The room was filled with words.  Not books, words.  There were words to be tripped over and words to be sat upon as a chair, a ladder, a protrusion of significant magnitude.   (It’s funny how they always arranged themselves in hackneyed double entendres like an old whore trying to look younger by applying clownish amounts of rouge).   

She forced her way in and was assaulted by the ten dollar words first – ones that began with un and ended in ism.  They were followed by the flurry of rapidly rising adverbs which pelted her face like the frenzied beating of a crow’s wings.  And then there was the curious word prolix which wound itself around her feet and grew upward ending at the tip of her tongue. 

She got out the broom.