FoTD #2
Flavor of the Day - 09/12/09 - Inure
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1266
Word Count : 162
Word of the Day : Inure - To make accustomed or used to something painful, difficult, or inconvenient; to harden; to habituate;
related to the previous one, though separated by several years
Lyssa rolled to the side, prying open eyes gummed shut. The light that struck them and sent sharp pinpricks to the depths of their sockets forced them shut again. She spread dry lips, smacked her tongue against the roof as if she could wipe the stale taste away, and only felt it more strongly than before.
She swung a hand over the edge of the couch, her head lolling of the pillow, backside sinking deeper into the cushions. Her knuckles struck the edge of a table, a sudden, sharp distraction from the dull ache that held the rest of her, and she grimaced and swung her hand about harder, blindly groping towards the floor.
She found it, the cold, slender cylinder of glass, on its side, jutting from beneath the couch, the cap somehow in place. She curled her fingers around its neck.
“Momma?”
Lyssa shoved the bottle back beneath the couch, swallowing a groan as she eased back into the cushions.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1266
Word Count : 162
Word of the Day : Inure - To make accustomed or used to something painful, difficult, or inconvenient; to harden; to habituate;
related to the previous one, though separated by several years
Lyssa rolled to the side, prying open eyes gummed shut. The light that struck them and sent sharp pinpricks to the depths of their sockets forced them shut again. She spread dry lips, smacked her tongue against the roof as if she could wipe the stale taste away, and only felt it more strongly than before.
She swung a hand over the edge of the couch, her head lolling of the pillow, backside sinking deeper into the cushions. Her knuckles struck the edge of a table, a sudden, sharp distraction from the dull ache that held the rest of her, and she grimaced and swung her hand about harder, blindly groping towards the floor.
She found it, the cold, slender cylinder of glass, on its side, jutting from beneath the couch, the cap somehow in place. She curled her fingers around its neck.
“Momma?”
Lyssa shoved the bottle back beneath the couch, swallowing a groan as she eased back into the cushions.