Excerpt Day: Black Roses by Jaime Samms

[reviews_and_ramblings]

Black Roses by Jaime Samms
Release Date: June 27, 2009
Publisher: LoveYouDivine
ISBN: 978-1-60054-376-0
Print ISBN: 978-1-60054-372-2
Publisher Link: http://www.loveyoudivine.com/index.php?main_page=document_product_info&cPath=30_51&products_id=539&zenid=ba6dbddf485284649d8b43c7588b5ccc

Blurb: Nothing grows in captivity, except maybe lust and the desire for freedom. In order to create, something must be destroyed. But what if there was an endless supply of energy and creative power to be tapped? One gardener will take a god prisoner, and a god will devour anything within his reach for freedom. When lust turns to desire, though, even gods can have a change of heart.

Excerpt:

He wants me free, he wants me here forever. This fight against himself will drive him mad, that much I know. He comes closer every day to the brink. I am the power that feeds his creation. Without me, his art withers and dies.

"How much more you and I could do together," I whisper as my brush moves over the canvas.

Quick lines sketch out a form. It could be anyone. In my mind, it is him. I could bring him to me; compel him with a few lines on the clean, white surface as he compelled me with the first seed he planted. He isn´t any more immune to my will now than are the others. Sighing, I turn the brush so the lines of the shoulders slope, the eyes become clear, reflecting the light of the sun, the lips turned down in a sullen scowl. Cropped hair, bare feet, a loose shirt, and short pants define the figure on the canvas.

At the pond, a boy turns, looks up to my window, and starts to walk away from his companions. The tendril of power snakes out, drawing him closer. Someone calls after him. He doesn´t turn, but walks through the bands of light and dark as clouds pass over the sun. The other children shiver and toss their remaining scraps to the raucous fowl. The birds paddle quickly, scoop up the soggy crumbs, and take to the sky. If he hears his friends leave he gives no sign. Already they have forgotten him; their bonds to him disintegrate as mine become strong. There will be no empty place at his family table, only a vague feeling that something is missing. By morning, even that will have dissipated into dreams. Forgetfulness is all I can give in return for my sustenance on this plane.

For a moment, I watch the birds diminish to black spots on the horizon. I begin to paint again, to fill in details, to feel the nearness of my summoned, his soul, his excitement as he climbs the hill toward me.