One What?

Marshall thought that this week's extravaganza was an excellently exotic exacerbation of the portrayal of the human mind. He believed that every stop of the show-stopping stoppers had been pulled which had achieved a show-stoppingly beautiful show. It was to be graceful and ginormous, gargantuan and gorgeous. His mouth salivated at the thought of the applause. Nobody could ever exceed this festivity that was festooned with money and a ghastly sense of taste and could bring about as much joy as a moist, muggy, damp sock in a child's Christmas stocking. Marshall waltzed around his unnecessarily large imitation of Versailles that housed himself and what could be very loosely and vaguely constituted as a cat. It had long past its sell by date and was hanging on by a few threadbare furballls.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley Charmain glanced at herself in the mirror. To her it was a cursory glance, to others she seemed to drink in her reflection, memorize every detail and lose half her life spent admiring herself from every angle she could crane her neck to and then sigh deeply before commencing into a badly sung off- key and out of tune rendition of "I feel pretty". Even the walls tried to cover their ears and the stove began to bleed steam in embarrassment and her Chihuahua hid itself in her Chanel bag trying to muffle what awful sound came out of her mouth. Charmain was what some would call a spoilt brat and others a representation of what would be produced if Barbie spent a night with Donald Trump. She could be pretty but witty? Heaven knows that she was witty as a dad joke. Manners? She had never heard of them. Life to her was one big credit card and if she did not get what she wanted, well watch out for the next day you would be approached by a stranger saying "You have been served." All of the residents in the valley feared what was going to happen this year after the debacle last year.

Every year the rich and the elite would host lavish parties around late August for no other reason than to show off their wealth and start a fierce competition with each other. Every year the parties became more lavish, more gauche to the point the festivities were kitsch. A group of five people were randomly selected to judge the competition and the winner would laud their laurels of victory over everyone and anyone who happened to throw a fraction of a glance in their direction and speak to you about their epic plans for the next year.

Last year Charmain had hosted and the entire party had collectively held their breath until they left the house. It was so full of colour and noise and sound that the senses were overpowered and to top it off musky, heady perfume was sprayed into the room to make the air taste flavoursome. Half the orchestra collapsed from sheer sensory overload and then the chocolate fountain gave up on itself and decided to go out with a bang, spraying as many as possible with sticky, gooey dark chocolate. Those covered with chocolate then slammed into the ice sculptures which then flooded the floor and carried chairs off with it as the water streamed through the staircase and out into the garden drenching all of the food and then the guests and then tore Charmain's dress in the process. In short a right debacle. So all were curious to se what Marshall would do this year after the fiasco of last year. Would he try to out-sparkle Charmain or would he go down a different route? Perhaps a minimalist approach?

Well, Marshall thought as he watched the first car drive up along his pristine hedges, they will not know what hit them. And indeed nobody was prepared for what was coming.

A sparse hall greeted the visitors. A white background. They began to mutter to themselves feeling apprehensive about what to expect. And then it happened. The lights went out and then the sound of cymbals. A drum roll.

Nothing.

Pitch black.

The guests began to clutch themselves in fright and a few children began to cry and then...

A peevish voice.

" So sorry, seem to be having a few technical difficulties. This was not planned at all. Well, hope you have a jolly good old time, my dear chaps."

The lights flickered on and a scene akin to Hogwarts lay before the guests. The hall was lit from wall to floor with little tea lanterns that danced and cast shadows on the wall. Rose petals fell from unseen fans and champagne flutes were lowered from the ceiling as well as little glass bowls containing little delicacies ranging from fondue fancies to live crickets. Music wafted through hidden speakers, deep bass with trance played over the top. Then the water began, soft droplets that cleansed and purified the toxins. Coloured smoke puffed out of little fans and mixed with water became paint that bedecked the arms and faces of the guests. They watched entranced as dancers swung from the ceiling and began to sway throughout the hall.

"Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen and children, the judging must now commence." A stenorian voice boomed. " We rank Mr Marshall Esq a one star for this party." There were murmurs of discontent among the guests and dissent. Charmain stepped forward looking like a Salvador Dali painting in a hideous dress, simmering and twisting her hands. She whispered, "Well as a judge this time, I could simply not let him have a higher score than me after he sabotaged my party last year."

Nobody knows what Charmain was expecting but certainly not the food hurled at her and the angry comments as a side dish. Crickets crawled over inch of her pink abomination of a dress. She slipped to the floor on vain, trying to squash the insects on her.

Marshall had really pulled out ever stop on the show- stopping list. The party hit the senses just right and he exulted in his corner watching the admiration on his guest's faces. The one- star judgement would surely be overturned. And then the dancers caught on fire.

The wall of lights had crashed under the weight of the smoke into little smithereens. The little candles rolled everywhere setting dancers on fire. The dancers shrieked trying to put out the fire and knocked bowels of food on to the floor.

And the rest is history under the title 'You gave me a One-Star Charmain? Take this! Angry Marshall set Charmain on fire!"