You know the drill – read & listen & vote at the weekly challenge website, enter this week’s challenge, listen to my story below or download via this direct link!
She kicks me out of bed, rumpled rolling tangle onto the cold floor. I cover my face as the cheap pen and notepad arc over the edge of the mattress.
My voice is a croak. “Now?”
She looks over the comforter. “Yes.”
I have fifteen hundred words when she leaves. She rotates among us. “Write,” she commands. “Write.”
We write until our fingers bleed. We have to.
I was the first to discover she didn’t like alcohol. As I drank and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, she snorted at me.
“You and Hemingway,” she said. I ginned, free of the muse.