Unlike Bob's shooting of the sheriff, mine was not in self-defense. It wasn't a shooting either... more a drowning. Just like the well meaning but inexperienced pastor who, while upriver doing his first dipping into the murky waters of river_X baptism of his flock, forgot the words of the baptismal prayer and as he grasped desperately for the elusive incantation lurking somewhere in the recesses of his brain, succeeded in keeping his would be new devotee under the water much longer than the poor fellow could hold his breath.... and thus the good Lord's will was done or so the heartbroken mother and devout follower of Christ would later allude; So too would my muse, in what can only be summarised as an unfortunate event, fall to the zealous ministrations of a spiritual devotee... me in this case.
Having read somewhere and believed (to read is to believe, no?) the supposed magical properties of absinthe - the green fairy, and having for the last few months been suffering a serious bout of the block, I went in search of this fairy. Slaying numerous dragons of fear and doubt that lay in my way, and leaving in my wake half empty bottles of rum and of coke (a cola), thus discarded unconsumed as I tried to cleanse my body of any intoxicant that could in one way or the other hinder the workings of this magical spirit, I finally sighted this holy grail (more like a watered down version) of the writing world on the shelve of the local alcohol dispensary of my town. Imagine that.
So, to cut a short story short, I partook and I passed out. When I came to, my muse was no more.