Amanda Bridgette Kelley

THE MUSE Some people say I’m psychic. Others are convinced that I have a special talent. Instead, I have a secret. A muse. Not the arrogant, self-declared muse either. I got on my knees and prayed to the goddess Athena, goddess of wisdom and now patron of my art, to guide me and create paintings that would show my future. In return I would serve her and only her, and would be a mere vessel for her paintings. She answered my call. She whispers in my ear which commission I should and shouldn’t take. This makes me highly sought after. Her chalky white bust sits beside my canvas, and I can only assume that the five dollar antique is where she resides. I may mix the colors, but I swear to you that when she possesses my body I have no control over the results. I’m often as surprised by the finished product as my patrons are. I love the feeling of the brush in my hand while it sweeps the colors of a bright or a dark future. The feeling of power as I glance over the bust of Athena as she guides me is heady. It is nothing I have ever known, especially during my starving artist days. Once people wouldn’t have given me a second glance. She marks each work with an ‘A.’ People assume it stands for my name, which is Anna. One highly detailed painting was inspired by a couple desperate to have a baby. My—or should I say our—painting depicted a woman whose belly was swollen with child, alongside a small boy. In their elation, they didn’t notice the man was not in the painting as well. As the rain pelted on the window glass a few years later, the heavily pregnant woman ran in with disheveled blonde hair while dragging the small boy. She knew her husband was cheating on her, and she begged for a commission to see if he would return to her arms. Much to her disappointment, I had to turn her away. I obey only Athena, and cannot afford to speculate on who she chooses and why. I thought about the distraught woman for awhile before I lit a cigarette. I inhaled my afternoon hit of nicotine and heard my phone jingle. I ground out my unfinished smoke and picked up the phone. “Hey, honey. The wife’s out of town and I want to see you tonight. We could have some wine and see where it goes from there,” he said with a suggestive voice. A wide smile slid over my face. “That sounds wonderful, sweetie. What time?” “Eight. I also wondered if I could commission a painting from you. I want to see if I should run for president. Maybe your muse would be willing to work for us again?” I frowned at my newly polished ruby fingernails, and then eagerly glanced at my bust of Athena for some sign of encouragement. “This will be an important piece,” she whispered in my ear. “We shall take it on.” “I would be delighted to, sweetheart. See you then,” I replied, a little too eagerly. It was so rare that we got to see each other. I glanced at my hand painted clock from my early art school days. It was three. Not much time. I scrambled to get ready. I felt Athena overcome me as I pulled out the canvas and paints. She had me choosing different reds, blues and white. Must be a good sign for him. It felt much more intense this time as Athena entered my body. I felt dizzy. Numb. Untold energy flowed through me. I soon blacked out. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I finally came to. I couldn’t even focus on the clock. What I did know was something terrifying stood before me. To make it even more surreal, Athena was still inside me. It was a picture of my baby blue bedroom. In the corner wall was a portrayal of a “happy” family, including my lover, and to my surprise, the disheveled woman. The centerpiece was my bed itself, where the sheets were entangled as I struggled against him while wearing a revealing red dress. The dress I was somehow wearing now. My hands were trying to claw his off as my eyes bulged in terror. In Athena’s portrayal, my lover was strangling me. “He will do this to keep you silent,” Athena whispered. Was that a touch of mirth I heard? I frantically looked at the clock. Eight. “What should I do?” I asked. Silence. Athena was gone. She had given me my final premonition—that of my death. I heard the keys in the door.