Today is Wordle Day at the MindLoveMisery Menagerie Blog. Our task is to use at least ten words from the list below to create a story or poem

Calescent ((adj.) growing warm; increasing in heat)
Paroxysm ((n.) any sudden, violent outburst; a fit of violent action or emotion: a severe attack or a sudden increase in intensity of a disease)
Tea Kettle

A chilly Transylvanian breeze wafting through the open window had awakened Barnabas that morning. His sheets and pink blankie were soaked with sweat.

Thees eez vhat I get for leaving open my coffin,” he muttered to himself.

He climbed out and stumbled across the room. “Oy, how deezy I feel!” He slammed the window shut and leaned against the wall. Barnabas became nauseous and felt his forehead; warm and damp.

“Better I take it zee temperature.”

He wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Now vhere I put temperature-taker?” He rummaged through the junk drawers until he found the meat thermometer. He wiped it off and jammed it under his tongue.

He left the thermometer in his mouth for a good half hour, thinking the longer he left it in, the more accurate it would be.

“Hmmph! Two point two two two degreeze Celsius,” Barnabas lamented. “No vonder I feel febrile. Maybe I make zee lemongrass tisane, like my mama used to make when I no feel so good.”

Barnabas rifled through the cabinets until he found an old tea kettle. It was a little rusty from centuries of non-use, but at least there were no holes in it. He filled it up with water, tossed in some lemongrass leaves and put the kettle on the fire.

As he waited for the water to boil, Barnabas scanned the Times New Roman in case there was anything new in the ‘hood he should know about. His eyes were unable to focus on the small print in the newspaper. This caused him to become dizzy again, which brought on a paroxysmal attack.  His stomach churned one way while his intestinal tract churned another. Barnabas’ head began to pound as if someone were hammering a hot railroad spike through the top of his skull.

He shuffled to the bathroom, but couldn’t decide whether to kneel in front of the commode, or sit on it.

Eeder vay, eez going to make big, big mess all over zee place.”

Fortunately, Barnabas figured things out and had just finished cleaning up when the tea kettle began to whistle.

He grabbed the kettle off the fire and poured the boiling lemongrass tisane down his throat. Why bother with a cup?

“Aaah!” Barnabas exclaimed. “Eez mozt zoothing!

Barnabas finished up the tea and climbed the stairs back to his coffin-room. This time, he remembered to close the lid.


SusanWritesPrecise/Susan Marie Shuman
Romanian Village/

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