This picture was done in charcoal and then a water color finish. The artist is unknown, but it originated in Britain, where the artist claims he lives. The picture itself has no specific title, but the site I found it on entitled it “Zombies on the March”. The focal point is the zombie’s facial expression, from his eyes to his mouth, agape with a scream of primal rage. The shading of the work is shown in the lead zombie’s black hair and dark black shirt, while its face and neck is a bland mesh of grey and white. The screaming zombie in the foreground is what takes up most of the composition, while the background shows other zombies bringing up the rear of the foreground’s leader. The balance of this work is a bit off. Most of the zombie’s head and shoulders dominate the left side of the work, leaving only grey fog to fill the unused spaces. The most overt emphasis in the picture is placed on the lead zombie’s decayed cheek and neck area, to accentuate the fact that it is of the undead. The background zombies are subtly visible, as the head zombie blocks the majority of their heads from view. The overall value of the work isn’t smooth and transitional, more like sectional, where each area of the zombie’s bust has its own pocket of value ranging from white to black without spilling into the other areas. The content consists of a total of 4 zombies in the picture, though the last 3 are only barely visible, and the last one way in the back by the zombie’s left shoulder is only noticed from his scalp. The work’s amount of gradation- The zombies, starting from the back, appear to be getting closer to the viewer. In this way, it looks like they are in different places, not uniform, as a zombie attack should be: wild and unruly.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Art Critique # 3
This picture was done in charcoal and then a water color finish. The artist is unknown, but it originated in Britain, where the artist claims he lives. The picture itself has no specific title, but the site I found it on entitled it “Zombies on the March”. The focal point is the zombie’s facial expression, from his eyes to his mouth, agape with a scream of primal rage. The shading of the work is shown in the lead zombie’s black hair and dark black shirt, while its face and neck is a bland mesh of grey and white. The screaming zombie in the foreground is what takes up most of the composition, while the background shows other zombies bringing up the rear of the foreground’s leader. The balance of this work is a bit off. Most of the zombie’s head and shoulders dominate the left side of the work, leaving only grey fog to fill the unused spaces. The most overt emphasis in the picture is placed on the lead zombie’s decayed cheek and neck area, to accentuate the fact that it is of the undead. The background zombies are subtly visible, as the head zombie blocks the majority of their heads from view. The overall value of the work isn’t smooth and transitional, more like sectional, where each area of the zombie’s bust has its own pocket of value ranging from white to black without spilling into the other areas. The content consists of a total of 4 zombies in the picture, though the last 3 are only barely visible, and the last one way in the back by the zombie’s left shoulder is only noticed from his scalp. The work’s amount of gradation- The zombies, starting from the back, appear to be getting closer to the viewer. In this way, it looks like they are in different places, not uniform, as a zombie attack should be: wild and unruly.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Museums and Exhibitions Regarding Necromancy and the Undead
www.Undeadlabs.com/Zedfaire
Think about it. A Renfair where all the people turn into zombies wearing dresses, capes, holding plastic swords and crossbows. I'd succumb to my fate if I could just laugh my a** off for 5 minutes as a zombie dressed as a maid with plastic fairy wings charges at me while holding a magic wand. Sweeet. Undead Labs is an organization from Seattle who are working to make a good zombie video game better [they are not a gaming company] Basically, they provide the psychology aspect for a kick-a** zombie video game, and then sell their finds to gaming companies around the world, such as Capcom and 2K Games. They have a 'museum' of their exploits such as their "Renaissance Fair Attacked by Zombies is Hilarious" exhibit, where they imagine the funny possibility of a zombie attack at a Renfair, where all the people become flesh eating zombies while dressed as morons. Epic.
www.Spookyblue.com
A Documentary based on a novel written by a guy whose handle is 'Blue' entitled "How to survive a zombie attack: An in-depth look at how to prepare for a post-endworld phenomenon". In it, he includes a collection of his works, which are then displayed in a museum for all to see.
www.Monroevillemall.com
This mall was the original set for the classic zombie movie directed by George Romero: Dawn of the Dead. It has a zombie exhibit in the mall, which is referred to as the Monroeville Mall Museum of Zombie Attractions Exhibit or just MMMZAH [pronounced Mem-zah].
