{September 6, 2013}   Act Two Scene One~ Muse Series

AUTHORS NOTE: Our Catt has gone from the frying pan into the fire in the form of a hot endless desert, where she begins to contemplate what the hell is going on, and why she finds herself facedown in a desert.
“Shit, and also, oww!”
I land facedown with a hard thump knocking nearly all of the breath out of me. I still have enough air left to spit out a curse along with the sand I almost swallowed, but just one, for now.
I’m trying to curse less.
Not having too much luck with that one lately.
Me and my stupid ideas. I had to go looking for a muse, any muse. Writers block had me in it’s grips for so long I had to go looking for a goddamn muse.
I didn’t expect to find a delusional Muse with a penchant for mind-fucking.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Team Muse and I’m thrilled to be out of that bottle. Genie Guy babbling about me saving the world was freaking me out because he was so serious, so convinced I’m supposed to fight some guy over a magic ring to save the world.
I mean come on, if this was my Muse’s way of giving me inspiration she could at least come up with something a little more original than some average girl saving the world, there’re a million awesome books about that out there already.
And why am I just laying in the desert?
This is worse than Alice in Wonderland or Dorothy, who at least had her little gang of friends.
I get, as usual, abandoned. Not even a Cowardly Lion.
I’m so tired that I don’t even notice the tiny specks of grit digging into my flesh.
I don’t remember the last time I had anything to eat either.
Still, I swear I could just stay here facedown in this sand forever if it meant I’d stop all this flip-flopping around from impossible place to impossible place.
I hate having zero control plus I’m getting nauseous.
Plus my clumsy is showing a little too much for my liking.
I thought Muses were supposed to help and stuff, you know, inspiration and all. Why do I get the one who seems to exist just to torture me?
I’m flummoxed. Seriously flummoxed.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. I know whatever is going on is real, in it’s unreal way, and I also know I’m being used for something and my brain is starting to hurt from trying to figuring it all out.
So I’m not even gonna try anymore.
What the fuck’s the point?
It’s either real, this is one long weird-ass dream, or I’m locked up in a mental hospital like that one Buffy episode. Only there are no vampires and I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again even if I do drink a magic potion make it through this…thing.
And I just totally jinxed myself with the vampires.
Fuck. And fuck again because there goes my curse-control.
What the hell? Why not vampires?
I have Muses and Djinns and who the hell knows what else and if I don’t slam on the brakes with this line of thinking I’m gonna have a meltdown.
I have to get my bearings, which would be a little easier if I opened my eyes but after all the fantastical things I’ve seen in the last few… damn it, I have no concept of time. I have no idea how much time has passed since my more than a little bit insane Muse kidnapped me and zapped me into a fucking bottle of Djinn with an unstable Genie who had a thing for the late ’70’s Disco era judging by his mirror-balls, not to mention that uber bitch Muse who was out for my blood, without explanation I might add. I mean really, if you’re gonna decimate someone shouldn’t you at least tell them why? Nobody has manners anymore, not even the supernatural I guess.
It starts to sink in.
I mean I’m starting to sink into hot desert sand and a sliver of a memory flashes through my brain, almost a deja vu but, more.
It’s gone just as fast but I know one thing, it’s really hot and I’m already thirsty.
Last thing I remember is being stuck in an ever changing bottle with a green Genie telling me something I can’t completely recall. Maybe somebody whacked me on the head, because everything went black and I was gone.
Finally, I open up my eyes to sand and after a quick look around, I jump to my feet trying to get my bearings.
Everywhere I look I see nothing but sand.
Flat brown endless sand as far as the eye can see.
“And hot as hell dammit! What the fuck?”
Great, now I’m screaming my frustration to no one and-
“I,” a familiar disembodied voice says, “am not no-one chica.”
Oh no. Or possibly, yay.
Only one person calls me ‘chica’ and she’s not really a person, she-
“Am too!” the voice says indignantly.
“‘Not really a person’? Oh chica, you hurt me with words,” she’s pouting like she means it. “And not even a simple ‘thank you’. You really are an ungrateful little bitch aren’t you?”
Oh great, was this gonna be the punishment part of the performance?
Her arms are crossed in front of her, her lower lip full and pouty, her eyes wet, like she was going to cry.
I notice she hovers above the sand just enough that her own perfectly formed bare feet don’t have to deal with the heat.
I’m trying my best not to let her see how much I wanted to at least jump from foot to foot because this sand is wicked hot. Never let them see you sweat and all that. Least she can do is-
“All you have to do is ask chica, and this one will even be a freebie.”
She clapped her perfect hands together like a kid on Christmas morning, proud of the gift they’d given someone.
If I didn’t know better I might think she was beginning to, well, at least tolerate me.
A perfectly fitted pair of red desert boots appear on my feet.
“Red?” I ask, although I wasn’t complaining, my feet weren’t burning anymore.
“Silly child,” she says,  She throws her head back and releases the loveliest laugh I’ve ever heard. “To match the blood of course.”
I don’t know how she managed it, but as she disappeared her laugh echoed throughout the endless desert, bouncing back at me from billions of directions at the same time.
Once again I was alone.
That didn’t stop me from answering her, “uh, what blood?”
to be continued…


This wonderful story continues, I’m dying to see where things go from here.

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