Oliver Black's Blog – May 2011 Archive (5)

Mary Ellen's mind raced. She couldn't make it to the front door, there was no back door, and no windows on the first floor, but for the ceiling of the ballroom. Upstairs, though...

 

She ran for the western stairs, adrenaline pushing her to go faster as the monster tore through the house looking for her. Up she ran, heels thudding loudly against the wood, John not far behind her. At the landing, she dashed to the first window she saw in the hall. The drop was too far; she might…

Continue

    Mary Ellen was in love. She gazed up at John in complete adoration as they twirled around the dance floor.

The ceiling, made entirely of glass, framed the stars like diamonds in a pool of ink. Mary Ellen, being one of the few wealthy enough on Earth, owned a home in the new settlement on Mars. Her mansion was on the outskirts of the settlement, almost against the large dome that surrounded all ten miles of the area. It was among the most extravagant of houses, with grand spires…

Continue

You came to me upon the fighting field,

from your sheath, your blade revealed;

and long and hard we fought all day,

but at the end 'twas you who lay

battered across the columbine.

And looking down into your face,

despite my dwindling well of grace,

I left you bloody, bruised, and weeping

deciding your life was worth keeping

for memories of when you were mine.

 

 

That pretty, sullen boy always sits on the concrete wall;

His gray coat and jeans blend him into the background.

There's no one around to claim him as their own,

Just cold and dreary space, like winter clouds.

I stop, and dare to look into his forest colored eyes.

 

I ask him boldly "Why are you alone, sullen boy?

Do you like the silence of your own world?

Can you not abide us lower beings?"

He doesn't smile,…

Continue

Walking through a haze of wings,
The black and violet ill at ease.
A face in every dot and line;
They dazzle me, the butterflies.

Blinded by a cloud of wings,
My trembling heart is ill at ease,
And tender brushes feel so mean;
Deception’s iridescent sheen.

Drowning in a swarm of wings,
My crawling skin is ill at ease.
Defeated now, I close my eyes;
They’ve eaten me, the butterflies.