I Don’t Have a Muse. I Have a Cellar.

Things have been crawling out of the cellar;
a man with his heart in his pocket and a sutra on his thumb,
a woman with dark hair and a killer smile.
They dance around the plots, unwilling to settle.
They refuse to let the words count.
I shove them back into the cellar, waiting until they are ripe.

The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.

I’m participating in National Novel Writing Month. The man is my hero and the woman my heroine. The book – well, maybe a little half-baked. Sometimes that’s how it comes out.