M.L. Martello
Bio
Stories (2)
Filter by community
Afterworld Painted by Van Gogh
The audible shuffling of a record scratch was all I could hear. Bob Dylan’s voice begins coming through, like a raspy, old-timey radio in an apocalyptic movie. The same lyrics play over and over. In spite of the static, I understand them clearly. His words strike a chord I can’t explain as he sings, “There’s no locket. No picture of any mother I would pocket. Unless it’s been done by Van Gogh.” I clutched the dirty, heart-shaped necklace, the sunflowers on the edges barely visible under the layers of the former Earth. I never remember wanting it, and yet, I was always there- just like them. It held a familiar fear and comfort- just like them. I thought I screamed, but the only thing that came out was another cloud of dust. I covered my ears, but the words of the song were too loud. It was inside my head now, just like them. I begged for silence again and, for a moment, they allowed it.
By M.L. Martello5 years ago in Fiction
a pink chameleon in shades of darkness on a broad spectrum
As a child, I was awake more than I slept. I began to discern the different variations in the colors of the darkness. Finding just enough light in the darkness to see things differently has always been my survival skill. To many, they looked the same, but to me, they were different; I just didn't know the name.
By M.L. Martello5 years ago in Poets
