Militia! GO!!

Dust off your muse, shake off the dust from ages past, and write like your life depends on it!


The heavy steel security door creaked open, the artificial light spilled out into the derelict room. A young man walked into the room, he sighed at how ancient this sanctuary felt.  As he surveyed the rather disused studio, he ran a hand across his face, the stubble scratching him back. He felt ancient, as if the weight of the world had sapped him, tried to turn him into something human again.

He'd been here before, hadn't he? This was his home, his sanctuary, but it felt cold. He picked up the pin adorned to his jacket, it was a smiling face, with razor sharp teeth and pink pigtails. The symbol behind the militia, they were his, they are his. Where did that muse of his wander off to? She seemed to have a habit of sneaking up on him at the worst times. Going on about fantastic stories of Robots, Pirates, creatures of the night and her voice seemed to convey her ecstatic nature. Even now he could hear her voice echoing through the halls.

"Kommanda, Reeza really bored!! Let's blow somethin' up!! FOR DA MILITIA!!"

He smirked to himself as he followed about the room, he found the Rastafarian Tam Hat, the trinket left behind by another famous member, the soft wool fabric rich with a heavy hemp smell. His simple nature really convened the purpose behind that story. To have fun, really, had he become so wrapped up in the real world he forgot about that. The idea of writing just for fun, to see what estranged reality he can pull out of his mind.

"Mon, da world is waitin' fer us..let's get dis party going.."

The drafting table sat there, still in the same pristine condition, the pens and inks still neatly laid out for him. He could hear his muse prattling along as he sat there and created the world.

"Kommanda, let's make dat one really big!! Make Reeza da star too!"

He gently ran his fingers over the pens and pencils, they were still warm. As if they bled for each scrap of paper they gave themselves to. He found one special pen, the blue leads were very useful to him, he remembered the day that pencil was given. It was probably a casual act for her, but it was what drew him to create. To finally hold his own creation, and to see it fufilled.

Next he found a book sitting by the typewriter, "The Dragon's Lunch" he was given the book by a cute couple. Adam and Kat, right, the writer and the retired model. He picked up the book and began to leaf through the pages. It was an intriguing read, about two lovers who fell apart and found eachother years later, only to try and fall in love again. Halfway through the book, he noticed the pages began to go blank. Again, Reeza's voice echoed out in the room.

"You forgot to finish dis one 'tupid human!!"

Furrowing his brow, he placed the book back by the typewriter, the book, and the pin.

Two pieces of the puzzle, awaiting him to complete them. He needed java, rummaging through his sanctuary he found a pack of instant coffee. Not really his best choice, but he can't complain. The mixture was bitter, but still filled him with a warmness, he felt the coffee bringing his limbs to life.

He examined the picture sitting beside the typewriter, a young woman he had not seen in ages. He remembered the last time they spoke. It signaled the last time he left this room. She was the sad girl, she pulled out the very best and the very worst in him. The bronze frame attested to that, when he put her photo under the misty glass it shone as if her own brightness touched it. Now the frame was dull, the dust and years tarnishing the metal.

"Boss, the world's waitin' fer us!! HURRY UP!!!"

He put the photo back down, the final piece in the puzzle, the guitar rested against the corner. It called to him, the call of the stage. He remembered each night, the fire in his throat. The roar of the crowd, those final moments where all he could hear was the pounding in his ears, and the gentle hum of the amp.

His revelry was interrupted by a thumping at the door. He slowly drew the door open again. A young woman stood there, her hair was a bright pink and up in pigtails, she had a pair of goggles strapped to her head. Her manner of dress was a mixture of punk and techno-reject. This was Reeza, his muse, his enemy and his best friend.

"Hi Boss!!" She cheerfully waved as she marched past him." The young man looked at this energetic youth pull a heavy sack past him with an amused grin. She plopped down in the middle of the room and began sorting through her treasures she'd borrowed through the world. He noticed as she placed an aged black duster with a full moon emblazoned on the back against a coat rack.

"Reeza, where were you now?" She grinned as she put a ragged pirate hat on her head.

"You wouldn't believe if Reeza told ya boss!! However, Reeza's back, got lotsa new stories! Now let's make your tounge become a cannon!!"

She hopped to her feet, ran over to the guitar. She strapped the trusty weapon over her chest, with a grin she kicked the amp, a soft crackling began to float through the air as the amp growled to life. The air began to crackle with the old familiar words.

"Militia, GO!"

The End

1 comment about this story Feed