I really liked the “Muse” introduction I used in the Illusion piece. I’m going to be using that scene for a bit to introduce each piece, we’ll see where this goes, but it reminds me of a small into to a serial show or something.

Feel free to skip the “intro” and go right to the story, you’ll find it immediately below the intro. This one is shorter, not exactly Rod Serling Twilight Zone, but it gives off that kind of vibe to me.

Anywho… enjoy the latest offering.

The Muse.

She was always there, waiting for the appropriate time to make her presence known.

It was late.

Scrolling through different ideas he had written down, nothing was catching his eye. Nothing was “popping” out at him. The writer got up from his laptop and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to his point of origin. As he sat, she came in through the kitchen. Delicate, bare feet on a hardwood floor, she moved phantom-like towards the Writer. At first, she placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly moving forward, she embraced him from behind, cradling her head on one of his shoulders. Breathing in unison with him, she stroked his shoulders and then turned her face to whisper in his ear.

Enchantment. Inspiration. Something small to get him writing.

Amuse me…

Make me think, make me laugh, make me cry or make me wonder, I don’t care…

Write for me…

A small spark in his mind, a snap shot of a scene… his fingers found the keyboard and began to write…

All his life, he couldn’t see it.

Others could. He had a gift, they would say.

Seemingly simple, he could see problems, any problem, like he was ten-thousand feet above it. When he spoke, sometimes it was like a spell, and they would do…

Plagued with self doubt since childhood, he never connected the dots. He didn’t believe in it, much less himself. He waved the instances of his gift off as luck, mere coincidence, etc. But here… now… things were finally beginning to click.

He was beginning to believe.

He began paying attention, the scales from his eyes now removed, he could finally see. And once he saw, he felt it. He felt the power coursing through him like electricity.

He could see it everywhere, he could feel it. He began to use it, cautiously yet deliberately; purposefully. And it worked… dear God, it worked… People bent to his will…regardless of race, gender, position… they bent.

He was shook to his core, what should he do? It was so easy… the world looked quite literally like his oyster.

What does one do with such power?

With each test, each small experiment, the power came easier. Mentally, there was no longer a bridge to cross. It was effortless. And he began to take for granted how easy it now came to him.

Years later, on the anniversary of the day he truly began to use his powers, he looked back and took stock of his journey. With the crystal clear view of hindsight, he was appalled by the damage in his wake. He never intended to use it for ill, or even for selfish gain but there was always a reason for this or that decision.

He wept bitterly at his sudden clarity of conscience.

It was all so effortless now…

“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds…”