No, I didn’t make to the finals in Rouge Wave’s short scene competition this time either.
Please, feel free to visit and vote for the entry you like best.
I don’t think I am a sour loser. The finalists aren’t bad.
But it is not my style of writing.
Now, it is her contest and I don’t object to that. I am happy that she takes her time to do these contests. But she is the only judge and she (with all right) has a clear opinion of what she is looking for.
And that does not match the result of my writings.
I don’t see how I ever will please this sweet lady. Unless I write in another way.
All my – so far – four contributions have been more or less surreal. The finalists are not. If I feel that I either have to change the way I write or give up hope of winning, should I still enter the contest?
Now I sound like a sour loser.
It doesn't cost me more than a little of my time. It is an interesting exercise. What am I complaining about?
The keywords this time was Leprechaun, Emerald and Parade.
My entry is inspired by the Greek legend about King Midas of Phrygia who Dionysus gave a golden touch.
Here is my entry to the contest:
“The Emerald Touch”
INT. MAYOR’S HOME - DAY
A prominent KNOCK on the door. The MAYOR opens. Outside stands a VERY LITTLE MAN in green tunic and hoses.
The little man passes between the stunned mayor’s legs and enters the home. Confident he takes a seat on the sofa.
What do you think you are? A leprechaun?
I prefer verno, if you don’t mind. We’ve decided to step out. We want to arrange a parade.
You and who?
The other two million vernos in this city.
The mayor goes pale.
My god! Two mil... No. No parade.
The little man touches the coffee table. It turns into sparkling, green emerald. The mayor’s eyes go greedy.
This touch is now yours.
The mayor puts his finger on a vase. It becomes emerald.
Yes, yes, YES! YES!
Go fuck yourself. Fuck everybody!
The mayor’s DAUGHTER comes running and jumps into her father’s arms. She turns into emerald. The mayor SCREAMS.
You’ll have your parade. Have it! Now bring my daughter back!
The little man sneers, rises and heads for the door.
It’s just green glass, by the way.