What It Feels like to be a Fictional Muse in the Mind of a Young Writer

A muse named Frank speaks a little bit about how it feels to be fictional, and how he feels about his writer.

     It felt stuffy. And not the good kind my mun devours on Thanksgiving and Christmas. And it felt lonely as f**k, too, like I was a dog on a leash tied to a pole in her back yard. But instead of chain link, the fences are cement and sixty feet tall with no one to talk to. Except when the mun decides to creep out the back door and play fetch with me.

     There's some tension here, OK, I will admit that. Because I exist only in the words she chooses to write. Can you even imagine what that feels like? You only exist because of someone else, because they gave you the permission. It's not like any of those movies, where a scientist brings something to life, like Frankenstein, that's something I could only dream about. At least the Stein could get down with his bride.

     It's not romantic, either. It's just plain s**t in the most literal sense of the word. And there's so much to write now that I'm finally being unleashed. In the most literal sense of that word, too. There's too much to say.

     But can you imagine it, I'm not even original. You never are as a fictional character. Because all fictional characters are influenced by something or someone else. I won't go into the details of who or what influenced me. It was a long time ago that my mun birthed me and she's just not the same.

     She called me Frank. And I've always been here. Her first fully feeling, really-runs-deep creation, since she first put her fingers to the keys. And it didn't matter how long she didn't write about me, I was always there, and she always needed me, and she might not admit it but it's true. I've been around here collecting dust so long but I've never withered.

     Sometimes I sit around and she doesn't know it but I can hear her when she thinks about me. It's not a usual thing that happens but it does happen, and she's astounded by me. Because it's almost like I'm real, and she feels like she knows me like a friend. But we're not f*****g friends, and I need to get that out on the table.

     And I guess in a way I love her, but it feels weird to say that and I don't want her to know. But besides that a part of me resents her. She created me, so I will always love her, but she created me, and my limits of existing are so... limited that I can't help being miserable.