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25 Apr 2003 @ 18:39, by Quidnovi
THE MUSE
--- by Brom
There is something in the woods behind my house. It calls to me.
The woods are old and full of spirits. The branches of the trees twist and tangle together like arthritic fingers. I dislike going into the woods behind my house, especially near dark. But tonight I will go. I really do not have a choice.
I enter the woods and the shadows watch me. I go far. I do not leave breadcrumbs. I am not lost, but I am not sure where I am either. I really should have left breadcrumbs.
I come to a pond surrounded by stones. This is the place. I know this before I see her. She is waiting a long time. I can tell this by how white the bones are about her feet.
She is of course -- beautiful, I knew she would be, the really wicked ones always are. Her flesh is white, her hair the color of the raven's wing, her eyes pools of silver. It is her eyes that call me.
She is chained. The chain is around her ankle. The tread of that chain length is well worn into the ground.
We gaze into one another. He eyes go to the rocks. Atop a circular rock sits a copper key, green with age. I go to the key. Inset on the key is a skull; arcane and primitive, the ancient warning is understandable in any language, in any time. I pick it up.
I know that I should not bring her the key. I know that I will bring her the key -- not right away, no. I will resist -- a little, but eventually I will bring her the key.
I hold the key out before me like a crucifix to a vampire.
She looks at me as though she would cry, but it is me that is crying. I am crying because I want to know her, I am crying because I will never know her. I am crying because I am afraid of what might happen should I set her free. I am also afraid of what might happen if I do not. I really should leave. I do not leave.
I walk to the edge of her chain radius, the place where the ground is worn down, the place where the bones start: cat bones, dog bones, little bird bones, a human skull or two, or three, or ten. Her lips do not move, but her eyes smile at me, I am drowning in them. Drowning seems desirable.
My fingers tremble as I lay the key on the ground, by the bones. Her eyes follow the key. Her lips part. I see her teeth; there are a lot of them and they are sharp like little white needles. It is then that I remember that I have plants that need watering, that the freezer needs defrosting, that I have things to do. I turn and run.
The trees grab at me as I go, but I run on, as fast as I can, I run and run. I really should have left breadcrumbs.
It is bad to be lost in the woods near dark, it is even worse with a demon at your heels.
I hear her coming for me. I do not know why I try to run, I cannot outrun her, I know this. She is getting close. She will have me.
I see my house, I see the light in the kitchen, it looks like a place I would like to be. I never make it to my kitchen.
My heart feels the pounding of her cloven hooves as she runs me down. She leaps upon my back and tears into me with tooth and claw. She consumes me. She possesses me. She rules me. She is a cruel master -- my muse, giving a little, sometimes more, sometimes less, but never enough. I am always left hungry.
She likes me hungry. My muse is a cruel master.
============================== ABOUT THE AUTHOR ==============================
As one of the top fantasy artists of his generation, Brom is best known for contributing his distinctive look to all the major TSR game and book lines, as well as completly designing the look and feel for the best-selling Dark Sun world.
In 1993, he returned to the freelance market and has been working obsessively within every facet of the SF/Fantasy/Horror field, specializing in the darker side of the genre. Through his artwork for book covers, role-playing games, collectible cards, comics, movie work (Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow, for instance), and computer games, Brom has brought his distinctive, dramatic, and often disturbing visions to life.
Brom currently lives with his family in the fine state of Washington. There he is ever painting, writing, and trying to reach a happy sing-along with the many demons dancing about in his head.
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Category: The Muse-eum
4 comments
25 Apr 2003 @ 23:10 by : I'm feeling pretty short on words today;
But that is really quite good. I like a little darkness now and then... bwahaha. Now I'm off to chase my Goblin; at these times she dwells on the inner surfaces of my eyelids.
26 Apr 2003 @ 18:28 by : Well you make sure
and keep an eye on you Goblin, Andy. I have this dread about Brom's muse and her somehow running into each other and ganging up on us. Don't you let her escape, now. She's YOURS, you hear. I don't want to wake up one morning and find her running lose into my head too. We all have enough problems as it is with our own muses, you know (or is it the same one?)
27 Apr 2003 @ 09:11 by martha : Walking along
the path, hearing pine needls crunching and smelling forest life, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.
Stopping to rest against a mighty oak I sipped from my water bottle. My damp back and sore feet hinted at the days to come as i sough my two companions first shown in a dream and later revealed in the chess game. Of course they aren't knights, but instantly I saw them.
Coming to a fork in the road later, I pondered which way, since in fact either would take me to...
27 Apr 2003 @ 11:45 by catana : Thank goodness
my muse is just a flibbertygibbet. Brom's could have come out of some of my nightmares of years ago--the hidden someone that I sensed was there but never showed itself.
Other musings in The Muse-eum
12 Jul 2004 @ 11:13: The Nameless
4 Jul 2004 @ 19:33: Moriae Encomium
14 Jun 2004 @ 09:43: Defying Gravity
7 Jun 2004 @ 18:15: The Stuff
25 May 2004 @ 10:51: Healing Israel/Palestine
28 Apr 2004 @ 12:14: Place Your Bid
3 Apr 2004 @ 17:08: The Hunted Sky
1 Apr 2004 @ 12:15: Orlando
21 Mar 2004 @ 17:55: Walking a Literary Labyrinth
17 Mar 2004 @ 16:54: Judariya
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