A Real Challenge

Prompt: The voice, describe someone who does or does not have one.

“No! No! ‘Zis is not what I meant by romantic!”  My professor had taken one look at my mannequin and stopped in his tracks.  Seriously, he had done a double-take and his face had turned a sickly shade of evergreen.  Personally, I thought my dress was very romantic, a mix between a Grecian goddess gown and a small town hick outfit.  Very unique.  But my instructor seemed to think otherwise, he had taken to “fixing” my garment so I took a step back and watched as the fabric flew off and onto the mannequin.  Taking away bits and pieces of over-layered fabric and completely scrapping my green and red checkered print.  Awww, that was the best part.

When he stepped away, my dress had become a new garment, and a very boring one at that.  Totally fashionable, don’t get me wrong, but utterly ordinary.  “See, ‘Zis is what we strive to create at ‘ze Adam Sanderlan School of Design.”  He said dramatically with a somewhat forced accent.  Monsieur Adoman insists he is French, but behind that accent I hear something more like a southern Boston sound.  His grey stubble showed prominently on his face as he pushed the new dress in my face.  “Now! Sew!” he directs and pushes me in the direction of the sewing room.

As I stumble to regain my balance, I catch every eye on me.  Faces peering behind halfway finished outfits or glancing up as they cut new material on their work table.  I sigh.  These people have talent, but no vision, all their outfits look like something from the window at a Macy’s store and yet they get the most praise.  Lacking style, unoriginal and just down right boring.  I fume over the sewing machine, muttering to myself.  My words being drowned by the purr of the contraption.  I look up to see that I have missed the beginning of an announcement.

“So zu will have tonight to produce zour garment to be shown at ‘ze fashion show tomorrow at 3pm.  Be sure to show zour voice and vision!”  Monsieur Adoman gets down from the chair he was standing on an leaves the room.  I feel a grin spreading across my face as I realize what this means.  A real challenge, with no ridiculous theme like romantic or country style.  Something to show our real voice.  Oh and I have voice!  The others grumble slightly as they meander back to their spots, but I am back at mine lickety-split.  They are not pleased by the fact that they don’t have a theme.  They like guidelines.  Amateurs.  As the others sketch in their notebooks, I am flying to and fro, cutting fabric, snipping loose threads, draping silks and knits on my mannequin.  The night wears on and my peers go one by one back to their hotel rooms to get some rest.  Rest?  Who needs rest?  I am on a roll!  Soon I am left alone in the dark, eerily quite room with nothing but the snip of my scissors and the beating of my heart to break the silence.

I see it all coming together.  I know I won’t win, I know I won’t get an A+, but I know something else.  I have voice.

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