A Jealous Muse

Miranda stared at her computer screen, and what she had written so far.

Absolutely nothing.

She groaned in frustration as she leaned back in her chair.  She had drawn a blank on what to write for the last two weeks.  Miranda usually wrote psychological thrillers and horror stories, but she had wanted to try something different because of her fiancé.  She wanted to write a fun, silly romance story, or anything but horror, to express how much she loved him.

She glared into the air, and growled, “This isn’t fair, you know.  Why can’t you give me any inspiration for a love story?”

In response, her mind shot back images of her fiancé being beaten up, limbs cut off, and eaten by rabid dogs.

Miranda crossed her arms at her Muse’s answer.  “It’s not happening.  I’m not writing a story about my fiancé being mutilated like that. Why aren’t you helping me with this?”

Another grotesque image as her Muse writes on a wall, in her fiancé’s blood, I HATE HIM.

“You can hate him all you want,” she hissed, “but I still love him.  And he and I are going to get married and you are going to have to deal with it, or find someone else to share your bloody ponderings with.”

Miranda shut down her computer with a huff of frustration, and told her Muse, “I’m going out.  Maybe you’ll have changed your attitude by then and help me with my story.”

Miranda stomped towards her office door, but jumped back in surprise when it slammed in her face.  She furrowed her eyebrows and tried opening the door, without any luck.

“Damn it!” Miranda shouted, turning around and glaring back at her office, “Are you jealous, or something?”

Another image, this time of her Muse writing a letter to her. 

You are mine, not his.  He will never have you, and I will make sure of it.

Miranda snorted, and rolled her eyes.  “You’re wrong about that.  I do not belong to you.  You belong to me, because you are simply a figment of my imagination!  You are not real!”

Miranda could feel her Muse’s anger rolling over her like a storm.  He shot back even more disgusting images, only this time, they were all directed at her.  Digging her eyes out with a fork; ripping out her fingernails one by one; dropping her in a room full of poisonous spiders; setting her on fire after dousing her in gasoline; setting rats on her to eat her alive.

Miranda staggered on her feet and dropped to the floor, screaming.  She clawed at her hair and her head, trying to dispel the images and mental pain her Muse had heaved upon her.  But her Muse’s anger was so powerful, he brushed her attempts to get him out of her mind away easily, and continued his attacks, making her suffer, making certain that no one, especially her fiancé, would ever have her; no one, but her jealous Muse. 

Word Count: 499