Model - Reality by Selina

Reality  

I sat on the fragmented red Ferrari that Grandmother Jane gave to her dearest grandson, forcing a joyful smile like how I always did for the past 20 years, and hid the silver tears that glistened at the corner of my eyes through my thick sunglasses. Like Grandmother Jane, I lost the colours of my life. Isolation. Rejection. And helplessness attacked both of us from night to day.  I looked wearily out at the monochrome world, drawing my attention towards a middle-aged man dressed in mourning, standing under the dusty mantelpiece. He was gently weeping over the delicate, dustless box that contained yellow creased photos, which Grandmother Jane used to hold beneath the full white moon that drifts before a shimmering sky, leaving numerous diffused spots on the photos of her and her “family” smiling at the camera.

Sealed letters without addresses were neatly stacked inside the box. They were letters written towards her unseen family members that dumped her in this dilapidated house.

There was also a little bottle that coldly read out “MORPHINE. WARNING: do not exceed one tablet per day”. Yet, the bottle was empty.

The cool night gust rushing through the cracks of the house gave the man shivers down his spine despite his thick leather jacket. He unwillingly noticed how thin the solitary blanket was on the narrow, crooked bed. A white letter issued to her family members was placed there, written the day before Grandmother Jane died.

As he read the wobbly writing on the letter, his body seemed to sway with the realisation of pain and hopelessness they had given Grandmother Jane. Then, as if too tired to stand for another moment, he flopped in a creaking chair and stared at the red Ferrari that blinded him with glamour, but now paid with sacrifices, casted over long shadows of regret and guilt sitting outside the cracking window covered with cobwebs…

Author's notes: 317 words!

Sorry for posting it really late! Somehow it sounds really fragmented when i read it over again :/

Please point out my horrible grammar mistakes and any aspects i could improve. 

Hope you guys will enjoy it =]

Thank you! 

Model - The Unattainable by Jennifer

The Unattainable

The Outsider

She sits, upright, on her seat with the golden waves of her hair cascading down her back, semi-exposed through the lace of her white evening dress. Even the very air around her dares not to disturb the elegant silence which lies, outstretched, around her.

It is the pensive look in her eyes which draws every man toward her, the melodious chime which rings with her every spoken word. Her attractive, hoarse voice tugs at the strings of every man's heart, pulling them closer ... and closer ... but aside from our fantasies, we can never reach her.

The glint of the morning sun off the cafe window blinds me momentarily, almost like a warning against my meandering mind. But I know that even on this ceaseless bussle of a street there are five ... ten ... maybe even twenty men like me, reaching out into the seducing world of the rich.

Her delicate hands lift the silver spoon which stirs the sweet coffee on her table.

I turn around, lifting a rolled newspaper in my stained hands and throwing it at the cafe window. And ride away.

The Insider

It is the same newspaper boy across the street, the one who faithfully pauses in front of the cafe window every week day. The glass window acts like an impenetrable barrier, blocking me from the everyday lives of others ...

I am almost like a mannequin, pinned up for display in an expensive array of clothes that are meant to be seen ... not worn.

His eyes are no different to all of those who pass me by, an unforgettable but ephemeral longing and desire. Undeniably I am merely a part of their lives in those several minutes they catch sight of me ... but as they turn their backs ... out of sight and out of mind ...

The dirt crusted lines of the boy's hand speak of a journey from north-west, where the water is murky and the hot sand blinding under the scorching sun. He stares at my pale, smooth, loathful hands ... and I can tell from the unmasked expression on his face, his young mouth slightly ajar, that he sees me like the object of this store. And like how it has always been, I sit and am acknowledged as the best ... but once they are given a choice, no one buys the golden girl ...

It is no different with anybody else - for some moments of their lives I sit, the unshared, absolute centre of their attention as the symbol of wealth and elegance. I am flawless - so they say - but the smooth surface of my history pains me, against the profound stories which they all share.

The boy prepares to leave, and the dull thud of his newspaper against the rigid glass window marks another person who has turned away ... left me, alone. Once again I will be the nameless shadow of their dreams ... the unidentifiable essence of their materialistic hopes ...

Author's Notes: I'm sleepy. and I think this is really poorly written, honestly. I'll elaborate some time when I'm awake ...

edit: 508 words. Okay, so I guess I didn't relate to the stimulus very well again. This is a problem. Which I will work on to hopefully bring up my school marks. And now it's dinner. I wonder if I will ever get this note finished ...

edit #2: I intended to relate to the stimulus by making the male persona perceive the female as the symbol of wealth and elegance (like what a Lamborghini stands for haha). I tried to use references to 'mannequins' and 'objects' to make a subtle hint to car displays ... and everyone at those car exhibitions always crowd around the Lamborghini and make it the subject of their desire. But then when it actually comes to a purchase, almost no one ever picks the Lamborghini. And they don't brood over it either. So it's like abandoned in all its magnificence. I was originally trying to tie that in with the lack of a licence plate on the stimulus (lack of identity) and you can see my not-really-worked-out attempt near the end using words like 'nameless' and 'unidentifiable'.

But obviously the above paragraph can not be written to an examiner which will sadly mean I am dooooomed.

