The Wordy World of Yuck

Now, everyone knows that 78% of the human body is made up of water. But let me tell you something that most people don't know. This water is saturated with words.

In every single hydrated person, tiny waterways stream throughout the body transporting words back and forth, words float from the head to the heart, sail from the stomach to the hands, and swim from the legs to the feet.

Some people's waterways are thin and narrow and filled with long, narrow words. Others' eddies swirl cliches and recycle idioms. Where the undertow is strong, most words get recycled into slang, or metaphors and similes, and there are pockets of canals in most stomachs and livers whose current flushes out onomatopoeias and exclamations.

Some people's waterways are crystal clean like the Caribbean sea and don't have many waves at all. Others have geysers and polluted backyard creeks. And that's how it works: words, swimming through our bodies, waiting for us to string them together, swish them around, and use them.

Well, these days, there seems to be much confusion regarding which words to choose and how they should be ordered. Many words are mangled, misused, and instead of being renewed, they simply get blurry. This is what the doctors call "blurry-words". Now, blurry-words is probably the most horrific ailment anyone could ever suffer. Waterways become thick as words begins to absorb moisture. Slowly, certain words start fading, melting almost, or evaporating. But the most terrifying thing about blurring word is that these words never vanish completely. They linger strangely, clogging up rivers, polluting creeks, and making it impossible for the poor innocent victim to make any sense at all. The injured loses his passion, his words grow soggy, and he is forever scarred.

Miraculously, no one had ever come down with a case of blurry-words in the town of Yuck. Not once. In the town of Yuck, as it was widely known, everyone's word-waterways flowed smoothly. All the people in Yuck seemed to know just what to say just when it needed to be said. They pulled clear strings of beautiful words from their watery insides and spoke them with hydrated perfection. When an occasion called for ranting, they could rant and roar a raucaus rumpus. When it called for slang and street-talk, they could slinkily sling it. And when they needed to be affecting, ardent or articulate, every person of Yuck knew how not to condecend, yet could place delicate and precise words in near perfect order.

The town itself was lush, heavily humid with a light breeze, and being a small island, it's entire circumference was a long lengthy coastline. It was a town laden with creeks, canals, streams and rivers, whose currents flowed strongly- but not too strong- and whose hot steam sailed up with the mist into the heavily humid air that had just enough light breeze to keep the moisture in motion.

As you can imagine, no one was every thirsty in Yuck. Just breathing the air meant instant hydration. All persons had 100% of their 78% wateriness and their passageways were brimming - but not overflowing- with words of all different shapes and sizes. Long words, fat words, short words, inside out words, and even upsidedown-twisty turney words. It seemed everyone was as eloquent as an expert evangelist.

Everyone, that is, except for LittleBoyEkks. LittleBoyEkks was the son of a large family. He had 4 brothers and 2 sisters and he was the youngest of all. The family lived in a humble humid home on the banks on one of the most famous rivers of Yuck: The River Loquenne. The Ekks family was a very normal family indeed. LittleBoy's parents worked in the big Water Filtering Factory right near their home. They made enough money to support their children, and felt they were contributing to the greater good of their land and their people, cleaning their beloved wordy-water of impurities and making sure that nothing would become polluted. They were good parents, always knowing exactly what to say when it needed to be said, and they loved all of their 7 children. But they were always worried about LittleBoy.

LittleBoy was not an average Yuck. From the very beginning it was clear that he was different. On the day that he was born, when the doctor cut his umbilical chord and placed him in his mothers arms, he didn't cry. Nor did he wimper. No, not even a moan.

LittleBoy giggled.

That's right. His mother almost droppped him right on his newborn head. His father gasped. The doctor was flabberghasted, and the nurses all turned to stare.

"A giggle?", his mother stared at the doctor, searching his face for an answer. And they immediately started doing tests.

Well, the doctors stuck Littleboy with pins, x-rayed his legs, scanned his brain, checked his heart, scoped his lungs and drew his blood, but they simply couldn't find anything wrong with him. His mother and father were certain it was a severe case of blurry-word and thought they might leave Yuck to seek help in a city that had blurry-word specialists. But the doctors assured LittleBoy's parents that that giggle was no blurry-giggle. That was a healthy giggle. Healthy, but wrong.