C. Rommial Butler
Bio
C. Rommial Butler is a writer, musician and philosopher from Indianapolis, IN. His works can be found online through multiple streaming services and booksellers.
Achievements (8)
Stories (240)
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The ShambElla Saga. Top Story - October 2024.
Introduction I've long had a fascination with the transformative power of decay. I recall as a child walking the streets of my neighborhood here on the East Side of Indianapolis, as I still do to this day. Indianapolis is what I've heard some describe as a "Swiss Cheese Ghetto". The East Side, especially, has some swanky gentrified communities nestled in between trash-ridden and crime-riddled neighborhoods. One can hear gunshots a few blocks away while they pay for their venti pumpkin spice latte!
By C. Rommial Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
FALLEN
The creaking branches fall into the forest bed below. I hear them, not giving up the fight but losing the battle, with gravity, with time, with fate. My eyes see sunlight splattered among the wilting flora, the fallen leaves, the long, thin trees fallen, fallen, fallen like a battle-hardened soldier taking one last stand, fallen, kissing the autumn wind and never to fall again, fallen, fallen. Fallen like the bitter heart that seeks no reprieve in the ashen dusk, fallen! Fallen like an eternity stretched into the bottomless abyss, fallen! Yet the sun shines even on these, if only enough space is left among the branches for it to reach through. Fallen, yes, but not forsaken. Fallen, but not forgotten. Fallen like an angel that utters no cry as it plunges into the sun, fallen.
By C. Rommial Butlerabout a year ago in Poets
Monkey Business: Vocal Edition
This anthropomorphic representation of my thoughts is for your sake, reader. I am what you call a monkey. I am currently transmitting this information through some idiot who lives in the Midwestern United States. He fancies himself a writer.
By C. Rommial Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
Shamblin' Sam
Before Sam was a glass bottle of whiskey, a delightful delectation from the old world. The name on the label was too faded to read, but he could recall from the shape of the bottle that it was named after some American hillbilly and would clock in around 80 proof.
By C. Rommial Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
