The Dream of the Muse

Four years ago I kicked my ex out. We had been together for six years and I was pregnant with our fourth child. During those years together I wrote nothing. I didn’t even keep a journal. I went from struggling awake in the morning to going through a drab routine to sleeping at night (sometimes). During the night I got up with the kids on a schedule of night feedings and night terrors. I functioned on about four hours every day. I couldn’t even allow myself time to daydream during those six years.

Then I kicked him out after the final straw (I won’t go further into that). Two months after he was gone, I found myself with a quiet moment and a pad of paper. My thoughts tumbled out through the ink. I was writing again.

Three months after I kicked him out I had my first vivid dream that wasn’t filled with anxiety or a nightmare.

The black of sleep melted away. I looked around at shelves filled with books. I reached out to grab one when something moved to my right. Standing amongst the rows was my sister. Her long brown hair was wavy, and her clothes were the white dress of an angel. I called out to her and she smiled at me.

Why was she here? She had died a few years back, and left me in a mess of depression.

Her hand came up and pointed to the shelf in front of her. I slowly walked and looked to where she pointed. My eyes widened. I was shocked, because there on the shelf was a row filled with my name.

I looked at her and shook my head. I wasn’t good enough. My writing had been the worst the internet had ever seen before my ex even came into my life. No one would read it. I would never get that far.

All of these thoughts were conveyed to her. She smiled again, pointed to the shelf once more and then to me. “Write,” she mouthed. No sound came out, but I didn’t need her voice.

“I don’t think I can,” I began to cry. My eyes teared up and she wavered away. When I blinked them clear again, she was gone. One last look at the shelf, and the blackness crept in on me.

I woke up to one of my babies crying. My eyes were also leaking. I rocked him that night crying with him.

The next morning, though, I sat down and turned on my computer. It took two days to update the programs. I hadn’t had time before to use it.

I wrote during down times at work and typed it onto the computer. I found myself creating my accounts online again. I wrote my fanfiction and placed them up. Blank Slate was the first I had written in years and it tumbled out.

I thought back to that book on the shelf in my dream. The one my sister pointed directly to. NaNoWriMo gave me the goal of writing that book. A story I had told my sister 15 years ago and now she wanted to see it on paper. I knew what I would write.

Keeper’s Kinn flew out of my fingers. The characters tumbled out and retold me their story. After every day I hoped to see my sister in my dream again. I needed to tell her the book was being written.

I didn’t see her until this last Halloween.

In this dream she didn’t smile right away. She stood outside of my farm home in the cold, but not shivering. The dead can’t shiver. I called to her, “I wrote it! Did you see?”

Suddenly her face broke into a smile. Her hand came out from behind her back and there was my book. She nodded to me and mouthed, “Keep going.”

And as it can only happen in a dream, she turned to her right and pointed once again at a book case that suddenly appeared. She wanted to see it with my books; the stories she would beg me to tell her everyday.

I was going to fill that shelf. I am going to fill that shelf. My sister, and the people who have always begged me for a story, will now be reading them from the book shelves.

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