Good Question

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

Gone was the demure scion of the Burns house that I had known. In her place stood a crazed woman, nattering at nothing I could see though I could sense cold, electrical malignance blanketing the air above us. The motions of her body and limbs were stiff and jerky like a doll dancing to the whims of a child at play. Gone too were the thick masses of dark hair, leaving intermittent patches of differing lengths. Down near feet caked with dirt, her nightgown lay discarded on the ground amidst little mounds of shaven hair. I kept my eyes focused on the area above the small of her back and cleared my throat.

At that small sound, Melody's feet stopped moving and her arms dropped to her sides with a speed that caused them to slap the bare skin of her thighs. She turned and when she saw me, Melody took off sprinting further into the dark bowels of the forest.

Her whisper roared like thunder. “Leave me alone. I control my own life now.”

“Then why are you running naked in the woods?” I called after her fleeing form.


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