Mascarponi meets his match.
|G. The Queens Croquet Ground
2. “Off With Your Head!” - create a blog entry (or static item) detailing an event that made you incredibly angry/frustrated. (<1000 words)
Off With Your Head!
I don’t really get angry. Not since I was twelve years old have I lost my temper. That resulted in a fight with another boy whose name I have totally forgotten. It consisted of grappling with the guy until we fell over, then scrabbling around, locked together in a complete stalemate, covering each other with the dust and dirt of the playground. Then the bell went off to indicate the beginning of classes. We stopped struggling, looked at each other, agreed wordlessly to disengage and hurried off to class. I don’t even remember what it was all about.
Since that time, I have never lost it like that. So I have dreaded this assignment, knowing that I don’t have a lot to offer on the subject. You could say that I might settle for the frustration option, but does anyone have a frustrating event so enormous as to be remembered? I don’t. Maybe I’m just too laid back to get that frustrated.
It results in me having to wing this one. By that, I mean that I shall annoy a character to the point of rage and then write about how it happened. Pure fiction in other words. Some will point out that my Paint the White Roses Red was fiction too but it contains a core that is all about me, I promise. Without more ado, therefore, let us set out upon this complete fabrication.
Several days after his first meeting with Amilcar the little hermit, Mascarponi was in his accustomed position, leaning against the wall that formed the boundary between his property and the road. He found this to be a fruitful place to engage passers-by in his quest for potential customers. So it was with some satisfaction that he marked a slight, yellow clad figure approaching from the direction in which Amilcar had disappeared. Mascarponi, the showman, waited for the hermit to draw level with him.
He remembered Amilcar only too well, the hermit having realised very quickly that Mascarponi might be Magnificent but his intentions were of more dubious origin. Unaccustomed to being thwarted so quickly, Masacarponi was looking forward to this second chance to succeed.
It was a surprise, therefore, when it proved unnecessary for Mascarponi to stop Amilcar with a greeting. The hermit spoke as he was nearing the waiting showman. “Good morning, Mr Mascarponi! I trust you are still as Magnificent as ever?”
Mascarponi recovered quickly. “The great Mascarponi is always Magnificent,” he assured the hermit. “And how went your quest for enlightenment?”
“Ah, Mr Mascarponi, there is no enlightenment at the end of that road.” Amilcar pointed in the direction from which he’d arrived. “I am forced to retrace my steps and find another way.”
Mascarponi decided that the hermit held no grudge for what had transpired before. He pressed his advantage. “You know, I would have given you lodging the other night,” he said.
“Then you should have said so,” replied Amilcar, one eyebrow raised in doubt.
“It seemed to me that you had put an end to our conversation. I did not have a chance to make my offer.” Mascarponi noticed that the hermit’s robes were rumpled and dirty and that Amilcar looked tired. “You seem to be weary of your travels and in need of refreshment. Maybe I could make amends by allowing you to rest in my house today and then arranging for you to sleep there overnight?”
Amilcar was unmoved. “I have no doubt you could,” he said. “The question is, will you?”
“Have I not just offered?” asked the showman.
“Not at all,” answered Amilcar. “You have merely stated the possibility that an offer might be made.”
Mascarponi’s expression changed and the grin faded. His brows began to knit together. “You would challenge Mascarponi at his own game? Since when does a vagabond little hermit have the temerity to bandy words with the Magnificent Mascarponi?”
“No challenge intended,” assured Amilcar. “I have learned the lesson that I should not take things at their face value. I believe it was you that taught me that.”
Mascarponi’s face had turned red now. “And you dare to throw my own words back in my face? This is more than I can endure. Be off, you snivelling cur of the highways, you yellow-clad guttersnipe, you preposterous, uncivil monkey!”
Amilcar smiled and bowed slightly. “As the Master wishes.”
He turned and continued his journey, leaving Mascarponi spluttering and fuming behind him.
Word Count: 744
Word Count for Mascarponi Revealed: 507