137 words: One’s trash, Another’s treasure.

She had held a yard sale on the first Saturday of every month for the last ten years. A large man with sweat stains on his shirt walked over holding a lamp.  She tensed involuntarily. Somaticizing. Her psychiatrist explained. That’s your anxiety converting into physical feelings.

The man smelled like vinegar and sweat. “Fifty cents. It’s chipped at the bottom.”

The lamp had sat by her bedside table until she was twelve. Her father packed it away as punishment for reading late into the night.

“If you follow me, I have a whole one inside,” she offered meekly.

He smirked his approval. Her house was threadbare but for the butcher block displaying the skinning knife and bone saw.

She read once that women most often use poison to kill. She was glad to belong to the atypical.


Matt gave me my prompts today: “threadbare” and “yard sale.” What perfect little words for a work of horror. I also dipped into dictionary.com’s word of the day: somaticize. Because I’m glad that phenomenon has an appropriate sounding word to define it.


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