This is my reply to a writing challenge hosted by Myths of the Mirror. It was simple: Post a conversation with your muse. It made me have to think long and hard.

“I need to do the dishes,” I say and get up from my desk.

“Okay,” he says, stretching and yawning. Spectre’s black spotted tongue stretches almost to the floor before it wraps once around his pink tipped nose before he curls it back into his mouth as his back arches and his fuzzy butt wiggles in the air before he follows me into the kitchen.

“You’re supposed to tell me to finish this scene,” I tell him, looking down as the sink fills with water.

Brown orbs bulging from his sockets no longer see, but still they focus on my face as he stares up from the corner patch of the tile floor. “That’s up to you,” he…