X is for . . . uh . . .
I can't write about xylophone, no one wants to hear about that. I can't write about x-rays, that's too obvious. X has a sinister feel to it, like it snuck into the alphabet and wedged in next to Y with a gun in his pocket, "Don't say anything or I'll shoot U, Y." Scooting just a bit, Y's long stem began to tremble.
X is coercive, strange, violent, seductive, it gives me a headache, it makes me dizzy. It's a nightmare letter. A challenge. It's the one that got away. But came to stay. Give me a day, and I'll think of a word.