Passions? by Victor Moore

Disclaimer: These characters are all mine.


The blank page on the monitor was winning the staring contest with the author. It had begun some twenty minutes ago when the writer decided to do some work.

Sighing rather audibly, he pressed the 'X' key. Then he began to tap on it some more. Randomly at first until it became a rhythm that he was unconsciously familiar with. Very quickly the screen filled up with all the little 'X's.

"That looks productive." Stated a quiet voice from behind him.

Turning around, the author saw his muse staring back with a knowing smile. Her pale features were framed by powder blue bangs. "Glad you finally showed up." He grumbled. "Where were you?"

"Oh chatting with your artist muse. She's very funny."

"Great. Glad you two get along. Wait a sec? I have a muse for my artist side?" After she nodded, he sank lower in his chair. "And I suppose she has weird color eyes and hair too?"

"Are you implying that my hair and eye color don't meet with your approval?"

The pout he could ignore, but not those red eyes that began to water. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. She has brown eyes and dark purple hair."

She plopped herself down on a free stool. "So what are you working on?"

"The letter 'X'." He said dryly. After she hit him in the shoulder, he amended his comment. "I have to do a homework assignment."

"Which is?"

"Passions. I have to describe my passions."

"In what way?"

"Um, not sure actually? The examples were all in essay format, so I guess that style would work."

"But you don't like that format, do you?"

"No. Had some really bad experiences with essays back in high school." He shuddered.

"What about poetry then?"

"I dunno..."

"C'mon give it a try."

Seeing her smile, he cleared his throat and began to type:


"Ooh catchy title." She chuckled.

He sighed.

The Angels of Heaven
Are ne'er as sweet,
The Demons of Hell
Are ne'er as strong.

A Mother's caress
Is ne'er as gentle.
A Lover's touch
Ne'er as pleasurable.

"Oh my." He heard her whisper and shook his head.

Without you
My life is empty.
Without you
I wander aimlessly.


You represent love.
You represent lust.
You represent loss.
You represent life.

You are chocolate.

"It sucked didn't it. I knew it! Poetry is just not for me." He selected his entry on the computer and was about to press the 'delete' key when she stopped him.

"It's beautiful."



He saved the entry instead. "Needs work."

"Always does."

"Gee thanks."

"You're welcome. Oh my, look at the time. Your thirty minutes are up."

"Already!? Wow that went fast."

"Yep. We'll I'll leave the two of you alone now as my job's done."

Before he could wonder about whom she was talking about, a loud crack came from behind him. Turning around brought him to a woman wearing black leather lingerie and matching leather boots with six inch heals. She held a painful looking whip in her hands.

"That's the artist's muse?" He asked nervously.

"No silly. That's your representation of the editorial aspect of yourself." His muse answered, and then disappeared into a puff of blue smoke.

"Ah, I see an error already worm. That's 'I' before 'E'." The editor's words were emphasized with another crack from the whip as she stared at him with sadistic red eyes.