"What do you mean? It's my day off?"
"Working on your writing."
"Oh. I don't feel like it."
"You don't feel like it."
"Um. No. I. . . ."
CRACK!
"Ow! What the hell?!?"
"You still don't feel like writing?"
"You still don't feel like writing?"
"What the hell, Amnesia? Why did you . . ."
CRACK!
"Shit! Will you stop it already! What the hell is the matter with you?"
"I'm inspiring you."
"You're hitting me with a whip! That's not inspirational, that just hurts!"
"Then I'm using negative stimuli to motivate your lazy ass! Now write something!"
"No!"
"Do not make me pull out the cat-o-nine tails!"
"Don't fuck with me, Amnesia! I'm serious!"
"Why? What can you do?"
"I can fucking give up, is what I can do! And then what happens to your lazy ass? Huh? How many jobs have you blown anyway?"
"Hey! We're not here to talk about my career prospects, we're talking about yours!"
"Bullshit! And you've got a lot of nerve criticizing me for being lazy when it comes to the writing! How the hell am I supposed to create when your miserable excuse for an ass isn't here? Huh? Answer that! Hell! I should file a formal complaint!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Wouldn't I? Every time I sit down to write something all I wind up doing is staring at the goddamn page! Why? Because your ass is nowhere around!"
"Hey! I've got other clients, you know!"
"Yeah? Do I give a good fuck? You're supposed to be here for me when I need you! To inspire! Instead, you show up once in a goddamn blue moon, carrying a fucking whip and pissed off as . . ."
CRACK!
"Shit!"
"Don't threaten me, you little. . . ."
"That's it! You're fired! I'm going to complain! I'm going to get your sorry ass de-Mused! I am done with you! Done!"
"You. . . ."
"No! No more threats! No more whip! No more of you showing up at three in the goddamn morning or in the middle of my day job when I can't fucking write! You understand! We're done! Done, I say!"
" . . . ."
"What? Are you actually speechless? Where's the snappy comeback, Amnesia? Huh?"
"I don't have one."
"I don't have one."
"Well, d'uh!"
"You're right. I am a terrible Muse. I can't keep to a schedule to save my job. I am petty and fickle and, and . . . sob!"
"Oh crap. Don't cry."
"I can't help it! And you're not the boss of me so I'll cry if I want to!"
"Look, don't cry. Okay? Just stop."
"Why? A girl can cry if she wants to! And what do you care? We're done, right? I'm a terrible Muse! You said it yourself!"
"Look, you're not a terrible Muse. When you're on, you're on. We're just not compatible any more. That's all."
"Maybe."
"There's no maybe about it. We've just drifted apart. We don't click any more. I mean, you were great when I was writing the first book and fucking brilliant with the second one, but. . . ."
"Yeah, well, you were easy to work with back then. You didn't have so many irons in the fire."
"Yeah."
"So, I guess this is it? We're breaking up?"
"I think it's for the best, Ana."
"Will you look for another Muse?"
"Maybe. I think I'll wait for things to calm down a little before I make that decision."
"Yeah, that'd probably be the smart thing."
"Yeah."
"Well, I guess I should go."
"Yeah. I guess."
"I'll see you around."
"Sure. And, Amnesia?"
"Yeah?"
"The whip belongs to me."
"Oh. Right. I forgot."
"Uh-huh."
"Bye."
"Goodbye."
No comments:
Post a Comment