The Muses so far and my contributions:
- "A Random Memory" - Dark
- "Fear of Writing" - Dismal
- "An Ambiance of Technology" - Dam
- "Omitting Your Mistakes" - Design
- "Of Feral Mind and Carnal Heart" - Desires
- "Earnest Mockery" – Doodle (to deceive, or a foolish or silly person)
- "Shattered Mirrors" – Detour
- "This Business of Jupiter" - Delight
- "Infinite Possibility" - Dream
Combing the fingers of her left hand into her hair, she grabbed a handful and pulled. The slight tingling of her scalp woke her up, making her more alert. Eleven forty-seven. Thirteen minutes to midnight. A slight unease over the total irresponsibility of her choice to stay up so late floated across her mind, quickly banished in favor of continuing on a impassioned project. She wrote late in to the night refusing to listen to the voice that reminded her that five am came quickly the longer she put off sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the regret of lost rest.
She would be quiet and moody at work. She would mechanically process the tasks she needed to do to get through to the end of the work day. In between the various jobs she did with half a mind because of years of repetition, she thought of characters in a world existing in her mind like the dusty world of the Who.
Rivers of cold deep mountain waters flowed into villages surrounded by tall evergreen trees. Green iridescent dragons played hide and seek with pink and blue butterflies. Mothers sang lullabies to children eating wispy cotton candy. A man in a black cape with a hood pulled over his beard stubbled face snuck through the alley ways looking for a soul he could steal so his magic became stronger. The heroine with long curly, auburn hair waved to friends while picking apples, unaware that her life would soon be changed forever.
She jotted notes on scraps of paper, surreptitiously stuffing the bits into her briefcase to remind her later of that great animal she just invented with eyes the color of dull mud and feet the shape and size of divers’ flippers.
A wizard spoke in her ear during a meeting about implementing a policy that had been in place for twelve years. The bald man, smelling of witch hazel and cloves whispered of more important, more urgent matters. Her voice spoke all of the correct phrases while her imagination listened closely for the spells conjured by the old alchemist, willing him to change her into gold, molten, hot, flowing and priceless.
She would burn. She would run wild and naked through sun drenched fields of wild flowers. She would gnaw on the raw meat of her desires and take in the vital energy to sustain her beyond a mundane world that threatened to crush out the breath of enthusiasm. She would drop from the highest cliff and free fall into a swirling whirlpool of her unknown future.