In order to strengthen my "writing muscle", I've taken part in this weeks #weekendwritercize; the weekly writing challenge over at Writercize.
This weekend's challenge is: Different Folks.
The excersize:
Put two people who you would not expect to see together in a room
and see what happens. Write about where they are, their dialogue and body
language.
Trying to come up with two polar opposites, I decided upon:
The Dalai Lama
Paris Hilton
Granted, it's no masterpiece, but it was fun to write! Here's my entry:
The
flight attendant announced that seatbelts could now be removed. Paris
Hilton never wore seatbelts; they crumpled her outfits. There was
also the issue of who'd used the seatbelt before her. The staff on
these common luxury air-crafts probably never thought to clean the
seatbelts.
She
regretted loaning her private jet to Britney Spears this weekend.
“Poor Britney, having her Father control her finances,” she'd
told herself at the time, awash with sympathy, “why do tragic
things always happen to good, decent people?”
François,
her PA, hurriedly knelt by her side, flushed with excitement. “Ooh.
Emm. Gee, Parr! You'll never guess who's travelling in the next
suite!” He grabbed her skeletal arms, blinking so hard his false
eyelashes were threatening to dislodge.
Paris
bristled. She hated other celebrities sharing air travel with her;
stealing her publicity. She thought of Britney luxuriating in her
private jet and resolved never to be selfless again.
Feigning
disinterest, she examined her polished nails. “Who is it?”
Please
don't let it be Kim Kardashian.
François
placed one hand over his chest and gave a slight bow “It's... The
Dalai Lama.”
Her
entourage gasped and squealed with delight.
“The
who?” Paris's delicate eyebrows tried to furrow, but the botox
prevented movement. “Isn't that a statue in India?”
He
squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head “No, Dahling... The Dalai
Lama!! He's, like, some kind of Chinese God!”
Ruby,
her make up artist, knelt next to François and whispered “I heard
he blessed Jennifer Lopez's ass.”
François
nodded “I also heard he blessed Lindsay Lohan, via Skype, the day
before she was due to start her jail sentence. And what happens? She
doesn't have to go into that stinky prison!”
“Eww!”
squealed Paris and Ruby, simultaneously.
Meredith,
Paris's financial advisor, turned in her seat to face them. With a
sigh, she pushed her glasses down her nose to look at the trio of
twits. “You Americans are hilarious” she said, in her crisp,
English accent. “The Dalai Lama is the exiled spiritual leader of
Tibet. He enlightens through peace, harmony and compassion, not by
pandering to celebrities!” She laughed into their vacant stares.
“But, please, do ignore his quest for Tibet's independence from
China; Jennifer Lopez's arse cheeks are far more important!”
Paris
scowled at Meredith. She would try and change Daddy's mind about
firing her when she got back.
“Never
mind Mere-bitch,” François hissed, “I happen to know 100% that
he performs miracles. There's absolutely nothing he cannot do. Face
it honey,” he placed a hand on his hip, “do you think we'd even
know who he was if he couldn't?”
Her
glacial eyes bore through his, contemplating what this opportunity
could mean for her; how it could impact her life.
Meredith
chuckled. “What can she possibly wish for that she hasn't already
got?” As she turned back in her seat, she muttered “A brain cell,
perhaps?” and buried her face The Financial Times.
Paris
had an epiphany. She wanted eternal youth. “I want to meet him,”
she announced, “set it up. Now!”
Dismissing
everyone with her arm, she reclined in her plush chair, with her gel
eye mask on. No more surgery. No more needles. No more hiding out in
hotel rooms until the swelling subsides. “It's gonna be so hot!”
Before
long, her entourage had pulled the desired strings and she found
herself sauntering through a mass of smartly dressed businessmen. A
small, bald-headed man sat at the helm of the suite, draped in orange
and red fabric.
“Eww...
that is, like, sooo gross!” she thought to herself “François and
Ruby are liars! How can someone that... ancient looking know anything
about eternal youth?”
“Sit”
he beckoned in the chair next to him. Somewhat dejected, she did as
instructed, her cold, dead eyes poring over him.
“You
look familiar” she realised. “I know! You were on Masterchef
Australia, weren't you? We watched the re-runs in Ibiza last week; it
was the only English-speaking TV they had! It was just the worst!”
The
Dalai Lama nodded sagely.
“I'm
throwing a dinner party tomorrow night, for some very important
people. Would you suggest I tell the caterers to make the Veal? Or
the Foie Gras?”
François
squealed and eye-balled her meaningfully. “His Holiness doesn't
believe in eating meat, Paris, just like you, remember?”
Paris
seized up “Of course," she lied, "the meat is not for me!
I have to think of the needs of others.” She attempted to look
noble.
“I
am not vegetarian,” he said “however, I applaud your decision not
to eat meat: Be kind, whenever possible. It's always possible.”
“That's
sexy.” Images of Jennifer Lopez's buttocks floated in her mind.
“So," she yawned, stretching then folding her bony arms, "can
you bless me with eternal youth?”
His
entourage tittered, and François blushed. Paris gazed at the
bald-headed man unashamedly.
“What
makes you crave eternal youth, my dear?”
Without
a second thought, she replied “It would make me happy. That's why!”
He
looked down for some time. She was starting to think he'd fallen
asleep, until he faced her and said “Happiness is something not
ready-made. It comes from your own actions.”
She
clenched her tiny fists, her thin nostrils flaring. “Are you saying
you won't help me?”
“If
you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm
them.”
“What-EVER,
old man,” she stood up in a huff, “let me help you then: red is
sooo not your colour!” She stormed out of the suite. “And get a
facial!”
The
Dalia Lama looked at a mortified François, with an amused glint in
his eye. “Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a
wonderful stroke of luck.”
Follow writercize on Twitter: @AlanaGarrigues
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Have a lovely Sunday, everyone! x
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