I Resist the Muses

If the world was going to end, what would you do with your last hour?

Well, I'd actually do all I could to try and stop the world from ending. Barring that I'd get royally pissed and shag whoever was next to me.

Prompt #57: You're alone. You hear your name whispered. Who is it and what do they want to tell you?

At my journal.

Muse: Nessarose Thropp
Fandom: Wicked
Word Count: 142
Open for comments/RP at the entry.

You're alone. You hear your name whispered. Who is it and what do they want to tell you?

The question stuns him. It throws him back into Consistory, just before he laid down the Cardinalate. He had heard a voice that day. It had jolted him so much that someone had felt called to ask him whether he was well. By all means, he had snarled. Do not occupy yourself. Pray, continue.

It had sounded like a death rattle, a wet soggy cough. Then, a soft pained laugh. I can no longer help you. I am sorry, Cesare. So sorry.

"What voice," he bristles. "Some Don Camillo & Peppone voice? Gesù telling me off in a humble village church? A voice of reason, or one ringing with compassion? Or am I confusing that with pity?" He snorts. "A voice offering sound counsel? No, no." He shakes his head as if there were water in his ears. "See, I hear lots of things. And most of them don't make sense."

You mean, you didn't hear them when you needed them.

Whatever.