AUTHORS NOTE: Under threat of punishment my muse insisted I use this picture to represent her, please excuse my double dipping into the pool of Bing images (although I do attempt to use my own photos as much as possible) Please to enjoy, and I mean please because my muse is throwing a moody. And she is a harsh mistress.
“Tick Tock chica. And I thought I told you to stay away from fan fiction.”
God give me strength she’s back again.
“Don’t look to me for strength sweetie, you’re on your own with this one.”
“Blasphemer,” I dare to say.
Whenever she appears like this, out of nowhere, I swear those tiny little hairs on the back of my neck stand up just like a petrified dog.
“Piloerection,” my muse enunciates the unfamiliar word clipped and clear with a tinge of pretentiousness.
She hovers over me, literally floating in the air behind me.
“And again with the blank look,” she sneers. “Do you even know what a dictionary is?”
“Of course I know what a dictionary is,” I mumble to myself because of course she’s gone again.
“And I know what an erection is!” Sick of staring at a blank screen I open another window and type in the word ‘piloerection’. I hate when she pulls her Miss Know It All act on me. I hate it even more when she does know it all and she does, more often than not she does know it all. Oh she’s a crafty one, she is.
Show off. That’s what my muse is, a big old show off.
And I’m still staring at a blank wordless screen.
I’m never gonna get anything done at this rate and my muse is toying with me yet again.
“Oh but you make it so easy,” she breathes in my ear which, what the hell, she’s not even in the same room as me.
She sits indian-style smack dab in the middle of the glass topped coffee table in my living room, legs folded in front of her, a look of child-like innocence on her beautifully cruel face.
Her razor sharp teeth crunch into a shiny blood red apple straight out of the Garden of Eden.
“If you’re gonna continue to annoy me then at least cut me some slack, muse me up or something. Isn’t that your job or whatever?”
She ignored me for five minutes. I timed it.
“How you ever expect to come up with an original thought in somebody else’s playground is a mystery to me.”
She spoke with her mouth full, chunks of red apple slowly turning to mush behind her pointy little teeth.
“Just for the record missy, you need an attitude adjustment, but we’ll save all that fun stuff for later.”
Her words are in my mind but she doesn’t move her mouth, just stares at me with eyes full of nothing but chaos and disorder.
She’s wearing me down, getting the best of me once again and the best I can come up with is a long drawn-out yawn. My eyelashes begin to flutter and I fight to stay awake.
She feeds on me and she’s sucking me dry.
“Ah my little chica, am I boring you? Is it past your bedtime missy? Think fast.”
She throws the half-eaten apple at me and I catch it like the tomboy I once was. A big fat slimy worm is desperately trying to wiggle it’s way out. Poor thing.  I give my muse a dirty look and throw it out the back door. Let the birds deal with it.
“Real fucking funny,” I say.
“I thought so,” she says with pride.
Another five minute staring contest before she breaks the silence.
“Not so good with the follow through are you Miss Wanna-be?”
She looks me over slow head to toe and back again. I know she sees through my clothes through my skin through my soul through my everything. She knows all my secrets, even the secrets I don’t know.
I can’t read her, not unless she lets me. She’s not letting me.
But I know she finds me wanting.
Enough of this shit.
“Enough of this shit,” I say with conviction in my voice.
“I heard you the first time,” she interjects.
I start to pace.
“We, I mean I, I really need to find the point here. Some kind of point. Anything pointy, you know, a common thread that brings this all together. Wrap it up, so to speak.”
I look at her, a mixture of desperation and despair in my eyes, at least it feels that way.
“Wrap it up with a big shiny bow I suppose?” She nearly sighs the words.
Untangling her long legs she leaps from the coffee table to the middle of the room.
All eyes are on her as she stands stoic and silent. For so long I begin to get a cramp in my foot.
I wait for her to say something, anything.
For a very long time, nothing.
Then, “Tick tock, times running out and you backed yourself into a corner.” Only she sang it nursery rhyme style, slightly off key. Haunting.
“That’s what happens when you try to play with the big boys,” she barks out like a drill Sargent.
She holds out her hand, palm up, and a miniature easel appears. She dips one long fingernail into the tiny blood-filled bowl sitting next to the easel and scrawls a million tiny words in a language I don’t understand.
“What does that even mean?” She frustrates me so when she torments me like this.
“Don’t ask me, I’m just a figment of your imagination, right chica?”
She throws me a wink and blows me a kiss as she disappears again.
white red apple

to be continued, and further adventures of me and my muse are over ——> because i can’t make the links work, my muse took that ability with her when she disappeared, she’s probably someone else’s muse too…bitch…shhh, don’t let her hear that!

et cetera