Inner critic? What inner critic!

I sit in front of my computer. Fingers resting on the keyboard, waiting for that spark of inspiration.

"Hmm. Let's see here. Where to start, 'o' where to start."

On my right shoulder a small green cricket appears. A tall black top hat on his head. His thumbs tucked into a huge golden belt buckle. I see him through the reflection on the computer screen.

"Hey, man. Long time no see." The cricket jests, rubbing my ear.

"Yeah, really. Where ya' been at?"

"Here and there, doin' this and that. How about you, you ain't been around for awhile either?"

"Busy. Busy."

"As a Beaver!" The crickets green lips turn up in a smile.

"Yeah, beavers and ducks."

"I love that movie. Billy Bob is the man." He holds his hands, like a little green gun, swings them left, then right. "Hey, that's what we should do...a bank heist movie."

"No. I told you, no more movie ideas! The last one lost me six months of writing time."

"Bull! You wrote for the whole six months. It was crap, but you still wrote."

"Gee, thanks. I didn't think it was to bad. Good characters."

"Yeah right! Maybe if a virgin priest with no personality is your only audience."

"That's harsh. Your partly to blame for that one anyway."

On my left shoulder, a small figure dressed in camouflage pops up from nowhere. He resembles the old G.I. JOE character SGT Slaughter. His drill instructor hat is on crooked.

"Boy! Are you still pussyfootin' around with that damned cricket!?" The sarge yells as he slaps my earlobe. It swings back and forth.

"Owe, stop that! There's no hitting in writing. Now hush so I can get something done." My fingers move across the keyboard, caressing each key as I type. The words flow onto the computer screen.

It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder booms in the distance......

"What the hell is that! That's all you got. Come on, lets take out the thunder and say........ those are mortars, yeah mortars. Bombs are dropping! It's time for war!" He yells as he jumps off my shoulder and onto the desk, right next to the keyboard.

"You big meathead! Not everything has to do with war, and killing. Come on man, bank robbery. You can twist and turn the plot until the pro-tag becomes the an-tag." Mr. cricket pats himself on the back.

"Yeah, thats not a bad one. Better than what your starting with here."Sarge chimes in as he leans on the mouse. " A great opening scene, were all the partons of the bank get sprayed down by an AK-47 yielding veteran. You can't beat that."

"Yes I can. That's what I was getting ready to do. If you two could leave me alone long enough to complete a sentence."

"That's what you always say. Come up with something new. Kinda like your writing, old and stale."

"Here, here! I have to agree with the little green booger on this one man. It's a new day and age. Violence, and sex sell. Not that lengthy, intelligent prose you try and talk us into." Sarge straightens his drill hat.

"Really. This isn't working. I can't concentrate even for one second with you two bickering about. I appreciate the friendly pokes, and sorta new ideas. But you guys have got to shut up for just five minutes!" I push my chair back, get up. Start to walk away....look over my shoulder, "You dimwits didn't even ask what I was TRYING to write about."

They both look at each other, shrug.

"Okay, I'll bite. What?" Mr. cricket throws his hands on his hips.

"Hey, crickets don't bite! Do they?" Sarge asks, worry in his little beady eyes.

"Only worn out, old drill instructors who can't reach around their fat bellies to shine boots anymore."

"I resemble that remark. Be the last thing you ever bite........"

"So, I see neither one of you guys are the least bit interested in what I wanted to write about. But, hey, that's fine. Have it your way." I continue to walk off toward the living room.

"No, no. Come on. Please tell us. I can run off that idea, and come up with a really good one." Mr. cricket says, pleading.

"You guys. My inner critic. The little voice that leads me to a good story. Or, should lead me to a outstanding one." I reply with a smile on my face.

"I'm flattered. You consider me a critic. Like Ebert? But only better, right?" I've got crickets attention.

"Critic. Sounds to me like we may be critical. Hey, yeah. That sounds like us. Critical to a good story." Got sarges attention, finally.

"See, if you guys would just be interested in what I wanted to write about, it would be a much better relationship. Not to mention that we'd get a hell of a lot more done." Returning to my seat, both hop up on oppisite shoulders.

"Alright, lets see what ya' got big boy." Sarge takes off his hat, and sits down.

"Just make sure I'm the funny one!" Cricket exclaims.

Egotistical fools........................................................



Give or take 965 words.