will) inside them, then it is important to apprise them also. Distend (v, to expand) the message to everyone in need of it and you will feel good for doing it. In the time of conflict, placate (v, to pacify) any adversaries. This message will grow and soon bloom into a regulation that everybody lives by.

  64. Picture 3: (previous entry didnt have def.)

    She got the phone call early this Wednesday morning. The caller apprised (V/ to inform) her of her husbands conditions. After hearing the news the phone slipped the grasp of her hand, shattering on the floor. The following week was the funeral; she would never be the same again.

    The weeks passed by along with the seasons. Her family tried everything they could to mollify (V/to soothe) the pain of the lose. She was once a loving and nurturing wife and became a verbally vituperative (adj/abusive, scolding) person. Her life was flashing by but she was not living it, not loving it. Everything was in slow motion. Her neighborhood was blossoming with yellow and white flowers and the neighborhood children were chasing each other around their front lawns with hoses. She would occasionally glance out the window, the sunlight almost blinding her. She could not remember the last time she had been outside. Upon glancing outside, one of the neighborhood children caught her attention. The girl was wearing a red sundress and hair in braids, her name was Abigail. The little girl was standing there looking straight into the window from across the street. She had to look away from the girls’ intense curious glare. She closed the blinds and realized that her heart had a proliferation (N/rapid increase) in beat from when she had first looked outside. After that day, flowers ended up on her doorstep, no letter no name.

    Abigail skipped across the street with an arm full of flowers hoping to cheer up the sad face in the window. She slowly walked up the steps to the lady’s house but after two steps forgot about the promising creak. The wood steps creaked under the weight of the girl and seconds later the lady was standing in the doorway of the front door. The girl’s shoulders dropped expecting a diatribe (N/ bitter scolding). The lady noticed that this one girl had eased her pain more in one day then in all the counseling classes she had been to in the last year. This girl placated (V/to pacify, to make someone less angry) all the lady’s frustration and grief. She decided to invite Abigail inside and give her a snack. “Why did you leave me flowers?” asked the lady. The girl’s response surprised the lady, “You looked sad and flowers make my mom happy.” With this statement the lady had a latent (adj/undeveloped potentional, hidden) smile within. The girl asked the lady what she was lacking in her life. The lady replied with only three words, to live, to laugh, and to love. The girl giggled and said she would give the lady those three things back into her life. Before being able to ask Abigail what she meant the girl quickly snatched a cookie they had eaten earlier and ran out the door, skipping down the street.

    No flowers were to be seen on the lady’s doorstep all week. The lady began thinking the girl had forgotten about her and became too busy in her own life to think about her. The lady didn’t realize the surreptitious (adj/secret) plan Abigail intended for the lady until the next day. The lady woke up with a fever and felt her stomach starting to distend (V/to expand, to swell out). The doorbell rang and the lady made her way carefully to the front door. Opening the door she saw Abigail with her mother, a box in the mother’s hands. Abigail took the box from her mother and the mom guided the lady back to her bed. Abigail and her mother left after taking care of the lady. Two days later, the lady was better than ever and yet still had not figured out what was inside that box. The lady did all her routine activities; made coffee, checked the front door, and looked out the window. When walking in the living room to the window she then knew what had been inside the box. All the rancor (N/long-lasting ill will) in her previous life faded when she glanced at the light filled window. The blinds were drawn back letting in an endless supply of sunlight. In the window, sat three vases with the same flowers Abigail had been leaving on the doorstep. The vases read live, love, and laugh. Abigail had given her the three things that were missing in her life. She would always remember this day, and always remember Abigail.

  65. It is not surreptitious (adj. secret), my family sometimes has a rancor (n. long-lasting ill will) against each other. It’s not that they hate each other, they just constantly yell vituperative (adj. abusive; scolding) things to one another. As the shouting of these diatribes (n. bitter scolding) began to start a proliferation (n. rapid increase), I tried to do things to placate (v. pacify; make someone less angry) them. At first i tried to apprise (v. inform) them of how destructive their fighting was, but that only made matters worse. I could not think of a way to mollify (v. soothe) the tension between us. I finally found a way to distend (v. expand; swell out) everyone’s latent (adj. undeveloped potential, hidden) love for each other. All it took were a few flowers.

