Day 17: Oscitant

Hey, guys! Pearl here. I’m taking over the writing prompt project for a couple of days while Cara takes care of some Very Important Goal-Pursuing Business. So without further ado…

Word of the Day:



1. drowsy or inattentive

2. yawning, as with drowsiness; gaping.

Okay. Here goes.

It was impossible not to become oscitant when wandering out in the old wheat fields. They seemed to stretch for miles, rippling and golden. The wind whispered through the stalks, telling all its secrets to anyone willing to listen. Like she was.

She’d walk for hours, running her hands through the grass, softly singing in harmony with the wind, letting her mind wander like her feet. When her eyes began to grow heavy from the scent and the warmth and the lullaby of the endless susurrus, she would sometimes find a smooth stretch of ground to lie down on, where she would shut her eyes, and breathe evenly, and slowly slip farther and farther away from consciousness. She never found it a sad parting. After all, what had consciousness ever done for her?

Once, as she lay there, she dreamed that he, too, was in the wheat fields, hurrying aimlessly to and fro, frantically calling her name. But it would’ve been easier for him to find a needle in a haystack than to find her in all those acres of wheat. She could’ve stood up, of course, and waved to him, and called to him, and run to him, and fallen into his arms…

But she didn’t. She only lay there and listened to his voice, calling and calling, on and on, until she could no longer tell the difference between it and the wind.

When she awoke, the sun was setting. She rose and began the long, slow walk home.

P.S. Cara, good luck on not yawning when you do this one. I failed utterly…


4 thoughts on “Day 17: Oscitant

  1. *fights the urge to make this into an actual journal entry*

    Here’s the thing no one ever tells you about getting kidnapped: It’s boring. I mean, at first, there’s the terror and disbelief—everything you’d expect. But then it’s all sitting in the middle of a warehouse, blindfolded and tied up, listening to your captors gossip and/or play cards.

    And I know I’m supposed to be sitting here in mortal fear, praying for my knight in shining armor to rescue me (read: for my father to give them a couple million dollars because my entire life is a cliché), but after the guy with the deep voice tells his third story about his girlfriend’s jealous ex, I am officially oscitant.

    It’s not like I expected this to be a party, either, but I figured there would at least be something interesting about being scared.

    “Did I ever tell you about the time Amelia’s ex tried to throw a lit candle at me?” the guy rumbles.

    God, I hope Daddy gets here soon.

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