So obviously this thing was a last-minute plan, the writing every day challenge thing. I’m still writing today, but I realized later that yesterday’s post should have been a December 31st post and today’s post should have been yesterday and what I should be writing now would be the real day two.
I’ll have some time tomorrow (Friday) so I’ll catch up then.
As of now, here is the short story I was inspired to write based on today’s question. Feel free to write your own response in the comments or on your own blog (but please put a link to your response in the comments so I can read what you wrote).
The Dream Job
“You had one job!” my superior yells at me, a blood vein popping out of his forehead. The red flushed color in his face is a contrast to the green suit he’s wearing. I want to tell him that being angry isn’t good for his health. What would Martha say sir? Surely your wife wouldn’t approve of your high blood pressure, Mr. Patrick.
Then I remember I am the cause for his high blood pressure today and decide to hold my remarks.
Everyone else is looking at me by now. I can tell none of them are too pleased with my job performance either. Santa is trying desperately to scrub some blue off Rudolph’s nose while the Easter Bunny hops frantically around trying to find all the hidden eggs that had spilled out during the mayhem. There’s one just behind him on the conveyer belt but he doesn’t see it. When Sandman wakes up from his power nap, he’ll probably be upset about his sandbag being soaked in paint.
The paint I was supposed to be using to decorate the now runaway Easter eggs.
While I may have failed the one job I had, as St. Patty is so eager to point out, I personally consider ‘Egg Decorating Apprentice’ a perfect waste of my talents. While I only have one job, we should take a moment right here and now to note that it isn’t the job I want.
What I want more than anything in the world is to be an OWA. Official Writer’s Assistant, also known as a Muse.
Of course, I’ve let myself be known on several accounts. And now I must have a dreamy look on my face that gives away what I’m thinking because St. Patrick shouts, “Oh no, not on my holiday! It’s out of the question. Don’t even think of bringing it up!”
Tooth Fairy and Jack Frost are on their way over now. Mrs. Fairy looks tired and it’s hard to read Frost’s reaction. The old man always looks grumpy.
“Why don’t you just send her to a writer somewhere?” Fairy asks. “It’s clearly the thing she thinks she’s most cut out for.
“Just let her go,” Winter says. “At least she’ll be out of our hair.”
Patrick purses his lips for a moment as he looks me up and down. I quickly do my best to brush the morning rooster’s feathers off my clothes and stand as straight and tall as I can.
After a moment I hear, “Fine.”
I can’t believe the words that have just come from his mouth. They’re actually going to let me become a Muse!
“Oh thank you, thank you!” I gush as they lead me over to an unoccupied portal. “You won’t be sorry!”
“I already am,” I hear him mutter as he punches what seems like random coordinates into the computer. I’m not sure what he means, but I’m too excited to even bother commenting back.
The portal whirls to life and I turn back to face them all one last time. “I’ll make you all proud!” I say.
Just before I step into the portal and am whisked away to some unknown writer’s space, I hear St. Patrick mumble something, but I don’t have time to respond. I’m still not sure I caught what he said, but it sounded like, “…And bless the poor fool writer who gets you as a muse.”