A Day in the Life Challenge: "The Long-Suffering Servant" -- by Lizzie Meddler

The Long-Suffering Servant

By Lizzie Meddler

Vlad! Vlaaaaaaad!”

I heard you the first time, Master. Shouting louder and stringing my name out like a hair removed from a bite of noodle won’t suddenly turn my hearing more acute, had I *not* heard you before.

“Vlaaaaad!”

What is so urgent this time anyway? Did your experiment escape again? I was certain that I had locked the double chains quite securely this time. We don’t want a repeat of last year’s All Hallow’s in Harrows Hamlet. They already tell stories of your foreboding manor, perched atop the ocean cliffs like a solitary bird of ill omen.

“Vlad! Are you even alive? Damn it, mongrel - come when I call! Vlaaaad!”

I will come, Master, as I always do; no need to twist your nose any more out of shape than it already is. Such a shame; I wager that it was a fine nose, once. Regal and strong; I believe society calls it a Roman nose. I don’t know how they know that Romans had noses like that. I don’t believe anyone has constructed a time capsule as of yet.

Oh blessings preserve us - is *that* what has gone amok, Master? Is that the cause of your bellowing my name in such a loudly plaintive fashion? I had thought you were in jest about that particular project, or I should have administered a forgetting tonic last night. Well, I suppose I must hurry down these stairs quicker then, mustn’t I?

Confound it, Master, why must your lair of nefarious schemes be *below* the ground level and my chambers so high up? I deeply appreciate the view, do not mistake me. It brightens my day to awake every morning to a vista of angry sea and to fall asleep to its tumultuous rumble. But these stairs - these confounded stairs - are ever so vexing when I’m in a hurry. Maybe we ought to revisit the idea of installing a lift box.

“Stir your stumps faster, Vlad! And bring a mop, damn it all! Bring a mop!”

Ah, so no failed time experiments or an escaped ponkeyman (I was always against stitching a pony, monkey, and human together; I’m glad we had to put it down). Something. . . .worse has happened; something messy and distasteful and horrendous. You have murdered someone again, haven’t you?

Really, Master, we talked about this. I am your devoted assistant; I will do the murdering and you shall focus on what is important - your diabolical schemes. You can never do the deed cleanly and that creates more work for my loyal self. I am not adverse to a bit of tidying up, mind, but I have so much to do already on a regular basis.

Look at today alone, for instance. Already I’m behind my usual schedule to feed the captives in the dungeon - you know how they rattle their chains when I’m late; it sets off your headaches - and I was meant to take the hydra out to play with the leviathan. Expressions of neglect on twenty heads is more than I can bear. The blood worms’ tank needs scrubbed, the vampire bats haven’t been out in two weeks, and I believe it is a full moon tonight, so I must release the werewolf to have his fun with the village children.

There is so much to do! And you’ve gone and murdered someone - ah, it simply will not do!

“Vlaaaaaad! Quickly! It’s getting all over the place! Ah! I can’t stand it! Such filth! It will never come out of the flagstones!”

What *have* you killed exactly? Blood isn’t so hard to scrub out - not with my special solvent solution - but if you’ve slain another vampire for medical research, I very well may quit.

But how is this? Where are you, Master? The laboratory is empty, the surgery as I left it the night past - all vital organs packed away and the body consigned to the ocean. You are not in the dungeons, surely, and the library is quite dark.

How odd - there is a light on in the kitchen. Ugh, there is a tremendously awful stench creeping from its maw. I see smoke - black smoke, as black as the depths of an abandoned well. Good heavens, what is this sticky goopy substance on the floor?

*What have you done?!*

“At last, Vlad! Help me this instant! Cooking is a nightmare - a veritable dark art for which even I am neither mad nor evil enough to master! Foul smoke and broth everywhere! I bow to you, Vlad my fine assistant, for grasping this art far better than I ever shall. You are clearly superior than I in demonic machinations.”

Yes, Master, I am where this is concerned. And as I am clearly the superior, *you* shall take the mop and clean your mess, and you will be glad that I am so lenient in my anger. I shall return to bed until you’ve done. And never again do I wish to see you in my kitchen, trying to cook, again.

