"Meeting my Muse" by Kortnee Bryant

            “Hey!” The man called to me.  “It’s about time you got here!”

            I looked around myself.  I was surrounded by green, rolling hills.  There was a forest ahead of me and a huge fog bank.  The man in front of me was… interesting.  Alternately tall and short, there were feathered wings coming out of his back.  He wore a kilt but no shirt.  On his belt was a sporran and a pair of handcuffs.  He had a baldric across his chest and leather boots.  He definitely had the chest muscles to use the wings… along with the arm muscles, leg muscles, stomach muscles and back muscles to keep the chest muscles in proportion.  Long black hair made him the almost perfect man.

            “Umm,” I said cleverly.

            “Look, we don’t have all day to do this, sweetheart.  You’re already late.  Now,” he cleared his throat.  “I am your guide on this adventure.”

            “Adventure?”  I asked.

            “Yes, adventure.  Your adventure, to be precise.  Do pay attention.  I am a figment of your imagination.”

            “Which part?  My libido?”  I laughed.

            He rolled his eyes at me.  “Yes, partially, I am formed from your highly repressed and Highlander obsessed libido.  I am what is known as a muse.”

            “You don’t look like a Greek chick to me.  And you are definitely not flat and painted on a vase.”

            “I am your muse, which, as I have already pointed out, means that I have a distinctly different form from the traditional muses.  Bunch of stuck up prats, anyway.”

“Wait, why did you sound British just there?”

“You are a bit slow, aren’t you?  I am your muse.  I sound like whoever I need to sound like to get you moving.”

“Moving where?”

He pointed to the vague shape in the fog on the horizon.  “There.”

“What’s there?”

“You don’t know yet.  That’s what the adventure is for.  Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s do it anyway, it sounds like fun.”

“I haven’t told you anything about it yet.”

“Hey, I have an almost naked Highland angel following me around!  How can it not be fun?  Besides, if you’re my muse than you are definitely wearing that kilt in a traditional manner so I know just how close to naked you are.”  I winked at him, feeling very much at home in this world.  “So, where are we?  Ireland?”

He shook his head.

“Scotland?”

“Not likely.”

“Kansas?”

“You are not Dorothy and I am not Toto.  You’ll find out where we are as we go.”

“Ah, one of those things, is it?”

“Definitely.  So, go that way, there are hills, there are valleys and the grass is green.  The natives are cannibalistic carnivorous plants.  I’ve heard they taste like chicken.  Oh, and watch out for the waffle.”  He shrank down to the size of a pixie and zoomed off in front of me.

I started walking, taking in the landscape and writing down what I saw.  I had to share this place with everybody.  Suddenly, something occurred to me, “Wait, muse!  What waffle?  Why is there a waffle?”