  66. Daisy Lane was my escape. When home and school are the eighth and ninth circles of hell, anything that doesn’t involve physical or emotional scarring is a gift from God. This street was its own little world, and for the fifteen minutes that I walked on it, I could dive right in. I could immerse myself in the lives of the people on either side of me and forget everything else. I would never want to stay here, for most of the residents’ lives were quite awful as well, but it wasn’t MY awful. It was theirs. Plus, not all of it was bad. In fact, Daisy Lane frequently gave me hope for the rest of the world. It gave me the notion that there was enough good to balance out the evil, and that’s what kept the earth spinning day after day after day.

    Daisy Lane was the most beautiful during the fall. The wind would scoop up the blue, gold, and orange into the cool air and create a whirlwind of wonderful color that could mollify (verb. to soothe) any aching heart, if only for a moment. In the spring time when the trees are full and shade the road, the sunlight falls through in the most fantastic way. It penetrates only every once in a while, creating occasional strokes of light. It feels like some sort of inviting magic land. But perhaps that’s only because that’s what I see it as.

    But once you get past the street itself, you must observe the people who, when asked to insert their address into Mapquest, type in “Daisy Lane.” They are fascinating creatures. In fact, sometimes I think that one of the criteria to live on here is to be utterly intriguing so passerby can marvel at your life. The thing about them is, is that if you happened to walk on Daisy Lane just once, it would seem like any ordinary street. No, you have to be a regular to peel back the layers and uncover these people’s surreptitious (adj. secret) lives. For example, Mr. Fanshaw can usually be seen working on something in his garage. He seems like a friendly man, waving to you as you walk by. Eventually though, I discovered his latent (adj. hidden.) malice. Most of the scraps of his projects go into the yard two houses down, and the majority of his projects are failed attempts at something to harm that house. I’m not entirely sure why Mr. Fanshaw has such a rancor (n. long lasting ill will) against his neighbor, but I think it has something to do with an un-returned lawn mower. Mr. Fanshaw is a very bored man. He was fired from his job and could not find work again, and as a result was very bitter at just about everything. I figure there must be something deeper going on to fuel such a fire to where he cannot be placated.(verb. to pacify) Since he sees me everyday, he’s stopped waving and started screaming at me. He spits unprovoked and vituperative (adj. abusive) words about my posture and my appearance. I tell myself he gives me that diatribe (n. bitter scolding) because he kind of likes me, but I know that’s not true. It’s okay, he doesn’t know me. If he did, he wouldn’t say such things.

    Another interesting character was Ms. Patty. She had lots of boyfriends, each very different in character. She frequently had them on her front porch drinking iced tea. Whenever there was a new one she would yell, “Richard! Come here! I want you to meet soandso!” And I would yell back, “Oh sorry Ms. Patty, I’ve got to get on home. But you should feel lucky, sir. She doesn’t date just anyone you know!” And Ms. Patty would nod to me in thanks, and I would continue on my way as soandso thanked her for his feeling of exclusiveness in kisses. The only downside of her many conquests was that she became just like whoever was courting her. Whether they were artsy, a biker, a body builder, or a business man, she would change herself to fit them. Maybe that’s why she was so unhappy…

    On the rare occasions that she didn’t have a boyfriend, she would garden. She was a magnificent gardener, and it was a shame she neglected her plants while she was in a relationship. She would spend hours outside, I’d see her in the morning on the way to school and again on the way home. The proliferation (noun. rapid increase) of plant-life was overwhelming. I would stop to gaze at their beauty, making sure to cherish it because I knew their time was short.

    These are only two of the twenty residents that live on this street, each more interesting than the next. But that all stopped mattering one summer’s day. I was walking home and I saw an ambulance next to the Hadley house. I didn’t see any events that led up to it being there, and I was disturbed by the fact it drove away without any sirens blaring. Like there was no hurry to get anywhere. Like it was too late.

