Saturday, February 8, 2014
The muse and the device
The constant clacking was my symphony, the occasional bing! was my song. I weaved lives in front of me with meticulous nature, making sure that each was made with a touch of reality. My brows were furrowed together as my heart constantly kept me alive, although my perseverance was dying. As I ripped out another paper and tore it to pieces, I bang my head on the table, careful not to damage my device. I groan, trying to paint the things I wanted to see.
"You can do this Darlene. If anyone could do it, it would be you."
I whispered to myself, echoing the same words he spoke just hours ago. I began playing with my nails, picking at the easily rubbed off nail polish. My head was still stuck on the table, mulling over falling asleep here or hoping off to bed. It was another hopeless case, another crumpled paper.
I desperately needed something new to see before me, another place and time, with new characters for me to love. I groaned again as I decided to do the latter, of jumping off to my bed onto sleep slumber. Just then my phone vibrated, indicating that some other monster was awake at this ungodly hour. My eye bags have already reached to level three, my hair in dire need of a bath.
"Hello?" I sleepily said, my left eye barely seeing the screen.
"You have the phone upside down again."
I fumbled with my phone, shocked that a voice echoed in my yawning mouth.
"Hello?" I repeated, hoping I got the phone in the right position this time.
"You're giving up again aren't you?" He asked pointedly.
"Yes. No. Maybe. Tomorrow again perhaps."
I fluffed my pillow, as he began to rant off about how I always put things off when he knows I could do it now. I kept nodding though I knew he couldn't see me, then mumbling an "uhuh" and "mhm" now and then.
"You're already sleeping on me. How do you suppose you would finish your work if you keep dozing off the moment you run out of ideas?"
"I'm almost there. Just a little patience. I am just short of a few words before I'm finished."
"Yeah. Finished. With chapter ONE."
I buried myself into the pillow, screaming my frustrations out.
"Why do you keep annoying me? If I don't want to write, you can't force me. I give up."
I turned off my phone, slowly feeling light as a feather. I'm going to stop writing. It's as easy as that. Just as I was dreaming of guys who didn't bug me about writing, my door slowly opened, making that awful creaking sound.
There was only one person besides my mother who had my room key, and to be honest I'd rather have my mother visit me than him.
Too bad it wasn't my mother.
"What?" I replied.
"Why aren't you writing?" He asked as I felt the bed dip.
I refused to look at him, afraid he'd see right through me like he always does.
"Is it because I'm leaving?" He whispered.
Tears began to involuntarily spill from my eyes. Traitorous liquid. I immediately felt his arms around me, a welcome treat for me.
"Shh. Don't cry." He murmured to my ear. "I'm here. Don't worry."
"But your leaving." I said, chocking on my own sad words.
"But it's for us. For both of us to have a better future."
"You can find work here. Where you don't have to go for a whole year. I could find two jobs. I don't want you to go away. I don't want you to forget me."
I was sobbing into his arms now, my words all meshed together. He kissed me forehead and hugged me tighter.
"That's why I need you to keep on writing. You could send me every chapter you wrote everyday, or even just a chunk of it. If you keep writing I get to read what's on your mind, whether it's me or anything else."
I didn't say a thing, but I slowly calmed down. Thoughts of him smiling as he read my stories filled my mind, a smile painting itself on my own face. Soon we were both sitting up on my bed, both facing each other.
"I could buy you a new laptop so you would stop using that old thing."
He pointed to my beloved typewriter, which was twice as old as I was. The prospect of not having to waste paper when I got an error sounded appealing.
"Would you write for me please?" He asked, eyes wide.
"As long as you're my muse," I said, holding back another tear, "I'd write a thousand stories till you come home."
Fiction is <3.
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