In the Cellar of Silence

[Ali Znaidi]

“I sometimes get stuck when the Muse refuses to belly dance in front of me,” he said to her in a humorous tone.

“Are you kidding?” she said to him in her soft voice, and added, “Come on! You are a seminal writer. I thought words flow spontaneously from your pen like an inexhaustible river.”

“Yes, of course,” he boastfully said, “but the Muse is sometimes mean, especially when she refuses to give me that inspirational kiss, and just slaps me on my frigid face.”

“Oh, poor you,” she said.

He poured her a glass of orange juice, opened the window, and started looking at the vast horizon, while replying to her, “This expansive horizon seems to me like a huge suspended cellar with open holes. Instead of writing prefabricated lines or weaving ready-made words like a tailor who stitches ready-made cloths just to get a piece to wear, I just dwell in that cellar of silence waiting for my Adam’s apple to ripen to be squeezed in order to yield that inky juice I need to write spontaneously.”

She took the glass of orange in her hand and joined him beside the window, spending the rest of the day looking at the expansive horizon till the first intertwined threads of the twilight appeared like a quilt made up of silky shiny red-haired women’s braids.

 

[Ali Znaidi]

Thank you for commenting.

[Teresa]

I vote the last sentence as my favorite as well.  A shock of red braided perfection.

[Robert Morschel]

I love the last sentence.  All of it is good, but the last sentence is my favourite.

[Angela]

I adore that last sentence.  The "Oh, poor you," was great.  I could just hear her sort of purr.

[Joey Delgado]

I love the way you write. I love that the source of your powers is your adam's apple. Great story!