Westgate Museum of Necromancy
This museum establishment is located in New Orleans, Louisiana. In it, they display a wide range of art works that center on revival of the dead and ancient charcoal drawings of shamans dancing with their dead. Some of the works plastered on the walls are said to be inked in human blood, and if examined closely enough, one can actually see human teeth and eyeball entrails embedded into the clay and dirt paintings.
Arizona State University (ASU) Student Art Museum
ASU offers an advanced course in applying makeup to look like our lovely lackluster zombie chums. Undead makeup applied to the characters such as "Ghost" with Patrick Swayze and the video game "Shadowman" were all designed and produced by ASU students as part of their final project.
Think about it. A Renfair where all the people turn into zombies wearing dresses, capes, holding plastic swords and crossbows. I'd succumb to my fate if I could just laugh my a** off for 5 minutes as a zombie dressed as a maid with plastic fairy wings charges at me while holding a magic wand. Sweeet. Undead Labs is an organization from Seattle who are working to make a good zombie video game better [they are not a gaming company] Basically, they provide the psychology aspect for a kick-a** zombie video game, and then sell their finds to gaming companies around the world, such as Capcom and 2K Games. They have a 'museum' of their exploits such as their "Renaissance Fair Attacked by Zombies is Hilarious" exhibit, where they imagine the funny possibility of a zombie attack at a Renfair, where all the people become flesh eating zombies while dressed as morons. Epic.
www.Spookyblue.com
A Documentary based on a novel written by a guy whose handle is 'Blue' entitled "How to survive a zombie attack: An in-depth look at how to prepare for a post-endworld phenomenon". In it, he includes a collection of his works, which are then displayed in a museum for all to see.
www.Monroevillemall.com
This mall was the original set for the classic zombie movie directed by George Romero: Dawn of the Dead. It has a zombie exhibit in the mall, which is referred to as the Monroeville Mall Museum of Zombie Attractions Exhibit or just MMMZAH [pronounced Mem-zah].
Westgate Museum of Necromancy
This museum establishment is located in New Orleans, Louisiana. In it, they display a wide range of art works that center on revival of the dead and ancient charcoal drawings of shamans dancing with their dead. Some of the works plastered on the walls are said to be inked in human blood, and if examined closely enough, one can actually see human teeth and eyeball entrails embedded into the clay and dirt paintings.
Arizona State University (ASU) Student Art Museum
ASU offers an advanced course in applying makeup to look like our lovely lackluster zombie chums. Undead makeup applied to the characters such as "Ghost" with Patrick Swayze and the video game "Shadowman" were all designed and produced by ASU students as part of their final project.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Resident Evil 5 (PS3) The Uroboros Virus
HOLY SH**! That's what you say when you see an Uroboros charging you. This is what happens when you use used needles, kids. Technically speaking, if your DNA isn't worthy enough to assimilate the virus into your being, your body rejects it and these worm-like things grow inside of you, feasting on your organs from the inside out, and all you can do to ease the pain is scream louder than they do. The term "uroboros" refers to the legend of the serpent "uroboro", who is known for its unique adaptive ability to eat its own tail in order to survive.
Resident Evil 5 (PS3) The Lickers: Dumb but Deadly!
