The Muse'...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A narration of a captivating Muse, full of pain and sorrow, through the eyes of a man. He feels a strong need to salvage her, to understand her. Keep in mind that looks can be deceiving, this girl is not what she seems. Her craft is quite chilling.

Submitted: November 15, 2009

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Submitted: November 15, 2009

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I am the only one who can see her, and I don’t know why. She is beautiful, stunning. She is young, and tall, with locks of shiny strawberry blond hair, cascading down her slender shoulders. Wispy strands fall over her delicate, porcelain, oval shaped face. Her pale cheeks resemble soft pillows. How I wish to see those pillows blush… Her eyes, royal blue, holding all sorts of mystery, as the deepest darkest oceans. Her lashes are jet black, long like feathers. Her lips are like satin, lustrous, with a tinge of ruby. She wears a lengthy, elegant, dark silk dress that hugs her curves, and flows with her every soft, swift movement of her body. She smells of warm musk with a hint of vanilla. I know this because; I have gotten very close to her. She has a voice that sings like the chimes of angels, there is a soothing, pleasing melody in the air, when she enters a room.

She is very bewitching, she is a Muse. Not the kind that is a guiding source of inspiration for poets, or artists. No, not at all. She is the “Muse of murder.” Her spirit is caged; she is forever in the dept of evil. She drifts along this world on foot, hovering in a ghostly fashion, she haunts the weak and depraved. Her destiny, her duty, is to put the power of suggestion, in to the minds of the wicked; she is the push that compels them to act on their horrid intuitions. “Murder” She whispers in to their ear, in her childlike voice, telling them what they have to do, what they “must” do. Unseen to the human eye, she is hidden. She is never to blame. For she has no choice. Blood, chaos, and mayhem, follow after she is done. But I see her, I don’t know why, but I do. When she walks away from her accomplished assignment, she is crying, humming an eerie, haunting tune. She is so sad, she does not want to do it, and I can see that. But she has too, she has to do it. She has no choice.

Oh beautiful girl, beautiful Muse of murder. Why were you picked to be the one to carry this out? Why someone as graceful and beloved as you, have to succumb to such horrors? Is it your punishment? What could you have possibly done to deserve this? She whispers in the ears of politicians, doctors, priests, fathers, mothers, even the homeless. All are tentative to the hushed tones, they can hear so clearly in their minds, of a beautiful comforting voice, spilling tempting thoughts and images of crime, revenge, bloodshed, carnage. I see her, but what do I do about it? How do I stop her? Or how do I save her? I want to free her from her sentence. She walks at morning to night, to the next town, the next appointment. She does not get tired or hungry, she has no need to sleep, drink or bathe, she is frozen in her own reality. Humming along the way, gloomy, lonely sounds. Death is in the air. She never smiles; I don’t think that she can. Her eyes are full of sorrow; they fill up with warm tears, every time she approaches the next victim. For she knows what will happen next. Sapphire eyes, helpless eyes. I follow her when I can, I know, she knows I can see her. But she does not seem to care. Is there no hope for her? Who is the one behind this evil? Who is the one that is using her as a puppet of destruction and misery?


© Copyright 2019 Chrissy. All rights reserved.

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