A tale of amusing cliché
Once upon a time there was a writer named, Chris, whose parents were killed by an evil overlord called, Writers Block. Running away to the save herself, she is taken in by a strange man called, Muse. With Muse as her teacher, she vows to avenge the deaths of her parents and destroy Writers Block once and for all.
Chris stared down a her ink-stained hands, and the small box her mother had shoved at her before her death. The stains of her parents last drops of life marred her golden skin. Anger and pain bubbled in her chest, she would destroy Writers Block for what he had done, if it was the last thing she did.
The woods around her made haunting sounds as night fell, casting a ghostly glow from the moon through the trees. Moonlight struck the box in her hands as she ran her trembling fingers over the smooth surface, and opened the box. An emerald fountain pen lay nestled in the velvet lined box. Beside it, an empty inkwell wrapped in white silk. She wasn’t sure why her mother had given it to her, but she was sure it would help her defeat Writers Block, if only she could figure out how to work the magical device.
“My, my, my. Look who we have here,” a voice said from behind her.
Chris whipped her head around to see a flamboyant little creature in a bright green coat and long purple and pink scarf. His hair, red like hot coals and eyes like green gems, he sat up in a tree branch looking down at her.
“A little lost orphan,” the little creature continued. “How predictable.”
Chris frown up at the creature. “Predictable?”
“Oh yes. Haven’t you read these stories before? Little lost orphan races into the woods to find that special someone to help defeat the evil overlord. That means I must be your special someone.”
“Wow, really? Cool. So you’ll help me defeat the evil Writers Block?”
“What? Are you fucking nuts? Have you seen that villain? He’s like King Kong on steroids. You’re on your own kid.”
Chris felt her heart sink. “What? You just said that you must be my special someone to help me defeat Writers Block.”
“Sorry. Wrong fairy tale,” he said, and hopped down from his spot in the tree and moved to sit down beside her. “My name’s Muse. What’s yours?”
“Chris,” she said softly, looking back at the emerald pen inside the box. “Hey, do you know what this thing is?”
“Hmm,” Muse said, moving to get a better look. His long crocked nose almost brushed the box as he inspected it. “Looks like a wand to me.”
“Awesome, do you know how it works?”
“Not a clue.”
“Some special someone you are!”
“Hey, I told you. Wrong story.”
Chris sighed heavily. This story was not going so well. She had to figure out a way to work the magic wand and defeat Writers Block, with Muse’s help or not.
“I do know someone that might be able to help,” Muse said, straching the bridge of his long crocked nose.
“Really?” Chris said, feeling her spirits lift. “Who?”
“The old hermit, Brainstorm. He’s kind of strange, going off on tangents that, most of the time, make no sense. Sometimes he comes up with really cool stuff. You should see him.”
“Awesomeness! Where is he?”
Muse stared at her blankly. “Hell if I know. Do I look like a phone book to you? Look it up online. Geeze, do I have to do everything for you?”
Chris felt her cheeks redden and she pulled the cell phone from her pocket. Checking for a signal, she quickly surfed her way to MapQuest and found directions to Brainstorm’s Bar and Grill.
The journey would take her days on foot.
Getting to her feet, she brushed the dirt from her pants and looked north. MapQuest said to go due north, then head east when she reached I-95.
“Coming with me?” Chris asked, looking down at Muse, who was inspecting something gooey he had just removed from his nose.
Muse stared at the goop on his finger, smelt it and started to put his finger in his mouth.
“Ewww! Gross! Don’t do that!”
Muse looked up at her innocently, and quickly hid his hand behind his back. “Do what?”
Muse smiled, showing a set of long jagged teeth. “You have no idea,” he said with a laugh. “Sure, I’ll go with you.”
Chris felt queasy, thinking she probably shouldn’t have invited him along. Then again, you don’t get to pick your special someone.
Leading the way through the woods, they headed north for Brainstorm’s Bar and Grill.
Stay tuned for part II of, The Writer’s Tale.
Special Note: This story is intentionally rife with cliché. I hope you enjoyed part one. Clearly, I had too much time on my hands, but I was in a mood.
Good reading and writing to you. 🙂