The Music Cup

"Knock knock" came the crisp sound of the knocking on the old mahogany door.

"Enter," said Matilda Donovan with a just as crisp English accent. She pinched her shoulders of her milky silk short-sleeved blouse with puffy sleeves and fiddled with her big baby blue bow on her neck to look as neat as possible. She put on her black rimmed spectacles, with a hint of thickness at the side, and twirled her loose grey curls as they fall gracefully like a waterfall to her shoulder. She was the main judge for the first music cup of the season and can't wait a second longer to see the first participant in the heats. To settle herself more comfortably, she poured herself a cup of citrus tea into an intricately designed cup with sparkling golden handles and rim with realistic peach blossoms blooming all around the cup. Before she took a sip, she placed a cube a sugar into the crystal clear, reddish brown beverage and gently stirred the cup, letting the aroma of citrus fill the whole room.

The music cup is the most prestigious of music competitions throughout the whole of Europe with an elimination rate close to 100%. Those who can make it to the final round in New York can be seen as the creme de la creme of their generation for music.

"Say what you mean! Tell me I'm right, and let the sun rain down on me!" loud singing rang through the room as the old door flung open. A tall lanky man strutted in, pulled the chair in front of Donovan's antique pine table with intricate carvings, and rested his feet on her table, almost knocking over her cup of tea.

"If you don't mind," Donovan was utterly disgusted at the man's lack of manners. Coming from the land of the Gentlemen's origin, it was very unsightly to have one's feet on a stranger's table when they walk in. She was already mad at him for bursting open without knocking, and now she was infuriated with this rogue sitting in front of her. She stared at his feet and then his eyes and noticed that his eyes were shaped as if it was carved by a very talented and skilled sculptor. It was a shade of brilliant blue and spoke of nothing but calmness, just like the ocean.

"Sorry mam, mah bad," He took his feet off the table and sat cross-legged as Donovan tried hard not to roll her eyes.

"Name and hometown?"

"Kydroxy, Wisconsin." Came the brisk reply.

"Very well, may I have a look at your resume?"

"There you are mam," Kydroxy handed over a stack of paper no thinner than the whole series of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

"Thank you," Donovan managed to force herself to say so. She was already extremely annoyed with the chap sitting in front of her who haven't got the faintest sense of what is courtesy.

She sieved through the first few pages of his portfolio, and came up with the answer just as fast. It was nothing more than a rejection.

"How is it mam?" Kydroxy stood up from his chair, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Sorry, Kydroxy, you are rejected."