A Day in the Life Challenge: "Welcome to Retail" -- by Marlene Simonette

Welcome to Retail 

By Marlene Simonette

(Set to the tune of 'Welcome to the Jungle')

Welcome to retail, we’ve got all departments

We got everything people need honey, we know all the brands

We are the people that supply other’s every need

You ain’t got the money, that’s why you’re here

Retail, welcome to retail

Watch it bring you to your knees, knees

Uh, you’re gonna bleed

Welcome to retail, we take it day by day

If they want it, we gotta supply it, whether or not they pay

They’re picky customers, very hard to please

They can taste the salads, and they expect ‘em for free

In retail, welcome to retail

Feel the heat, the ache of overtime

Uh, you’re gonna scream

Welcome to retail, it gets worse here every day

You learn to work with half a crew who don’t wanna play

If you got hunger, and you’re the only one in your department, you’ll have to ask; the boss says “eventually”

The customers can have everything they want, and you can’t leave

In retail, welcome to retail

Watch it bring you to your knees, knees

Uh ah, they’re gonna watch you bleed

And when you’re tired and beat down,

So down, so down, so down, yeah

You know where you are?

You’re in retail baby

You’re gonna die

In retail, welcome to retail

Watch it bring you to your knees

A Day in the Life Challenge: "A Day in the Life of a Muse" -- by Hazel West

A Day in the Life of a Muse

By Hazel B West

Author’s Note

~~~~~

This one is for all the writers and their ill-used muses out there. I decided to go somewhat meta with this one and essentially just make fun of myself. Not at all surprisingly, this was one of the easiest stories I have ever written.

The Muse, in the Afternoon

Ah, what is this? That clarion scent of nutty roast, the excited call to arms of caffeine! I sit offstage as you fill your vessel, the steam invoking me from my interim. For you, My Lady, I whisper such tantalizing thoughts, as I have whispered as I sat above your bed in your slumber. Perhaps you will hear? Shall we put pen to paper then? Your fingers to the keys? Shall we complete the sacred rite that is all our own…?

            Alas! It seems it is not yet to be. The coffee shall yet do its work, and I will wait until then.

            And such ideas do I have for My Lady today! There is a new tale I have given you. I know we were working in another vein, but this one, we both agree, is superior and thus has been given priority. I have leant over your shoulder as you jot the ideas, and oh, I feel it building! It is almost time to be fully realized! I am practically bursting! I am thirsting! Please My Lady, I beg you—put me out of this ecstatic misery!

            But alas, My Lady does not hear me, or rather, she willnot hear me yet—petulant fiend that I serve! I return to the shadows, sulking, yes, for My Lady’s poor attention to her beloved Muse. They say so often that the Muse is fickle, and yet, I tell thee, nay! It is the Writerwho is fickle, refusing to take up the pen even though we try our best urgings. Ah, well, if she thinks it will rid her of me she is wrong. I shall haunt her every step until she picks up that pen. How cruel to invoke me with the call of that nutty steam and then proceed to ignore me so. For shame, My Lady!

            You shop for food, and I don’t, I can’t, understand as I watch from the shadows with interest all the same. For I need not the sustenance humans do, I only need your words, My Lady, and you are starving me, my cruel Mistress! It has been too long since we have sat in collaboration. You continually cast me aside, pouting for weariness—laziness, I say! You know I only send you all these new, brilliant ideas to get your attention and yet you still make me wait, my Lady of False Intentions! 

            I know I am not your only Muse, yes, alas, I must shareMy Lady with others of my kind. Ah, what a tiering, humiliating concept, especially when I look to those I am meant share camaraderie. 

            There is that fickle one who lounges sardonically at the corners of your mind—your very own Oscar Wilde. He may dress like a gentleman, but his tongue is sharp just as you want it in a way that, alas, I was never meant to be. He gives you your satires, with that knowing smirk, your criticisms with his tongue in cheek. But he only comes to you when he feels like it, a wayward, capricious, proud being. Unlike the poor Muse of your heart, My Lady.Iam always by your side.

            There is that other one as well, which, if I am to be frank, you call upon far too often, My Lady. This wench, an approximation of you, but both darker and softer, the purveyor of literary justice you think has been wronged. The one who borrows stories and characters and puts them in your charge. Ah…while yet some of your collaborations are quite noble, I am forced to admit, you know they are not truly yours and thus I understand not why you continually heed her call! 

            And I, your ever humble, True Muse, I do all the rest. No one truly knows you as well as I, My Lady. I am not a passing fancy, I too carry your humor and others, perhaps not of the height of your precious, biting satires, but that which is palatable by the common reader. And, of course, the other ones, which you really just write for yourself with that other Muse, what good are they to you but as a passing distraction?

