Cum Auxilio Ab Alto (Entries tagged as trifecta writing challenge)

MAKING A STAR

nospam@example.com (Imelda S) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 18:52:30 -0500

This is my response to -

Trifecta: Week Twenty.

The challenge is to use 'Cheap' in a 33-333 word prose, poem, etc.

In this challenge, Cheap is defined as -

3 a : of inferior quality or worth : tawdry, sleazy <cheapworkmanship>

b : contemptible because of lack of any fine, lofty, or redeeming qualities <feeling cheap>

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MAKING A STAR

He circled the girl as a shark would circle its prey, his eyes alert for any imperfection on her. He turned her face this way and that, straightened her shoulders and felt her skin to check the flaws of his new aspirant. Then he stepped back, stood with one toe pointing forward, one hand resting on a hip that was tilted just so, and studied her some more.

“Beautiful, just bee-yooo-tiful!” he exclaimed, his sculptured chin pushing against the tip of his index finger.

Her mother beamed with pride.

“... just let this hair loose, and these two buttons go....” He said as his hands exposed more of her young bosom. The girl blushed but stifled a gasp upon seeing the look that her mother gave her.

“You got a beautiful body. Show it off.”

“Isn't it embarrassing?”

Her mother shook her head at her.

“Hija, in this business, scruples get you nowhere. The less clothes you have, the more attention you get.”

“You're 18?”

“16, sir.”

“Now you're 18.” His bangles jingled as he waved his hand in the air.

“Your name...”

“Tetet, ah, Teresa, sir'.

“...is sooo provincial. Mmmmm... Nadia...Tanya,... Zoraya. You are Zoraya! ...sophisticated, exotic, and ... hot.”

Her mother nodded her approval.

“ZORAYA: HOT YOUNG STAR - Rich Politician's Mistress?” He ran his palms across an imaginary banner before him.

“I'm not a mistress!” protested the girl.

“It's Pub.li.ci.ty. You've to be known.” He said with arched brows.

“Mommy?”

“MOTHER!” He glared at the nervous mother in exasperation.

Mother, afraid of losing this one chance, dragged her daughter to a not-so-private corner of the office.

He sat on the edge of his table, fanned himself and pretended not to hear the hushed tones of the mother -

“.... there'll be no more cheap clothes for us....you, Teresa. You'll have a car, a house, genuine bags....”

“With mothers like this...” he thought.

PRECIOUS

nospam@example.com (Imelda S) — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 21:46:24 -0500

Here's another response to

Trifextra: Week Nine

For your prompt this week, we are giving you the first 33 words of a story. You need to complete it with 33 of your own words.
“There’s nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision more so than discussion.

She disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window behind him.
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PRECIOUS

“There’s nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision more so than discussion.

She disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window behind him.

“He's a fine young man.” His wife said.
“Not when he's with my daughter.”
“She's already 21.”
“She's my little one.”
“No no. Just stay where you are.”

IF ONLY

nospam@example.com (Imelda S) — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 06:56:09 -0500

Here is my entry to the Trifecta Weekend Challenge. I dare join the ranks of those who have posted great responses to the prompt -

For your prompt this week, we are giving you the first 33 words of a story. You need to complete it with 33 of your own words.
“There’s nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision more so than discussion.

She disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window behind him."

Thank you for visiting. Head over to Trifecta for great posts, after you have read this one, I hope. ;-) Choose your favorites and vote.

Best regards,

Imelda

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IF ONLY

“There’s nothing cute about it,” he said. The register of his voice indicated decision more so than discussion.

She disagreed heartily and privately, staring past his head and out the window behind him.

“As it is, My Prince, it's our only means of escape right NOW. But if you've any other idea, I will not cut my hair....” Rapunzel's words, however, fell on deaf ears.

MASTERPIECE

nospam@example.com (Imelda S) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 14:00:55 -0500

This piece is written for Trifecta: Week Nineteen. This week's challenge is to come up with a 33 - 333 word response to the word -

clean (adjective)

1: free from dirt or pollution
2: unadulterated, pure
3 a : free from moral corruption or sinister connections of any kind
b : free from offensive treatment of sexual subjects and from the use of obscenity
c : observing the rules : fair

For lack of a better title, I called this 'heroic' attempt (to rise to the challenge, that is) "MASTERPIECE".

Thank you very much for visiting and leaving your comments. :-)

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Like light piercing the darkness
or a flower that perfumes the air
so is a soul that is clean and fair.

With His own breath, God raised man
above the beasts
and all created kind.

With what beauty a soul was endowed
no eye has seen, nor word's described.

But in the story of how the world began
God said “It is good” when this work was done.

JUST LOST

nospam@example.com (Imelda S) — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 09:17:11 -0500

The theme for this challenge - Lost - inspired me to write snippets about things that are close to my heart: lawyering (a nod to my career of long ago) and playing the violin. I tried learning the latter in my late twenties. My violin teacher made me perform in recitals along with little children. I felt like a sore thumb sticking out, not only because I was old enough to be the children's mother but also because I played the worst among the lot. I suppose the latter was the bigger reason for my fear of playing in front of people.

Here is another post in response to the challenge: This weekend's challenge is to write a story entitled 'Lost' in exactly 33 words. The word 'lost' can only appear in the title, not your 33 words.

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'What virtuosos!' Said the woman about the little children playing on stage while waiting for her turn. With clammy hands and a thunderous heart, she picked up her violin …

and left the auditorium.