My Muse

As chills run up and down my spine, I remember my wish to feel something. It's the first thing on the list of things that I regret severely. Someone should have told me that there was a catch, but I suppose I should have known. When your wishes come true, there are consequences. Newton's third law of motion goes for everything. Feeling nothing and wanting to, I wished for something, to feel something, but I wasn't specific. Instead of asking to feel something, I should have asked to feel happiness or inspiration, but I didn't. So for that sin, I fell...hard. It came so suddenly. This feeling, I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready for him. But yet he came, and I saw in him everything that I needed. I assured you that I am not one of those girls who will throw everything away at a whim of feeling. I am a researcher, a writer. He became a character. I was fascinated by him. I could fill notebooks just thinking of him. My novel had yet another character and it was better than ever. I spent my days studying my muse. I had to know everything there was to know. In my novel, I am GOD. I wrote him as a man who believed in only the necessary, never more that 60 possessions. Never spoke if he didn't have to, spoke to those he considered friends, those he trusted. He was the perfect example of what a person should be but wasn't. He listened to the world, learning from his surroundings, knowing the fact that everyone needed a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold. In my mission to acquire information, I learned something that tainted my muse, something that made him mortal. The character had no emotion, no feelings, no real consideration for mankind. He was a hollow shell of a person, a selective talker, a bookworm timid and mild in his convictions. He didn't feel real, but my muse was. That was the whole point. You closed the book, you paused the recording, they stayed where they were. But my muse, he would go on, whether I live or die. That scared me, that and the fact that I loved him.