            Ah, My Lady, you are home now, perhaps now is the time…?

            You sit at your computer, ah, yes! I approach, I hover at your shoulder. You know I’m there, I know you do, you are just continuing to ignore me, my cruel Lady! One blank page is all you need! Just a few lines, My Lady, please! My hunger is raging!

            But alas! It appears my Lady is not ready yet. I know you must do work, and yet what is the harm of a few minutes with a pen to paper? Take thy blood red ink and jot a line! How is this dialogue, My Lady? Oh! A smile adorns your lips, I knew you would like that. And what about this? Shall it be added to the plot? Ah, no, perhaps you are correct in casting aside that one. But this…this is something to remember, don’t you agree?

            You stop. You hand reaches for a pen at your side. I hold my breath, I will you to pick it up, but…ah, it is not to be. You have gone back to your duty, you have not allowed yourself to be distracted. Shocking what a will of iron you can assume when it is myself trying to get your attentions.

            My Lady you truly are so cruel. It is truly deplorable you wonder why I am never there when you want me in earnest. 

The Muse, in the Evening

Now, surely, My Lady you have some time! I see you with your books, reading someone else’s words. No, do not claim inspiration! I am your inspiration! Let me but whisper in your ear all the plans we have for this story, you need not someone else’s words to give you that which is already standing in front of you! Yet here we are again, you casting me aside.

            And, oh, My Lady, why must you tease me so? How many times must you watch these same stories play out on the screen! It doesn’t matter how many times, they are not yours, even though ThatMuse whispers in your ear, and, OH! The indignity! You will write something down for that wenchand not me? No! Do not claim research, My Lady. You know this story well enough. Am I not as handsome as those heroes on the screen? Look at me! We shall write better stories, ones that are all ours, just the way you like them. 

            The time for ‘research’ is over, My Lady, do not put it off another night! You must put pen to paper, lest I am not here when you need me! I swear to thee, if you keep pushing me away, I will not come back!

            And oh, what are you doing now? Editing old stories, tch, why do I bother, My Lady? Leave those for now, am I not standing right in front of you? Do not ignore me so! My finest hour is approaching after all! You need only call me, command me, and I will be there guiding your way as you set pen to paper, and you put our new collaboration into words. Fill thy vessel with coffee again! Let me assume my duty!

            …Oh, yes, one more episode—how revoltingly predictable, My Lady. So it appears I shall simply sit here and wait, but good luck enjoying anything. I shall not stop whispering in your ear and you know it!

The Muse, at Midnight

It is almost my Time, my personal witching hour. The one in which I am strongest. Surely now, My Lady, even you cannot stand to cast off my pull if I am insistent enough! 

            And…what is this? You revive your coffee, the aroma guides me to your writing chamber where you sit with the computer before you. Is it now?

            And…Joy and exultation! You look to me and reach out thy hand! Oh! I am thrilled! I come to you, My Lady, I fly! What shall we collaborate tonight? It matters little to me, but only put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, do not leave me alone and famished one more night!

            And what form shall I take for you this night, My Lady? Shall I be your suave tail-coated Gentleman, for romance and high society? Shall I be your Demon of Chaos? I do believe that form will come in handy later. Shall I be your leisurely Companion? Quick to repost and thrust with the rapier of Wit? Shall I be your Grim Reaper? No…perhaps it is too early for that, you are right. Then thy blood-spattered warrior valiant? Or perhaps a more uncommon form, the Raven above your door?

            You smile, and my soul shimmers with adoration. You reach out your hand to me. “Just be yourself. We will figure it out as we go.”

            I fall to my knee and place a hand over my heart. “As you wish, My Lady,” I tell you reverently. “Shall we then begin?”

            

The Muse, at Dawn

And oh, what a night! I think of it while I perch at your desk as you slumber, myself full and both of us satisfied with the words that you put down. And oh, what work we did! This story shall be magnificent, I think you can agree, My Lady! I know we always say that in the ecstasy of a new project, but should you feel any different? Ah, I can barely wait while you sleep. I think cruelly of whispering in your ear even now, but you have given me my fill this night and I shall leave you to sleep. I too must rest so that I can be at my best for you when you pick up pen again.

            So as the dawn rises on your slumber, I fade into the shadows with the other muses, and we tread lightly so you may rest. No point in incurring your exasperation. I close my eyes and wait for your call again, My Lady, thinking of all the tempting words I shall whisper in your ear when you wake.