thaydra.com

Eighth in my wordy-writing.  Please note that the theme for some of the words were “slang”, so you might want to look for the slang definition if it doesn’t quite make sense (for example, the word “rhubarb”).

Jacob was an orotund child, the victim of vagary. His father’s company had gone bankrupt, and due to his father’s gambling and grift, they were plunged into penury.

Where Jacob’s father was prone to jive and rhubarb activities, Jacob maintained his badinage and doughty resolve. His father’s clandestine ways were unable to break through the rampart Jacob had defended himself with. Even though his father claimed dibs on Jacob’s success, Jacob knew inside that his own sense of right and wrong, and his own adherence to his convictions had led him out of his father’s barren lifestyle, and Jacob was just jake with that.

 The seventh of my “wordy writing”.   Enjoy.

  A breeze soughed through the copse, sighing a soft pule, as if cringing at it’s advancement through the boughs. I’d always felt tutelary over this thicket. It has provided me safe haven against my father’s anger, that could excoriate before he bellowed his first word. My quidnunc of a stepmother could never stay out of it, and always had to put in her own spiteful inaccuracies. Their constant obloquy had led me fleeing, right into the arms of my beloved grove.

My grove, whose lush green branches were daedal with life and welcome. The way the wind whispered through their leaves gave a feeling of love and encomium. While their embrace was only palliate to my eleemosynary woes at home. I have never forgotten my refuge during those hard times. The copse was my symbol of strength and survival when I was certain of failure. It could countervail the desperation at home.