Testing, Part #2 (Fragment #015)

It was like talking to a brick wall. I elevated my voice slightly.

“Hey, four-eyes!”

Yuck. Not only is he blind, he’s deaf too… I was considering poking him with a ruler when I heard a semi-cough right above me. Again.

Any questions, young lady?”

“No, Sir.”

Question 2a: Define a metrical foot used in the following poem.

He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed,
With his name painted clearly on each:
But, since he omitted to mention the fact,
They were all left behind on the beach.

The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because
He had seven coats on when he came,
With three pair of boots—but the worst of it was,
He had wholly forgotten his name.

He would answer to “Hi!” or to any loud cry,
Such as “Fry me!” or “Fritter my wig!”
To “What-you-may-call-um!” or “What-was-his-name!”
But especially “Thing-um-a-jig!”

1) Trochee
2) Iamb
3) Anapaest
4) Dactyl

Question 3a: What isn’t a forme fixe?

1) Qasida
2) Glosa
3) Sequence
4) Tanaga

I looked around helplessly. No help was within reach. Well… if plan A doesn’t work out then I have to use plan B. So, I gave a shit about that, and began to select answers at random.

The blank space below question 1a was very much in evidence, and my inner perfectionist demanded satisfaction. I knew it was better not to argue as this thought would be like a pebble in my shoe—it would hinder and annoy. I wrote something like, “Prompt at five o’clock, I busted a snaplock, and walked around town in a candy-striped nightgown.”

Then I hesitated over where an adverb of time should be placed in an English sentence. Damn. At the start? At the end? Without philosophizing, I repeated the first line at the end. If need be, I could say that I was nervous and forgot to cross out the wrong line.

With a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done, I turned in my paper and left the amphitheater. I felt a roaring hunger.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

100 WORD SKITTLE // The First Follower (Follow-up to The Last Virgin)

He’d noticed this strange girl some time ago. She would always come alone, buy a pair of white lace stockings, then leave. And she’d always wear a long black robe that never quite matched her purchases. She was strange and compelling.

He’d tie himself in knots trying to guess what she did. Was she a pole dancer? A prostitute? A fetishist? A Mother Theresa wannabe who enjoyed gifting orphans with stockings full of rock candy? She’d glide in and out, brandishing scythe and silence with aloof aplomb.

He closed the shop and followed her. No one ever saw him again.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

100 WORD SKITTLE // The Last Virgin

The Grim Reaper isn’t a man. In fact, she’s quite becoming.

Naturally, no one dares to get into her skirt, but this doesn’t matter to her. The thrusts and twists of human courtship hold no interest. She has other concerns. Keeping her list of names updated. Restocking her biros. Ensuring her blade stays keen and shiny.

Nowhere does the ‘cut of her jib’ factor in.

Still, even the Reaper can possess a mortal weakness. Yes, even she can nurse a fondness for white, lace stockings. But she refuses to wear them due to her messy job.

Stockings rather become her.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018