Ever wonder why Sparky ran away when you went to Summer Camp? Some baaaad people came and took him to the vet from Hell! Well, he's back and badder than ever! These monstrosities used to be our favorite four-legged friends we played with as children in the back yard. Although I personally don't approve of the lackluster name "Licker", I do like how they work. Their tongue can extend to at least 17 yards, and every inch of its tongue and body is coated in a slimy neurotoxin that paralyzes you while they hump your leg...sort of. The fun part is, they attack you in hoardes that would put Napoleon's troops to shame, so shooting just one at a time is guarenteed to get your face eaten off...literally. They're blind and deaf, so they seek you out like a snake tongues around for its prey. Aww, nice doggy- AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
Resident Evil 5 (PS3) The Return of El Gigante
Move over, Hulk. Look out, The Thing. Here comes your worst mansion-sized nightmare! Believe it or not, that humanoid ogre you're looking at was probably 5'5" and a geeky white collor schnoob at some point. The monster was called "El Gigante" in RE4 which means "The Giant" in Spanish. His name doesn't change when he goes to Africa, and this time sadly, there's only one of him to kill, and he's it. In RE4, there were at least 3 or 4 of them, and they gave you $20,000 per kill, so it's was a good deal. But these guys are twice as big and thrice as ugly. And the best part is: the only way to kill him is by shooting his tapeworms. That's right. Tapeworms, the size of minivans that protrude from his limbs and back when you weaken him enough. And in case you were curious, those corpses he has secured on his belt are his on-the-go snacks. Hey, you are what you eat, right? HAH!
Resident Evil 5 (PS3) Kijuju, Africa= Your Burial Ground
AHA! Even better than RE4 a million times over! RE 4 was good, but not stellar like Capcom's work of art: Resident Evil/ Biohazard 5! You play the brick sh** house Chris Redfield and team up with Sheva Alomar as you battle your way to discovering the truth about a secret arms deal in a small African village, when you discover that the jerk who killed your girlfriend turned her into his mind slave and has a score to settle with you (and by the way, jerk-o can dodge bullets at point blank range). The graphics are ludicrously stunning. When I first started playing, I just walked around, examining every detail of the little tribal community, and it was truly astounding. The weapons are nothing short of destructive, the co-op modes and AI relfexes are top-notch, and the game play is smooth and kick a**. But just as beautiful as the game play...is the MF'n CUTSCENES! OMG, they are beauteous. It's like a poem, really. Poetry in motion, and a whole lot of motion, at that. If you've go the time and funds, I recommend RE5 to you, viewers.
Resident Evil 4 (PS2)- Los Ganados ataque en masse!
This is a screenshot from the popular (and top-notch) video game zombie thriller shoot 'em up series called Resident Evil. The game in Japan would be "Biohazard 4". The main character shown here with the gun in government agent Leon Kennedy, who travels to Europe to rescue the abducted President's Daughter, Ashley Graham. I've played the game and beat it all over the house in every nook and cranny it has to offer, and I can honestly say I'm still surprised how far video games have come since Tetris and Pac Man. It really is a kick butt game. The graphics haul a**, the plot is memorable, and the zombies and enemies really keep you on your toes. The scene depicted here is in the beginning of the game when you first enter a quaint little village of farmers...who want to kill you and eat your brains!
Breaking News! Zombie Spiderman Devours Cheating Wife-to-be!
-This just in, a breaking news story! We have reports that our beloved Spiderman, savior and protector of the people, just assaulted and apparently 'ate' his blushing bride-to-be during the wedding reception. Oh! Thank you, Tom. I just got intel that the bride's name is Mary Jane Watson, who would have been Mary Jane Parker today, had it not been for her groom's inability to wait to eat the wedding cake! If that's his idea of 'eating out', then I'd hate to see what their honeymoon's gonna be like. (canned laughter) Folks! I have just received some rather tear-inducing news! Apparently, the very recently deceased Mrs. Parker was seen leaving the appartment building of one Harry Osborn. Ooohhh, talk about insatiable, right Tom?
-That's right, Terry. And just before the wedding, too. Now that's what we call 'unbridled promiscuity'!
-Ahaha! It sure is, Tom. (canned laughter)
OMG! Marvel Zombie...LEGOS!
YES! I love legos! I still play wit 'em today, I'll have you know. And I want me some of those awesome marvel zombie edition lego guys! I want 'em! I want 'em! I want 'em! I want 'em!
