Tag: thesaurus

Day #2

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Unbowed : Not bent or arched not bowed down

Papyrine : Imitation parchment made by soaking unsized paper in dilute sulphuric acid

Approving : Expressing approbation commending as an approving smile

—–

It was the perfect plan. Gaston had spent months scouring the archives, memorising the shapes of letters. The curly flourish of a capital ‘R’. The crucifix of a small ‘t’. The endless ouroboros of the letter ‘o’. Of course, he had been helped along the way, spending countless hours alone with nothing but scrolls, the thick stub of a candle and the Pastor, who despite his saintly façade stood to gain as much from Gaston’s plan as the man himself. After all, it never hurt to have the Lord’s backing.

The Pastor, an elderly man whose back was remarkably unbowed despite his age, was a common fixture in the village. Trusted and feared in equal measure by his flock, he was always willing to interpret God’s word in a particular way if the gold coin bent between his teeth. Bent coins always gave way to a cackle and the same old tired joke that it was a ‘special communion wafer’ rather than bribe.

Was it really a bribe though if the word was never mentioned, or was it merely engendering oneself to God’s approving gaze? And therein lay the rub: you had to take the Pastor’s word for what constituted good and evil. If a gold coin slipped between sweaty fingers was acknowledged as good, then so be it.

Gaston worked in the village tannery. He awoke at dawn, made his way to the butcher’s abattoir and collected the previous day’s hides, many still covered in the yesterday’s gore like a bad dream. Over time his nose had become numb to the smell of rotting flesh and he had learnt to tolerate the buzzing of flies, flitting around the freshly deceased like children clamouring for honeyed gingerbread.

By the time the village slowly began to grind to life, Gaston had already trimmed, salted and washed dozens of pelts, then dumped them in the pit to wait until the hair rotted off. He hated the pit. It was filled with a lime and water solution that smelt so sickly sweet it made him gag. Death shouldn’t smell of flowers.

He wasn’t trusted to tan the leather yet, that came upon completing his apprenticeship. But still, the smoke of the furnaces and the faeces that stained the leather often made his eyes water and his throat burn. It was more a punishment than a job. But the rumor kept him going. He had to cling to it.

The Pastor had pitied Gaston, said he had known the boy’s mother before she died giving birth to her only son. The wily old man had even mentioned that Gaston’s mother had moved in prestigious circles, very prestigious indeed, especially before Gaston had been born.

A stolen gold coin later and here they were. Gaston, memorising his letters and then re-writing his own birth certificate. Gaston watching the Pastor gingerly submerge paper into the green tinted acid, the resulting papyrine indistinguishable from real parchment. Gaston hoping to start a new life. The gappy grin of the Pastor flickering like an empty skull above the flicker of a candle.

Day #1

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Words defined below, followed by the story.

Comptroler : A controller a public officer whose duty it is to examine certify accounts

Needlecraft: An article or articles created or assembled by needle and thread needlework

Spissitude: The quality or state of being thick, dense, or compact like coagulated blood.

——

When the needle fell to the floor from between thick, clumsy fingers, the Comptroller reclined in his wicker chair. Drumming his fingers on the wooden armrests, a dull ache accompanied each tap, the swollen skin like a spade hitting dry ground. He put his needlecraft on his desk and let out a hearty sigh. Across a thin balsa wood frame was stretched a taut, gauze like piece of cotton. Off-white, as though stained by cigarettes, it was an impractically thin sheet of fabric. But wasn’t that the point, he wondered. Thin thread, thin needle, even thinner canvas. It was all about delicacy. Control.

At the behest of his wife, who was concerned by his ambient tumble through life, he had agreed to take up a hobby. He’d thought long and hard, half-heartedly trying one or two things that had quickly fallen to the wayside, drifting past like tumbleweed. Eventually, she had coerced him to take up needlecraft, reasoning with the weight of experience gained through a long suffering marriage, that he could enjoy it from the comfort of his seat, moving little more than his fingers. He’d agreed that that seemed as good a reason as any. The callouses that quickly developed on the tips of his fingers reminded him of tiny snail shells – tough, impenetrable whorls.

He’d been working on this current piece for hours but like most things associated with innocuous middle-management, he had done so devoid of any real purpose, and as such the black thread coiled limply like a fossilized spider web at the end of unfinished words: ‘HOME SWEE’. He’d finish it later maybe. If not, then perhaps tomorrow.

It had been another quiet day in the office, not that many people had much need the finance department at a municipal park, and being one’s own boss meant priorities could easily be shifted. Who’d notice if the grass were a little long for a week? That was what it did – grow. He yawned, stretched, and cracked his knuckles with pleasure pain, an oxymoronic action.

The sun slumped through the windows, a spissitude of golden syrup that filled the room with lazy warmth, both comforting and tiring. Tiny comets of dust flared to life in the late afternoon, then faded like mayflies. The Comptroller’s eyes half-heartedly closed of their own volition, turgidly closing before flicking open again. Beneath, two bags hung like deflated beach balls.

He felt the seductive pull of sleep draw him in, mesmerised like a snake by an elderly, bearded Indian man in strange clothes. How did they do that? Control snakes with music? His head lolled. The insides of his eyelids were burnt a dull red by the sunlight and as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness the last thing that he saw was the pulsing of strange and unnameable colours. The needle lay on the floor and glinted.