(This is a fictitious work. Any similarities to persons or events are strictly coincidental)

Creativity Needs a Muse

Her precious little face slept.

Worries and troubles postponed, left for the waking hours. Her dreams were but a distant reminder of the soul she once had.

She's been screaming in silence all these years. But there was no one listening.

Ridiculous as it sounds, she thought it was love, so blissfully unaware of the disconnect that was to come. The terrible confusion, anxiety...the emotional exhaustion. Any remaining illusions fragmented when the true nature of the “other” was revealed. And she couldn’t see what was left of her precious little face. The mirror showed no reflection, instead acting only as an abyss of despondency and marred truth.

But she was strong, so fucking strong. Appearing first as childlike, she seemed a bit vulnerable and scared. There was something so very different about her. About the way she wanted to speak but couldn’t, the way she could write her little heart out, the way she responded to everything….with such great passion, whether backed by love or jealousy, fear or envy. He noticed her strength, but was deterred by her inability to trust. Never mind his unmet expectations of perfection. But she couldn’t be any other way. Look at all she had been through. Those who dare prey on her will one day understand. There is venom underneath her innocence. Her soul is missing. It was taken long ago. You cannot access it.

Perfectly capable of living alone, she prefers independence. Her weakness is not men. It’s how weak she becomes when she lets one in. Fuck, she tried to let him in. He had opened the door only to smash her delicate hand as she mustered the courage to walk through.

The ignition of revenge for the pain of it all set fire to any recollections of connection, of tenderness. No… There was only room now for suffering, for darkness. Not even hate, just apathy, as the anger had dissipated moments before the cold chill of intellectual mind games had ensued. She kept trying to get her feelings back, desperately wanting to care. But it was not going to happen. It just wasn’t. Her ego demanded justice from the motherfucker who dared to make her feel love.

Like a vampire, she became amused by the mortal…But nothing more. How could there be simultaneous devotion and deception and where would such juxtaposition lead?

Evolve simpatico. If only he had been so lucky.

© Copyright 2011 Jennifer Shultz, all rights reserved 

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