Marvel Zombies Pic #3
Like reading those comic books about Captain America or Wonder Woman kicking some serious bad guy butt? Well, would you shake their hand and have them kiss your baby now? I don't think you would (unless you already did and yer somewhere in that picture.)
Marvel Zombies Pic #2
Of course, those of you who know the fabulously flaming Ghost Rider, you'd think him being a zombie is a little redundant. But that's okay, because he's awesome!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Marvel Zombies Pic #1
All your favorite childhood marvel superheros have become mindless, flesh-eating zombies! Holy Undead, Batman! You're a zombie!
Killed in a Phone Booth by Zombies
"Hello? Oh, hi, Mom. No, I'm okay. I just got off the bus. I'll be home in a little- wait yer turn, buddy! Huh? Oh, no, not you. Some crazy guy is trying to use this phone- Hey! I said wait a minute! Sheesh, freakin' New Yorkers. Oh and Mom? You're not going to believe what Tyler Jensen told me toda--Oh my God! You psychopath! Get away from me! Mom! Help! That sick wack-o just smashed the glass! He's a--Oh My God! He's got me! Help! Somebody, anybody! Help Me! He's crazy, he's a-AAAAAHHHHHHHH! He's eating me ALIVE! HELP MEEEEE! HELPMEEEHEHEHEHE! AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Phone: Beeeeeeeeep beeeeeeeep beeeeeeeeep
Zombie Kitty Wants a Hug
"Mommy, I want this on--AHHHHHHH! It bit me! I need help! I need help! I need.........braaaaiinss...."
The Ghost of Barbara Radziwill
This picture has a rather interesting story behind it.Our tale begins in the 1540's. At that time, Michelangelo was designing the dome of St. Peter's for Pope Paul III, and here in Vilnius, a young prince was cultivating his own glittering court. Sigismund Augustus was a man of dashing looks, as well as a poet, a humanist and a champion of religious tolerance. He was also heir to one of the most powerful states in Europe, his father being King of Poland and Lithuania.
In 1543 the Prince was married to Elizabeth of Habsburg. Sigismund had already been Vice-Regent of Vilnius for fourteen years, and the city was enjoying its golden age. The Prince embellished the Royal Castle, furnishing it with a theatre, a choir and a picture gallery, replete with exquisite Flemish tapestries. Full of fantasy, he kept five bears, a lion and ten camels, as well as an extensive stable. Meanwhile, local nobles strove to keep up - palaces, printing presses and churches sprung up across the city. But in spite of this prosperity, not all bode well for the king-in-waiting. He was the sole heir of the Jagiellonian dynasty, the crucial link in the twin state of Poland and Lithuania. What's more, it turned out that his Austrian bride was epileptic, and after barely two years of marriage she fell from a horse, fatally injured. She died childless.
The Prince would have to remarry - that was beyond debate. The problem was, the girl who came on the scene was not the one everyone else had in mind. In fact she was quite the opposite.
The Prince had fallen head over heels for a Lithuanian lady named Barbara Radziwill. She was a young widow from one of the grandest families in Lithuania. According to letters of the time, she was amongst the most beautiful ladies in Europe. But the Cracow court was dead against the match. And not only were the senators and the King furious, so too was the Queen, the terrifying Bona Sforza. Rumors had it that Bona, an Italian by birth, had used her Machiavellian skills to poison the epileptic Habsburg for failing to produce a child.
Yet such was Sigismund's passion that he did the unthinkable and married Barbara in secret in 1547.
All hell broke loose around the couple, a situation that was exacerbated by the death of the old King in 1548. Parliament demanded a divorce, and all kinds of mud was thrown at the twenty-eight year old princess. Barbara was cast as the wicked Wallace Simpson to Sigismund's Edward VIII. The charges came thick and fast - that the marriage was illegal, that Barbara was a woman of easy virtue, and above all that she was incapable of childbirth. Yet Sigismund stood firm.
