Yes, it's that time again. No, it's not my birthday. Or yours, but if it is, do say so and we'll sing to you.

Word Challenge time! I should say Words, with the 's' but it doesn't sound as good. So. For you newbies, you might want to read this first so you'll know what I'm talking about. Really, it's just a fun game to exercise our writerly noggins.

For previous attempts, click here.

The words are:

Pilothouse: (noun) An enclosed compartment from which a vessel can be navigated.

Dropsy: (noun) Swelling from excessive accumulation of watery fluid in cells, tissues, or serous cavities. Syn. edema

Cavalierly: (adverb) In a proud and domineering manner.

Memsahib: (noun) A woman sahib.

Alb: (noun) A white linen liturgical vestment with sleeves; worn by priests

Gloxinia: (noun) Any of several plants of the genera Gloxinia or Sinningia (greenhouse gloxinias) having showy bell-shaped flowers.

*********
The Captain left the pilothouse to seek the aid of the ship's quartermaster, who knew a thing or two about medicinal remedies. He'd been suffering from dropsy, the swelling primarily located between his neck and shoulders. Even now as he turned to survey his crew, a sharp twinge resulted from the slightest movement of his head. The Captain was not a man easily worn down by such triviality as pain, but it was nevertheless cumbersome and hindered his navigational abilities. Therefore, it had to be eliminated as soon as possible.

The passengers loitered about with somber faces. They were pilgrims come from distant lands to seek their fortunes elsewhere. The Captain huffed at the sight of their pitiful plights, unused as they were to being at sea for a good fortnight now. He puffed up his chest in a cavalierly manner, and earned another shooting pain from his neck to the top of his skull.

He spied the memsahib standing tall by the bow. She was clutching a bouquet of flowers, her golden head tilted to one side as if she meant to take a whiff of the wilted gloxinias. Was it only two nights ago when she came aboard with her servants? The Captain's expedition to India brought him lucrative rewards, and, now as he gazed at the woman's pale beauty, a chance for a romantic enterprise. After all, he was a man, wasn't he? Too long he'd been at sea with only scruffy bearded men for company.

With a sudden cry, the woman threw the flowers away. The Captain hurried to her side and took her alabaster hand, her fingers thin and frail in his callused palms.

"Madame, what is the matter?"

She shook her head in reply. Tears glistened on the corner of her eyes--silver orbs framed by long, dark lashes. So beautiful. The captain had only time to glance at the quartermaster running toward him, holding a torn and blood-stained alb, when the memsahib pulled his face down for a kiss.

"My good Captain," she whispered, "I can remedy your pain, and you, mine." Her face elongated as fangs appeared in her wide-opened mouth. She clamped her lips over his afflicted neck, draining him bit by bit of the cursed dropsy, and more.

*************

Haha! Sometimes I surprise myself with what my brain comes up with. Okay, now it's your turn. Have fun with it!

Here we are again, sharpening our brains in our quest for the fountain of youth. Okay, sorta...not really.

But if half a century from now you were to find yourself *unable to spell CLOCK backwards, don't say I didn't warn you.

(*A doctor once tried this test on a grandma I know to see if she was getting on with Alzheimer's. True story.)

Actually, I really just want to see what you can do with this new set of words. Here they are, folks.

To see previous word challenge attempt, click here.

*******

It was rumored around town that the new hire at the Chevy saleroom was a dandy. Ms. Lovell couldn’t resist taking a peek—what harm would there be in pretending she needed a new truck? Her old jalopy was indeed falling apart at the seams, and though she couldn’t afford a new one no one had to know the pitiful state of her bank account. Least of all Mr. Bashir, whose thick head of black curls and broad shoulders were causing clicking tongues to disrupt the weekly Bingo over at the community center. If he could get Martha Hartford, a bona fide spinster, to moan and bewail her plight, then there would have to be something there. And Ms. Lovell simply must find out for herself.

At precisely eight o’clock the next morning, Ms. Lovell arrived at the car dealership only to discover the whole place closed for the day. The curious thing, however, was the fact that the parking lot geographically adjacent to the building brimmed with men in black robes entering the back door. Ms. Lovell could see a figure heading the throng, who appeared to resemble the descriptions she’d heard of Mr. Bashir.

It must be some sort of a religious meeting, thought Ms. Lovell. Hadn’t she read of a bhakti, where men and women congregate to worship a divine being? She’d once dreamt of pursuing spiritual enlightenment far in the jungles of India since the day she saw a travelogue displaying golden naked torsos and rippled muscles of the Oriental East. India. How the name itself rolled across her tongue in exotic pleasure.

Her heart palpitated in erratic measures. Ms. Lovell reached for the back door, and with a hand on her chest, she pushed it open. Darkness, and the strong odor of knackwurst, greeted her. When her vision adjusted, she saw rows of men genuflecting in front of an oddly shaped idol.

Mr. Bashir appeared to her right and took her arm. His too white teeth gleamed in the dark. “Welcome, my dear Ms. Lovell. You are just in time.”

A hooded man gripped her other arm. Ms. Lovell opened and closed her mouth like a fish caught in the net. They brought her to the front of the room, where the statue with its eight arms stood.

Ms. Lovell whimpered. “I only came to buy a car.”

Laughter rippled among the shadows. Mr. Bashir held her face with his rough, callused palms. “Look,” he said, gently turning her towards the idol.

Ms. Lovell screamed, even as eight scaly arms snaked around her body. The last thought she had before the gaping maw of teeth claimed her was dandy or not, Mr. Bashir could sure do without eating too much knackwurst.

*******

Come join the fun. Show us what you've got. You're a writer, aren't you? ;)

You know how we always hear about studies saying if we don't exercise our brains, we become susceptible to diseases for the aged, such as Alzheimer's. You know that's how they promote brain games like the Nintendo DS Brain Age, and I came close to buying one.

Image from Amazon.com

But my brain couldn't justify the purchase, even though it was for the benefit of said brain. Wow, confuse much? I took to doing crossword puzzles instead which you can buy for a dollar at your local grocery store. Or heck, you can always scavenge for used and discarded newspapers. Read the funnies while you're at it. I hardly read the news because it depresses me. I should, to be informed, but when you come across the fifth Parent Slays Child and Self clipping, it's enough to make you crumple it in disgust. Then you lose the funnies.

How did I get from Alzheimer's to psychotic suicidal people? It's why I need to score extra brain cells.

Word plays, word challenges, word games. All free if you know how to go about it. I know writers are well familiar with word prompts. They help uncork the imagination to let the creative juices flow. (Ha! I've been wanting to use 'creative juices' in a sentence.) 

So all you need here is a dictionary. Everybody's got one, right? I have an app in my iPhone that I love: WordBook (it's $1.99 plus tax, but hey, it's a portable dictionary. I use it all the time. Don't make me feel guilty now). It's like any other dictionary out there, except for it gives me a random list of words of the day. Six unrelated words, to be precise. And what I do to keep myself from getting Alzheimer's in the far and distant future is to use all of the generated words to create a scene.

Today, these are the words my reliable iPhone app spewed out for me:

*******

You up for the challenge? Using the words and their definitions above, what concoction can you come up with? What do you do to keep your brains in tip-top shape?