Taskmaster December 03, 2011

[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "taskmaster". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out]

Taskmaster - Squiddy Geiger - December 3, 2011

He pushed the thoughts aside. No time for such things, he had work to do. The thoughts, however, didn't care if he had to work. They invaded his brain, forcing through his attempts at concentration.

He sighed, and listened, as they whispered to him. Ideas, fresh from deep inside his soul.

His muse was speaking to him, and she was not to be ignored. He put closed the file he was working on, and opened another, marking it Ideas. Work would, as was too often the case, have to wait.

It had always been so. He'd been fired from more jobs than he could remember because of her. The bitch was cruel. He'd been fired for being late. He'd been fired for leaving early. He'd been fired for not showing up at all. He'd been fired for being there on time but accomplishing nothing.

He had a special name for the bitch, too. The Taskmaster. When she wanted him to write, there was nothing for it but to obey. He had tried to fight her in the past, but he'd never won.

No, that wasn't quite true. For the two years he'd spent stumble drunk, he'd managed to avoid her. By forcing her deep down into the deepest recesses of his brain, where she couldn't get to him, the alcohol had been a shield; a prison. Unfortunately, it was as much a prison for him.

Again he had given in, and sobered up. And as punishment, she had been relentless for the next year. He'd been sober and clean and unable to do anything but write. After that they'd found a bit of equilibrium - if he let her have her way for a few hours, then she'd let him do what he needed. Except on occasion when she had something exceptional to communicate, like now.

He sighed again, and put fingers to keyboard.

Posted by Squiddy at December 3, 2011 08:30 PM | TrackBack