In this series, I will take the Word of the Day from Dictionary.com and craft a short piece of creative writing around it. My goal is to embrace the meaning of the word in some unique way, all the while trying out different styles, rhythms and characterizations. It is as much an exercise in creativity as it is an exploration of grammar. Enjoy!
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By Alex Seise
In the sconce-straddled mirror, the two eyelids heavy with accumulated tears didn’t look so bad after all. At least, that was what the boy thought to himself.
He stood on a worn milk crate, craning over the pedestal sink to stare at his reflection in the silvery glass. Though he hadn’t wanted to believe it, there they were, plain as golden dandelions among a field of green clover.
Stubbly, dark hairs that curled and wisped in the most ugly fashion. The sight made him well up again, but he stopped himself from sobbing.
No, he thought. I am a man now, and real men do not cry. Even when the school teacher prods at their newly crinose chins, and when the dairy cart splashes foul gutter stew on their pressed linen breeches, and certainly not when the slaves down by the wharf cackle at their poor-fitting hats that simply won’t sit on their foreheads like they’re supposed to do.
Men worry about the plights of economics and shipments and local government and overseas revolutions. Not hairs or cracking voices or stirrings of the loin whenever a pretty girl passes.
Those are cares for boys; and he was no longer one, and he would never be one again.