Writing.com Creation Myth

Word Count: 1,080

Ariel slid the closet door open from the inside and stepped into Deidra’s bedroom. Glancing at the sleeping child, she walked past the bed to the window and looked out predawn darkness. “Why,” she said watching the first rays of morning transform the sky from silk back to royal blue, “did I let Max talk me into leaving Mount Olympus today?”

“I don’t know, Miss Ariel,” said Deidra, who had only been pretending to sleep.

“I’m sorry,” she turned to face the blonde hair child, “I didn’t intend to wake you Deidra.”

“You didn’t,” getting out of bed the six year old put on a pink robe and went to stand beside the muse. “I was only pretending to sleep because I knew you were coming this morning.”

“How’d you know I was coming,” Ariel took Deidra by the hand and led her back to her bed. Once she tucked the child in, she sit down on the edge of the bed.

“You always come the morning after Wilma leaves.”

“Wilma? Who is Wilma?”

“Wilma is my other closet monster. I’m the only child in the complex that is blessed with two closet monsters.”

“You’re sure about that?” Ariel’s brow winkled, “you’ve spoken to other people about me.”

“Yes,” Deidra smiled, “Daddy says you’re not real, that you and Wilma are just my imagination.”

“What does your mother say?”

“Momma is in heaven, but Aunt Rena says that if I think you’re real then you exist.” At that moment, the door opened and Deidra’s father entered the room.

“Deidra, stop...” he stared at Ariel, closed his eyes and opened them again. “Who are you? How’d you get into the apartment?”

“I’m Ariel...” the muse stood up and walked to Deidra’s father. She extended her right hand.

“You’re,” he shook her hand, “one of my daughter’s closet monsters?”

“No, I’m a muse and you are?”

“Peter Farris! You’re one of my sister’s friends. She gave you a key...”

“No, Daddy,” Deidra said, as she got out of bed, “Miss Ariel came through the closet portal from...”

“Deidra, Miss Ariel is either one of you’re Aunt Rena’s friends or she is a figment of both our imaginations. Since, I don’t believe in mass hallucinations...”

“Daddy,” Deidra took her father’s hand, “you haven’t believed in anything since Momma went to heaven.”

“All right, Deidra,” he sighed, “Miss Ariel is a muse who moonlights as a closet monster.” Peter picked his daughter up and put her back to bed. “My sister always said I would go crazy if I continued to work twenty hours a day, seven days a week. I just didn’t think it would be at dawn.”

“Mr. Farris,” Ariel helped him tuck Deidra into bed. “You’re not...”

“Ariel, would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love some coffee.”

“Come into the dining room, I’ll turn the computer off and...”

“What’s a computer, Mr. Farris?”

“Ariel,” he took her by the hand and led her down the hall, “you can cut out the muse-closet monster act now.”

“Mr. Farris, this isn’t an act. I am a muse from Mount Olympus and...”

“You don’t know about computers?”

“No, Sir.”

“That is a computer,” he pointed to the Hewlett-Packard sitting on the desk against the north wall. “I use it to write User Manuals and other technical books.”

“You don’t write novels,” Ariel picked up a manuscript lying beside the monitor.

“No, my wife wrote fantasy novels. That was her last book and I haven’t bothered to send it to her agent.” A bell tinkled while she flipped through the document. “What was that noise?”

“I have mail,” he opened his e-mail box. “It’s from my sister, she found another writer’s website she thinks I might be interested in joining.” He deleted the message.

“You’re not going to join it,” Ariel poured herself a cup of coffee and sit down at the dining room table with the manuscript.

“None of them can give me the feedback I want. The only feedback I receive from any of them is from other technical writers. I want reviews from non-techs, the people who buy and read my manuals.”

“I see,” Ariel’s eyes lit up. “Mr. Farris, could you write a complete explanation of a computer, a website, and the type of website you would like to have.”

“Why?”

“We’re having difficulties communicating with all our clients. I have over two thousand clients in the United States, plus another two or three thousand in European and Asian countries. I can’t contact them all in a single day, much less a month or a year. Perhaps, the website you’re thinking of will solve our problems.”

“I write technical manuals not computer code; you need someone who writes code to create the website.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Farris,” she poured them both another cup of coffee. “You write everything that you think the muse should know about computers and websites. Some of the muse may already know more about technical stuff then I know. My specialty is children between birth and six years old.”

I may as well go along with her little act, he thought, I’m not going to be able to sleep for another few of hours anyway. “All right,” he smiled at Ariel, “do you need a cover letter?”

“Yes, address the cover letter to Muse Master Max or Muse Mistress Lydia.”

Four hours and five pots of coffee later, Peter Farris handed Ariel a twenty-one page document and a cover letter. “I’m presuming that you’re right about some muse know more about computers then you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farris,” she read the cover letter silently; “I see you’ve suggested that the titles for the people running the website are Story Master and Story Mistress.”

“Yes,” he smiled at Ariel, “I also suggest three or four names for the website. Do you like any of them?”

“I like two of them story.com and writing.com.”

“Good, now if anyone needs more details then I’ve included, you can contact me in a couple of weeks after Deidra and I return from wherever I’m taking her on a vacation.”

“Do you mind, if I use the portal in your closet to return to Mount Olympus. I don’t want to wake Deidra up when I leave.”

“Go right ahead,” he sat down at the table and fell asleep. Two hours later, he woke up to find two tickets to Hawaii lying on top of his wife’s last novel.