In this flash piece, just over 100 words, I play the role of the muse, speaking of myself, the writer, in third person. This is pretty much the relationship we have, though 😀
“I’ve had it with you!” I offer her my profile, a single tear, refusing to look her way, then continue. “I yell, whisper softly, even speak throughyour dreams, but I’m ignored, even then.”
She’s staring at me now in that annoyingly insipid way of hers, so I start in on her again.
“No matter what I do, it never seems as important as your errands, the mundane, even social media! You waste our time and your gifts, I might add, running in circles.”
“What do you want me to do?” she says, whining, still seeking pity after all the years we’ve been together.
I offer her absolutely none. “Ass in chair! Fingers on keyboard! Write, dammit! I’m your muse, not a fucking inspirational speaker!”
Tap, tap, tap. She types a few words before stopping to glance over at me, rolls her eyes, then starts rapidly typing on her laptop.
Inwardly, I chuckle. Works every time. Now, I’ll have to come up with something to keep her focused tomorrow.