Divine Aid

"Sing, heavenly Muse,"

"I thence invoke thy aid to my..."

 

"...so far horrendous story." So much for imitating Milton and his Paradise Lost. I'd been sitting in front of this computer for nearly two hours today, and written not a further word. None of my ideas had sounded plausible on the tongue, so they didn't translate to my fingers for typing either.

Two words so far adorned the page, but those had been my contribution carried over from yesterday. "Rich Loss", the title read. Gah, that was an oxymoron. Impulsively I hit the <-- Backspace button and suddenly I had no results at all to show for my hard work.

"You'll never get anything done that way. The first thing I shall have to teach you is to always save everything."

I spun around whip-fast in my ergonomic Staples office chair at the sound of a voice simply- well, heavenly.

"Clio, is that you?" The Glorious Muse of History had always been my favourite. "Or is it Urania, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, Euterpe, or Calliope? Frankly, I'll take any Muse right now, so long as it's not Erato."

"I'm not one of those Greek muses," the delightful mouth harped. And I mean, the melody of a thousand harps truly flowed from sweet lips.

The Muse - I suppose she was my Muse - seemed in every way to be female, through her voice, mannerisms, and choice of dress, but I was a tad bit unsettled by the adrogynous face that met my stare like an equal. Of course, the Masters had painted angels as sexless creatures as well, but being a present-day human I expected to know the gender of whom I addressed when speaking, whether ancient Muse or Christian messenger of God.

"What is your name then?"

"I am Alleyne," the apparition said seriously.

The End

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