This is a practice context piece written in imaginative style under timed conditions (55 minutes including planning). Please mark / give feedback / criticism.
Text(s) used: The Shark Net by Robert Drewe
Prompt: “Truth itself is an illusion”
The smooth beats of a jazz quartet rose to a crescendo as I walked towards my fair maiden. The snippy sac cut the tension of the room and everyone swayed in time to its gentle tones. I was lithe and limber, ready to sweep her off her feet. I walked up behind her not wanting to startle her. Here she was, a perfect specimen of human beauty. Voluptuous curves, gentle smile, high cheekbones. I was drawn in, forced almost against my will to this siren her arching back singing to me as loud as the chorus of saxophones.
I was right there, just within touching distance of the graceful strands hanging golden over her shoulders. She would be mine. She was mine. I’d seen this scene so many times in my dreams. I would go over to her, dancing smoothly across the floor. Tapping her on the shoulder, she’d turn around, blushing as she saw who she was talking to. I’d slip in a joke, make a passing comment on her eyes; she would be putty in my hands. After the original wooing, we’d speak out back. That’s when the real magic would begin. How could she resist? Not when I put my moves on her.
I was cool, Joe Cool. No one compared to me, that was a fact. I was a lifesaver, a brilliant swimmer, an athlete; I was everything. There was no way she could see past the truth of what a brilliant person I am.
I drew in a deep breath and put on my most dazzling smile. Reaching out towards her, I lingered, hand outstretched, mentally deciding on the best line to spin her. I knew it didn’t matter anyway. She’d fall into my arms desperate to kiss me no matter what I said. She loved me already even though she hadn’t met me. Deep inside, she’d already fallen in love with the man I was. The suave, sophisticated, strong hero she’d been yearning for was standing right behind her, all I had to do was touch her, get her attention.
I finally made ii to her back, my hand gently grazing the small portion of skin between the folds of her hair. She turned around, startled, wondering who it was that had interrupted her monotonous swaying. Then she caught sight of me with my ‘Joe Cool’ smile and sexy slicked back hair. Her face changed; not into the blushing timidity I had hoped for but to one of forlorn disappointment. It was okay though, she hadn’t seen the real me yet, seen the truth. I opened my mouth, the perfect pick-up line on the tip of my tongue. She stood there staring at me, the remains of her disappointment lingering in her eyes.
The words escaped my lips, “Kish me wouldya?” She looked confused, as if not understanding what I had said. I flashed her my smile again and repeated the question, trying to make my voice deep and sexy. “Darlin’, kish me would ya?” Comprehension fluttered across her face quickly followed by a piercing look of revulsion. “What kiss you?” She practically spat the words.
This wasn’t right, wasn’t what I’d planned, what I knew would happen. She was supposed to be swooning, dropping weak at the knees. Why wasn’t she swooning? I’d tried all my moves; she’d seen them all. How could she ignore me? I was perfect. Smooth, athletic, cool; why couldn’t she see that? Perhaps she had just misunderstood. My charm still active, I looked into her eyes, mine smouldering, exuding cool. “Yeah, babe, give me a kish.” My smile still dazzling, I flashed it in her direction again. Her demeanour seemed unchanged. In fact, she seemed even angrier and more disgusted than before. “Not if you were the last person on earth, birdmouth!”
There it was, that word, ‘birdmouth’. The word I couldn’t understand, so often accompanied by others; harelip, weirdo, freak. But why? Why was I the freak? I was cool, so cool. I listened to jazz and played sports and dressed flash. How could she not see that? How could she be oblivious to the truth? My face burning, I looked away. My smile now fully receded was replaced by a glower of shame. Her friends stood by and laughed, their hurtful cackles mingling in with the sax chorus. Ignoring the tears of anger and rejection I felt welling up, I ran out into the fresh air. The smooth jazz and wicked comments faded into the breeze. I’d show them, show them the truth, show them how special I and cool I was. How dare the mock me with their all too perfect smiles and teeth.
I came to the edge of the lake just outside the club I had escaped. Diving into the water, I felt the icy chill of the night draw me in, numbing my pain and suffering. Finding my rhythm I began my powerful stroke; left right left right. The monotony soothed me. How wrong they were. I am not the freak, they are. I know the truth, live it. I know the true me. They’d pay for pretending otherwise.
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Reading over it, I think I probably need a more tangible link to the prompt. Thoughts/opinions/ideas?
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