Today is Wordle #210 at the MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Blog. We must include at least 10 of the words below:
Leonine ((adj.) resembling or suggestive of a lion: of or relating to the lion)
Coppice ((n) a thicket of small trees
Blinkered ((adj.) narrow-minded and subjective: unwilling to see an alternate view)
Marlon had been in solitary confinement for almost a month. The only person he had contact with was the guard who brought his meals. But even then, he just saw her hands as she slid the tray under the door. A couple of times he’d heard her voice mumble, “Here’s your food.”
He tried to imagine what she looked like, judging by her hands and her voice. Marlon envisioned a frumpy-looking broad who probably smoked since her voice sounded raspy and cracked. Plus she coughed a lot. Maybe she was an ex-smoker; who knew? She was also probably short and pudgy, since her short fingers reminded him of chubby, pale little sausages — kind of like those cocktail wieners they used to serve at cocktail parties. Maybe they still served them. Marlon had no way of knowing, obviously.
He also pictured his guard as having a leonine head, too big for her thick, compact body probably, with an unruly mane of gray hair.
Marlon didn’t give a damn what she looked like, actually. Trying to imagine though, gave him something to do and staved off the boredom and loneliness for a while.
He wished they’d let him take a shower, or at least a sponge bath. No telling how long it had been but Marlon could smell himself, and that meant he was getting mighty ripe.
Finally, the day came for Marlon to be released from solitary and rejoin the general population. Two male guards came and took him to the shower room. He was given a clean orange uniform to put on, and then he was restrained: both his wrists and ankles were cuffed.
As the two male guards escorted Marlon to his new cell, he saw her waddling toward him. Well, he thought it might be her.The three guards stopped to chat for a moment, and Marlon took the opportunity to eyeball the woman while they were “talking shop.” He glanced at her fingers to make sure she was the right one, and she was.
According to her badge, her name was Felicia.
The way he had envisioned her was mostly accurate. She was short and chubby, but her hair was frizzy and bleached blonde. It looked like a perm gone wrong; maybe she left the formula on too long or used a cheap brand. Or both? She wore this wild shade of magenta lipstick which was applied outside the lip line to make her lips appear large and lush. It didn’t work. Neither did the layer of metallic sky blue eye shadow smeared on her eyelids. It made her look like a clown. She did smell like cigarette smoke, so he’d gotten that part right.
The guards finished their conversation, but before they led him away, Marlon interjected, “Hi, Felicia! Hey, when I get out of here will you go to the circus with me?”
Felicia’s tilted her head and gave him a baffled look. Before she could respond, the two guards yanked him around and told him to shut up.
“Bye, Felicia!” Marlon hollered over his shoulder, laughing.