Model - An Empty Seat by Alicia

An Empty Seat

Beep. 

'Good morning sir, I have your mother on line 3.' 

'Thank you, Anna. Please put her through.' 

Beep. 

'Hi mum.'

There was a short pause where the flick of a phone cord fluttered through the speaker. 

'Hello Sammy. How's work? I was just wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight, you've heard about Danielle and Christopher, haven't you?'

'I can't I'm sorry.' Through the thick interior glass wall of his office, Sam watched his secretary rearranging the pens on her desk, pausing to type something with swift fingers, phone cradled between ear and shoulder. He twirled a set of car keys around his thumb. 

'Please? You two... haven't spoken in such a long time.' Sam had spoken to Danielle last week, listening with a smile as his exuberant younger sister retold the tale of Chris' proposal with avid detail and teary relish. No, it was his father he hadn't spoken to in five years.

'I still don't want to. Tell Danielle I'm sorry. Bye mum.' 

He could hear the hesitance on the other end of the line, 'Alright. Bye Sammy, I love you.' 

Sam rolled back in his chair, resting his head on the pristine white leather. His thoughts fell on the objects which scattered themselves vaguely on the large expanse of marble and polished glass that was his new "CEO" table. Two sides of his office were indiscriminately painted white walls. The other was a floor to ceiling window with a panoramic view of the city. This was everything, his new world. But sometimes, when Sam stayed late to keep his assistant company in her vigil, all he could see on that horizon was the pastry hot orange smog that hung heavily over the world like a winter cloak that refused to come off in summer. It was suffocating.

Somewhere in the west, his family would be gathering for a happy event, just as they had for many years without him. Now, as he dwelled, ominous clouds rimmed the sky with an ultramarine menace. They hovered over his urban world, just as these thoughts muddied in his mind. 

A text slammed his mobile into vibration. A temporary respite as the pond slime marginally dissipated.

Sam, I won't even try talk you into coming, because I know you don't believe I'm allowed to lecture you. But I will keep a seat here for you. Dad says hi. - Dani.

It was more likely he had said good riddance. 

***

Eleven winters ago.

'Sam can you place the glasses on the table.' The sprawling teenage boy clunked his thick novel down on the ebony piano with a heavy resignation. The glasses were placed, one, two, three...to eight. Small sparkling rainbows gleamed off the facets of the taller glasses, swimming round the bulbous shorter ones and swallowed by the darkness of his ceramic mug.

Once the job was done, he sat back down in the doorway of his bedroom, opened the book and drowned himself in the sorrows of Westeros.

'Sam's about to finish high school, isn't he?' Aunt Rosamund exclaimed loudly. Her voice was shrill friction against the crystalline hum of the cutlery. Jarring. Unpleasant. 'Has he any idea what he wants to do? Our little Mary is doing so well in school, but really Year 9 is when it starts to count towards your future, isn't it?' 

Sam growled and sent his model car on a revenge mission. It tumbled off towards the table. 

In the centre of the dining room folding dough, were his grandmother, his uncle, cousin and aunt. As Sam glanced around the small salle bathed in the sickly yellow light of the solitary light bulb dangling from the recesses of his house, he noticed only the outcasts, his family. Lingering in the corner stood his father, silently forcing down a serving of sticky rice, occasionally beaming down at Sam with amusement in his eyes, which quickly dimmed as he gazed into the rest of the family.

Danielle had hid in the cupboard. Sam promised not to tell anyone until dinner time.

A small red Ferrari rolled across the floorboards. 

'Whose little car is this?' His aunt exclaimed with irritation.

Sam retrieved it from under the table, shooting his aunt a nasty look. 

'Oh.' Is that all you can say, Auntie? The Ferrari glimmered in his hand, whispering of blood and glory. A future. 

***

Sam reached past the neat piles of work contracts that Anna sent in sometime after midday. He picked up the little red Ferrari. A thin layer of coagulated dust rubbed off onto his thumb. The small black tyres had worn into a heavy grey. But the little yellow logo silhouetted by a midnight horse stood bold and strong.

He rubbed his palm against the bottom of the model sports car, feeling the rough plastic plate and the comforting whirr of the wheels as they churned the imaginary engine. Anna had always thought it was his son's, or his nephew's. In truth, it probably should be. 

The car keys beckoned him silently. Sam placed the Ferrari beside the silver framed photos of his sister. 

'Anna,' he began as he pushed open the heavy glass door, 'Could you please have Matthew prepare my car. I have to make an important trip.' 

'Of course, sir.' She smiled, 'Tell Danielle I said congratulations.' 

Downstairs, a little chirp awakened the sleep silhouette of Sam's very new Ferrari.

Author's Note: 905 words. I went ten minutes over. :( I had great plans for this story, but I think I needed at least an extra 20 minutes to have accomplished all I wanted from it, and in the end I decided that I just didn't like it enough. There are a million faults in there!!! D: All of it is just so wrong, but I just don't have the heart to edit it like I did with A Timberwolf's Dove. The name of this one needs work too.
Edit: I've added about a hundred words out of basic editing. :)

Model - the stimulus!

thanks to Maggie! :)