    I was later apprised (verb. to inform) that three year old Scotty Hadley had been hit and killed by a passing car. I knew that little boy. I loved him like a little brother, and now he was gone. I wasn’t the only one who felt it, either. The entire neighborhood changed. Ms. Patty was neither taken nor gardening, and Mr. Fanshaw was never outside anymore. I think I even saw him shake the hand of the man two doors down. Children were never out playing. The old ladies were never out gossiping. There were no more Friday night poker games or Tuesday afternoon garage sales. Grief distended (verb. to expand) like a plague. The fact of it was is that this neighborhood was like a family. A very dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. And when one of its members was tragically torn away, everybody shut down. I thought that this was a phase and the street would eventually repair itself, but it never did. I thought I was a part of that family, I had convinced myself of it, but I wasn’t. Not even close. They shut me out. It seemed like even the street itself did. The leaves lost their color and the sun wasn’t so bright. Everything was shades of gray. Even the daisies the street was named after seemed to wilt. Daisy Lane became just another street. Just somewhere I passed on my way home.

    What would I do without my only release? With the loss of the only thing on earth keeping me alive? If I didn’t have Daisy Lane, I had nothing. There was no point anymore.

    I dunno, maybe I’ll explore Orchid Avenue.

  67. Dear Mr. Jackson,
    It saddens me to apprise (inform) that your child has been doing poorly in school. Your child needs some diatribe (bitter scolding) in order to draw out his latent (hidden) intelligence. I do not mean for you to be vituperative (abusive) you just need to convince Trae to distend (expand) In order to mollify (soothe) and placate (to make someone less angry) you I assure you that Trae’s grade will not be lowered. As long as I see a proliferation (rapid increase) in Trae’s grades everything will be ok. I hope you do not have any rancor(long-lasting ill will) against me.

  68. #2
    This picture aprises(v)( to give notice to; inform; advise) us to not neglect any children, especially when they are young. Even if you are not neglecting them, make sure you aren’t being latent(present but not visible)(adj) because if it isn’t obvious then it will be very difficult to placate(v)( to appease or pacify) the child’s anger or sadness. This anger can often end in Diatribe(n)( a bitter, sharply abusive denunciation, attack, or criticism) on you by such a child. This attack may even result in proliferation(n)( rapid and often excessive spread or increase) of angry children as their rancor(n)( bitter, rankling resentment or ill will; hatred; malice)feelings towards you are extended. If these feeling distend(v)( to spread in all directions; expand; swell) you will have some serious problems and you will have to mollify(v)( to mitigate or reduce; soften) some of the blows the children land on you by getting toilet paper from bathroom for armor in a surreptious(afj)(obtained, done, made, etc., by stealth; secret or unauthorized) way so the children don’t realize what you are up to. If they find you it could get ugly and could result in your vituperative(adj)(violent denunciation or condemnation)death.

  69. It was the middle of the hot summer and three young children were running through the sprinklers. They were trying to have fun, but at the same time they were trying to be surreptitious (secret) adj. about it because the children had failed to aprise (to inform) (verb) their parents. The children were scared but also determined to have fun! The sprinklers began to speed up and spin faster and faster around, causing the water pressure to become stronger. This caused the childrens attitude to have a proliferation (rapid increase) (verb) of energy. The were running and dancing and having a blast when one of there minds distended (to expand) (verb) and though of a great game. The idea of the game was to see who could run the fastest around the sprinklers in a certain amount of time. They each got 1 minute. The first child went and she suceeded with 34 times around. The second child went and doubled her number, and caused the first child to have a diatribe (bitter scolding) (adj.) attitude. She then began to cry and through a loud temper causing the parents to come out. Luckily, the kids got away in time allowing the children to become latent (hidden) (verb). After the parent went back inside, because she didnt see anything wrong the other tow children tried to mollify (to soothe) (verb) the upset child. They tried everything they could to continue and try and placate (to pacify) the young child, but when nothing worked they ran away. They werent trying to be vituperative (abusive; scolding) (verb.) but they didnt want to get caught. Eventually they found out that the upset child had told on the other two and all three got into a rancor (long lasting ill will) (noun) of trouble. They learned their lesson, to next time ask for permission instead of doing whatever they wanted.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s