For this week (6/10) we will be taking on the style and flare of one of the greatest American writers of all time: F. Scott Fitzgerald.
We're going to focus on the first person modified point of view in the vein of Nick Caraway (Gatsby's narrator). Note, you do not have all of the information, so write from a limited perspective.
Prompt: You've been invited to a party hosted by a millionaire playboy you've never seen. Describe what you see and what you know about the host. Use qualitative statements that wind and bend.
Long sentences are a hallmark of Fitzgerald's style. These are not run-on's, they're lengthy but grammatically collect. Use foreshadowing as well.
Limit: 500 Words
You can place this in the 20's or beyond.
Months of anticipation led up to this moment. The mysterious stranger known simply as J sent out invitations to the alleged most grandiose party of the decade. 1920 provided us all with some excess, but for the ironically humble citizens of New York City's Upper East Side, this would be the tipping point.
As a girl just entering the city, down on her luck from a small nearly unidentifiable town in Ohio, nothing could have prepared me for this.
My tiny flat with its unbelievably uncomfortable mattress, with hardwood floors covered in wormholes looked like an anthill in comparison to the brilliant, gleaming glass adorned penthouse of J's.
He was little known to any of us, discerning himself as a bachelor with a fortune to make anyone want him. He wasn't a king but his palace was a penthouse on the 35th floor of the Garnett building. Fairytales came here to get their inspiration for modern day castles.
J was a character that had no ties to anyone. His friends were few, but his acquaintances were many. His reputation for a lavish lifestyle and wild, decadent parties always preceded him.
How I got invited to this party, was a mystery, just like how J made his millions.
As I rode in the elevator with 5 or 6 ornately dressed strangers, I wondered how I got there. How Ohio was gone and this glittering palace was just an elevator ride away.
As the door slid open and the feathered, glittering strangers pranced by, a sea of sparkling glass, shimmering dresses and tailored suits came into view. The music was loud, swinging and lively, like the soundtrack to a dream, and there waving wildly in my direction was a man, the brightest light of them all...I never saw him before, but I just knew who it was...
J the Millionaire.
By: Tess Stevens
Another wonderful response from @hikaymm
The bell boy motioned for me to wait for the next elevator, and I realized in that moment that I really had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I nodded at him, stepped backwards and looked up the ornate gold designs that surrounded the door frame, also decorated with what seemed to be real gold, not goldtonium, that led into the the elevator. Beside me, the smell and radiation of Galaxy Dust, Nebula Nemesia, and Cooled Comet coated over the trench coats and rock jackets of the other guests waiting continued creeping closer to my own, less dusted outer wear.
When arriving home to find a single, holographic piece of paper hovering outside my bronzing door just three rotations earlier, the first thing that I had decided after checking 'yes' on the mysterious invite to the Cummings house was that I would only wear my space dust over my evening dress, because I couldn't afford to cover myself in the layers that other guests surely would. It would be the least noticeable to the largest number of guests this way, I had figured.
I hadn't counted on Cummings being of a class that didn't fall prey to using the corporation operated jet streams to transport guests inside his outer rings and onto his space stay, instead hiring an elevator and bellboy to make the experience more unique, and more line with his tastes. I hadn't counted on the close quarters to other guests who would surely sense a lack of radiation from me in the elevator as we traveled to the Cummings' Stay at a slower pace than a jet stream would have taken us.
I hadn't counted on a lot of things about the Cummings that the world knew everything, and nothing, about, that would later be part of the intrigue that I held in regards to him. What I had counted on, though, turned out to be entirely correct. Unlike the usual night affairs, there were no gender equality gates ensuring ratios that would allow everyone, regardless of identified genders and orientations, to statistically have a potential pairing that would be appropriate for all involved. I know that a man like Cummings didn't believe in this, and Cummings didn't believe that there should ever be a lack of romantic options for anyone, particularly himself.
Looking out over the party floor from the entry balcony, the radiations of identifying females glowed brighter than any males, and in the middle of this concentrated mass stood one man who didn't radiate at all.
Wick Cummings was waiting, and for a moment, I thought I felt his eyes on my outfit, lingering on my unreactive overcoat. I shrugged it off into the hands of a waiting servant, started to glow, and went to work.
I love the futuristic vibe @hikaymm went with on this response. She utilized the prompt, but also created a new landscape for the story to unfold in. She went with imagery that was utterly her own, which creates a compelling landscape for the poetic style of Fitzgerald. Nice work! -Tess