The Misadventures of Lydia and Muse
I don't really know why I first decided to write. But I do remember the time I first met Muse.
I was lounging around in my room, reading one of the best books I've ever read. One of the things that made it so great was that it was free. It was basically about kids running around with super powers. I was so emotionally and mentally invested in this book, that I didn't even notice Muse appear.
Muse is a funny little thing. She's this tiny, yellow sprite with rosy cheeks and a bad attitude. But she was perfectly content to just hover over my shoulder for a few minutes while I read my amazing book. I finally noticed her when I got up to use the restroom.
“Holy sh—t!” The sight of Muse startled me enough to send me sprawling back onto the bed. “What—who—where did you come from?!”
Muse laughed at me, doubling over as she floated around in the air. “What, who!” She mocked me. “You dumb broad! Don't you know a muse when you see one?”
“Uh, if you're asking me if ridiculous lemon fairies sneaking up on me is a regular occurance, then no, I have no idea what you're talking about!”
“Who are you calling lemon, blueberries?”
“Really? We're going with fruit-based insults?”
“You started it!” she said.
“Because there's a fairy floating around my room!”
“I'm not a fairy,” she said. “I'm a sprite.”
“Fairy, sprite, whatever.” I stood and reached for the nearest object, my amazing book. “Either way, I'm getting rid of you!” I started swatting at her with the book, not wanting to squash her, but hoping the perceived intent would scare her off.
Though she definitely looked frightened, she didn't retreat. “Look, do what you want, but you're not getting rid of me. Now that I'm here, I'm staying.”
The thought of a fairy—sprite, whatever—taking up residence in my house was too much. “You absolutely are not,” I said forcefully.
“I absolutely am so.” She perched on my headboard. “Even if you swat me with that ridiculous book, I'll still be floating around in your mind.”
I just gawked in disbelief. “What are you?” I asked.
“We've been over this,” she sighed. “I'm a muse. I came because that book inspired you to write.”
“No, it didn't,” I said.
“It did,” she argued. “You just don't know it, yet.”
“So... What? Now you're just going to live with me and help me write, or something?”
She laughed again. “Yeah, right. I may be a muse, but I have a life outside of artists.”
“Okay... So, can I go back to reading?”
“Sure. And when you feel like writing, just call me.”
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Summon me, or something.”
I started to tell her how stupid that sounded, but she was already starting to fly away. “Wait!” I called.
“What now?” she groaned.
“Uh... What am I supposed to call you?”
“Whatever you feel like.”
“Oh, no.” I crossed my arms. “I am not naming you.”
“It's not a name, she said. “It's a nickname. Just think of something, and we'll discuss it when I get back.”
“Whatever you say...”
And with that, she was gone. No goodbyes, no further explanation. For whatever reason, I didn't even really care. I just wanted to go back to reading and, maybe, forget the whole thing ever happened.
It definitely happened, though. I wasn't getting rid of Muse that easily.