Martian Misery

A Story by Abishai100

Narrated 'eerie' account of an alien who 'agrees' to become a human writer's 'secret-muse' on Earth while choreographing a 'personal' detour perhaps leading to more darkness.

An offbeat sci-fi horror-fable inspired loosely by Misery (Stephen King). Thanks so much for reading,

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There was a great cyber-writer named Amlan Satan ('Storm-Shadow') whom I visited one snowy winter in the Poconos (United States, entering his special/hideaway log-cabin retreat where he buried himself to develop a special novel about being visited by an alien 'muse' for a writing-project that really 'takes-off' once the alien gives the brooding writer that special 'magic' he needed while writing alone.

You see, I'm a real-life alien, from Mars! I'm a 'Red-Xenomorph' (insect-dragon of rather large size and sharp claws and acidic/explosive saliva and a 'ravenous' wit) and heard Amlan Satan's digital-cyber 'signals' while spying on humans from my home-planet. I'm a great chess-player and noticed that Satan (Amlan!) would sometimes log online to play chess on Facebook, often drawing stalemate-games with various competitors of varying skill-levels. I wanted to visit him after he blogged, "I wish I'd meet a 'real' alien who'd give me the right tones of inspiration for my new alien-muse novel in the Poconos, since my chess-play fantasies are going nowhere (for Facebook-IQ!)."

DIARY-ENTRY (Amlan Satan): I really believe now if I encountered some kind of Martian 'muse' while writing this pseudo-autobiographical fantasy-mystery novel, I'd get that 'right-stuff' inspiration for what will truly be the greatest work I've posted online or written/published anywhere else, and the first thing I'll do is tell a friend on Facebook!

I read this 'diary-entry' Amlan posted on Facebook, and I knew then that I'd be that 'ideal' Martian-muse he'd sought for some time, and he'd gone nowhere with his child-like chess-games against Facebook-opponents, despite drawing some pretty 'nifty/clever' stalemate-games. I decided to travel through the Stargate dimensions portal and arrived into Earth-realm and knocked on his Poconos-cabin door that snowy winter and offered my 'private' services based on his online diary-blog. His jaw dropped but he felt he'd no choice but to 'welcome' me as this secret temp muse for his writing inside his charmed cabin.

I bought with me a special Martian digital typewriter, which I insisted 'Storm-Shadow' (Amlan Satan) use to put-together his special alien-muse story-concept and get those 'charm-juice(s)' flowing (just-right!). He tooled away, sometimes not confessing to me he was eerily afraid of me (subconsciously) and sometimes confiding that this was an odd condition (no-doubt!), but I assured him I'd depart once his story-writing was complete. While he took time away from writing, we played chess together, but I always encouraged him to 'get-back' to that trophy digital typewriter I brought with me (for Satan!) from Mars.

The Stargate dimensions portal is no toy to be fooled with and certainly not for the faint-hearted of some sci-fi movie-maker of mediocre imaginations. No, sir, this is a device I use only for a 'miracle' opp, and this Satan-visit to the Poconos was just that, and I realized then that my use of the magic-portal would never be disclosed to anyone in any way, despite the fact that I'd use it simply to visit a human and become his dimension-portal crossing angel!

ALIEN (Me): Don't be afraid, Amlan; I only mean to heed your wishes and become your writing-muse for this special dream.

Sadly, Amlan Satan started unraveling in his sanity, and he insisted he needed more and more time away, far-away, from writing, and he started confiding more that he'd become simply and purely frightened of my 'dragon' visage and my very unusual appearance before his eyes in those Poconos snow-grounds. I watched him in fact start to look more-and-more paranoid, and even when he went to the store to get groceries, in his Coronavirus-mask, he'd say something like, "Maybe this writing thing was never for me, eh, Mr. Alien?"

The real plot of this story doesn't really concern writing, however. You see, while 'Storm-Shadow' (Amlan Satan) took breaks from writing, we'd play chess together. We'd draw many stalemates, and he was (really!) as skilled as I was, and I'd get upset that he'd kept this special 'game-gift' a secret from the entire world, investing instead in writing. This is why I'd reinforce in him that special message that becoming his secret writing-angel/muse was the real wise choice for me in making first-contact with a live human being on Earth! However, Satan (Amlan!) insisted that all the stalemate-games (chess!) we drew together reminded him of the magic of competition and peace/nonviolence and he'd get 'new' inspirations to make comic-book doodles of heroines and masked eccentric vigilantes, nudging me to think, "Maybe writing's not really my thing, Mr. Alien --- maybe it's just private-chess and comics-doodles, ya know?"

One Saturday morning, I found Amlan Satan dead in his bathroom, having committed suicide by taking some kind of poison and laid in his bathtub without any visible signs of pain/bruising/bleeding. I carried him to a woodsy area by the Poconos-cabin and cremated his body and buried his ashes into the grounds before slipping a note to the sheriff's station reading, "Be sure if you find Storm-Shadow's body he get a 'proper' Catholic burial/epitaph in the Poconos!" before returning to Mars.

Now, I'm back on Mars and writing this 'memoir' on my digital computing laser communication(s) device and transmitting it to anyone in the 'known' universe who might listen/read and transcribe it for 'meaning' and perhaps visit me on Mars and become my personal angel-muse for a writing-concept I'm developing --- about an alien traveling to Mars to become a writing 'agent' and becoming hypnotized by the notion of 'surpassing' his prodigy. What do you think?

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)