em-78

[em-78]

Muse

“Become my muse” 

A small tentative smile. Unsure if she'll agree.

She freezes, his muse? Did she hear such a thing? She holds back a laugh, outstanding someone would ever like to draw her. 

She is just a canva devoid of colors. Bleak and monotone. Nothing interesting of the sort.

She stares at him, seeing his face calm, determined. What does he even see that is worth drawing? 

He bites his lips. He's starting to fear ever asking to begin with. He can notice her shift of mood, unsure and worried. 

He starts to open his mouth, ready to apologize. 

But with a sharp inhale she nodded her head slowly. 

“Alright.” She said in a hushed voice. 

“I'll be your muse.” 

________________________________________

He throws away the canvas harshly onto the floor. Making it lay beside the other paintings scattered across the room. 

“I can't think of anything.” He grits out. Hands tugging his hair frustrated. He gets up the stool, the charcoal tipping over the edge as he did so.

He begins to walk around the room. Looking at his most prized paintings. 

Newspaper, articles, forms, interviews,  wealth, influence, awards.

He achieved everything. 

So why can't he do the same this time again? 

He walks over to the window, looking out and sees the cold, windy weather. Fall is approaching. 

And he really should go take a breather as well.

“I need inspiration” He mumbled to himself. He walks out the painting room, closing it behind as he drapes a white blanket on the canva he was working on.

He would work on it later, of course. 

Grabbing a knee length coat and shoes he walks out, a breeze hitting him as he gets out. 

He rubs his hands together, trying to preserve his last remaining warmth as he stuffs them into the coat immediately after. 

He begins walking, unsure of where it'll guide him as he glances at the shops around. People inside happily laugh as they browse through antiques. Their eyes radiate warmth as they look at one another. 

He smiles humorlessly, he doubts he'll ever get to experience such a foreign emotion.

He stops at a Cafe. Opening and entering as the bell signals his arrival. A jovial lady walks right up. Her wrinkles are shown as she smiles sweetly at him.

“Welcome dear, please make yourself comfortable. We'll have someone to attend to you.” 

The lady guides him to a table, assuring once again someone will come shortly. He sits down, observing the Cafe. 

There wasn't much of anyone there. At most a elderly couple and a few customers. 

A lady appears in front, Marie. Her name tag read. She smiled, “What would you like today?” He looked at the menu. 

“Just a simple mocha and strawberry cake.” He says as he handed back the menu. 

She tugs it under her arm, nodding. “Alright, it'll be a few minutes.”

“That's fine.”

He leans back, smelling freshly backed bread ooze around with the Cafe. The ambiance is more pleasant with the odor swirling around the air deliciously. 

He hears the clattering of plates and looks up. Seeing Marie lay out of order in front of him. She peeks up, smiling bashfully.

Oh no.

Marie stands up, smiling. “Here is your order.” She pauses, still smiling. “You're not a frequent customer around here?” She then asks, biting her glossed lips as she winked.

He stares at her, annoyed. “No, I'm more interested in being a homebody.” He uttered bluntly. She blinks her eyes, taken aback. “Oh.” She rubs her arms awkwardly, shuffling her feet. “Do you have something to say?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Her eyes widen as she jumps up, startled. “No. Enjoy your meal sir.” She smiles sweetly at him before scurrying back. 

With a groan he drinks his mocha, exasperated.

Why do I even bother going out?

Em W.