Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A Slave To Her Muse (short story) by Leanne Dyck

Debbie Newton slept but not peacefully. One minute she lay on her stomach, the next she flipped like a pancake on her back. She kicked at the blankets, mashed her head into the pillow. Longing for a soothing island oasis, she found a violent storm. The wind raged--tossing her like a kite. A rope. Yes, that's what I need. In her hands, a thick rock climber's rope appeared. She looped it around a tree and then around herself. There, she thought--confident she'd won. Red handled scissors materialized. One cut and she sailed into the air.   

"No fair!" she screamed, pounding her mattress.

Soaring over rooftops, she looked down and saw in bold black lettering on a green metal roof, 'W-R-I-T-E'. She gave up, woke up, turned on her bedside lamp, grabbed a pen and was a slave to her muse.