Octovo Libra
Bio
Instagram: @libracymbaspoems
Twitter : @libracymbalspoems
And my poetry Hell Is Like A Dog Kennel and other poems
Stories (64/0)
The Botflies
A solitary oil bug, atop the washing dunes, the sand collapses, and like a waterfall it crashes buried underneath it, momentarily. It digs out and recovers, marching to its only mission, a fate of all creatures with instinctual intellect: food, shelter, and survival.
By Octovo Libra 3 years ago in Fiction
Wrath
There was an old barn painted in new blood. It was reddish-black and bleeding, a bloody waterfall, flowing down along the dirt with gouts of gasoline. A fire rose in and around the barn, in a ring, from a singular match. There were cries coming from inside, but the hay sprinkled in the threshold acted as a bulwark of flames that blocked and burned the entrance, and muffled the clamor. A shadow formed from the back wall of the barn, of a hand, reaching upward, as if desperately gasping for air. The shadowed arm grew larger, reaching farther, and suddenly dropped and descended, sinking beneath the uprising of fire and smoke. The fire still bursting from the floor and smoke clouding over the roof through the loft window and sprouting out the cupola like a chimney. The cries have risen in pitch, still audible under the flapping of wading flames. A high wind roared that day, further waving the fire and ash toward the corn fields. The barnyard animals got burned alive, the ones that hadn’t yet were quiet now, of terror, of their home and neighbors being cooked; they would soon be next, no question about it.
By Octovo Libra 3 years ago in Fiction
The Botflies
The Prologue: The Omega, The Moonuva, and The Glowing Marble The Moribunda Desert, still hours away from the cool dark of night, or dead time. Time was treated cruelly in the desert. The day ran for 120 hours straight, and night for half that. It was eons of dunes, and her caps a liquidy radioactive green in contrast to its goldish trunk, and stretched so far it was almost ubiquitous. The slippy sand was as big of a pest as the bot flies that tackled and twisted around the donkey’s ass. Something must’ve died there. The heat was a rippling cloak, an illusive mirage, emulating the hypnotic waves of the seas. Mikal and Zane, were slowly wading candle flames, wandering silhouetted slumped orangutans in the thick of the mirage, and if they were capable of getting heat stroke they would’ve been dead by now. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the rare but bizarre chance of falling into the enigma of these deserts, that is, the random encounters of the deep black pitfalls, so dark the mega red sun couldn’t seem to peek in it. They were the Moribunda’s black holes, and a wrong step could suck whatever, into an unknown hell that even the immortal can’t dig out of.
By Octovo Libra 3 years ago in Fiction