Page 20 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I fight the urge to flinch.

“What did you call me?” She whispers so quietly. I wouldn’t have known she was speaking if I weren't already staring at her.

I puff my chest out, gathering as much anger and bravery as possible. “You’re a murderous psycho.”

The silence stretches between us.

She blinks.

The tiny hairs on my arms stand up straight.

It all happens so fast.

One second, she is standing in front of me with her face blank, and the next, I feel a sharp jab on my neck before my vision turns black.

Chapter 3

Rurik

Thud.

A brush stroke there.

Thud. Thud.

Another brush stroke here.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I toss my paintbrush with a sigh, not caring that the red paint accidentally splatters on the canvas. I stare at the mess I made before my gaze shifts ahead of me, a bridge I was trying to paint.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I groan and close my eyes. I inhale deeply and rub my chest, feeling like I'm running out of time and have nothing meaningful to showcase to the world. My first art showcase in Oscar’s museum was a huge hit—so much so that people keep asking him about my next show.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m really proud of myself. I've worked for this since I was a tiny lad back home.

However, I'm beginning to realize that with success comes an increase in stress.

I couldn’t even enjoy that day because of some psycho woman who left me unconscious, sitting on a toilet with my head leaning against the filthy sides.

I don’t know how I woke up safely in bed the following day. Apparently, Oscar found me and blamed it on all the wine I consumed, even though I didn’t drink anything except for a few sips of champagne here and there.

I huff, giving the canvas my attention again.

Do I really want my second showcase to be about landscapes again? I need something different. Landscapes don’t do it for me anymore. I just need some inspiration to give me that spark of imagination to transfer it onto a canvas. Or maybe I should add some sculptures? I haven’t done those in a while… I haven’t felt any spark in the past month.

The last time I felt anything was a few weeks ago during my first showcase when I felt annoyance, disgust, confusion, anger, and something else I didn’t even want to consider.

Shit. I’m stuck.

I can’t base my art on those negative feelings unless I want to go the dark route. But that’s not me. People love my art because it makes them nostalgic, peaceful, and happy. If I start changing my style because a particular annoying psycho made me feel some sort of—

Focus, Rurik.

Get your head in the game.

I clear my throat and shake my head to clear unwanted thoughts. I pick up my brush and coat it with blue paint. After dipping it again into the color, I carefully tap it on the side of the container to remove excess paint. With a steady hand, I lift my arm and lightly dab the brush onto the canvas.

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