Transcripts of parliamentary sessions echo the drama:
King: I wish that all people enjoyed true freedom of loving. I cannot break my marriage vows without offence to my conscience... There are no genuine grounds for divorce...
Archbishop: Your Royal Highness, grounds for divorce could be found.....
King: No doubt they could - if I were a man of ample conscience, but such I am not....
Envoy: It diminisheth us, Your Majesty, that you should have taken as your wife a woman from such a family....
Whether or not Barbara was guilty of the insults hurled at her it is difficult to surmise. But the gentry, proud of their democratic privileges, were certainly furious that the King should have gone over their heads, ignoring parliament and marrying the daughter of a magnate. And in Queen Bona's eyes, a Lithuanian lady was no dynastic match compared to a Habsburg or Bourbon princess.
Yet after three years of wrangles, the young King pushed through the coronation of his bride. It was a triumph over all the odds. But just five months later, Barbara was stricken by a terrible illness.....
Sigismund was distraught. Once again, the rumors circulated that Queen Bona had been up to her poisonous tricks. (Until this day, historians cite the charge of foul play). The young King did everything he could to save his bride. But to no avail. Barbara breathed her last at Wawel Castle on 8th May 1551.
The King was inconsolable. According to her dying wishes, Barbara was to be buried in Vilnius cathedral, and the King set off with the cortege on the huge journey to Vilnius. He would wear black for the remainder of his life.
It might seem that the tale is now told. But not all the strings in this story have been tied up yet. No, no. For one, Queen Bona was to get a taste of her own medicine in the end. She organized one more marriage for her son, marrying him to a second Habsburg princess, Catherine, the sister of his first wife. But the marriage was both soulless and childless. (The Primate of Poland himself went down on bended knee to persuade Sigismund to see to his wife, but the King had lost interest). Bona would later flee Poland after falling out of favor at court. She hid herself away at an Italian nunnery, but her past followed her, and she died of poisoning in 1557.
Years later, after pushing through the grandest act of his career - the complete and equal union of Lithuania and Poland (1569) - Sigismund retired to the remote castle of Knyszyn. Henceforth kings would be elected to a joint throne. Sigismund finished his days on 7th July 1572, surrounded by a motley company of quacks, astrologers, and witches, in a room hung in black in memory of Barbara Radziwill."
Miscellanea
* Many legends emerged around the saga. One of the most enduring is that the King attempted to conjure the ghost of his bride with the help of wily sorcerer Pan Twardowski. A mirror used for this magic survives at the village church of Wegrow, Eastern Poland. Mirrors were believed to have been gateways to other dimensions, specifically ones that contained the soul of the recently departed.
Years later, a painter named Jan Matejko around the year 1866-1868, painted a depiction of King Sigismund’s last thoughts of his bride, Barbara, before dying, and was later repainted in 1890 by him. This time, he painted what must have been the King’s attempt to revive the soul of his dead bride through means of Twardowski’s mirror.
The Wind Demon
This beautiful work of art is both a tattoo and a air brush piece. It is one of several gorgeous works that I found on a website. The artist, Darin Gonzales, creates and designs tattoos, air brush pictures for skateboards, stickers, paintings, T-shirt designs (which he sometimes sells to Hot Topic) and more! Currently, he has a subscription to DarkArtists.org, where most of his work can be found. I liked this one because Darin's "The Wind Demon" is derived from an old Celtic myth about storm winds and hurricanes. The Wind God was an evil god who could not die as long as the wind was blowing. The gods saw his malice, and banished him from their domain. When he died, the spring time was harmonious for humans. But when he was revived in the Fall when a foolsih God applied his powers to the wind instead of the clouds, he brought with him terrible storms in his wake. Eventually, a goddess struck him down with an object called the "Eye of Uhuriknak (Hurricane)", and cursed him. He can only live when the wind blows in a storm, but other than that, he slumbers in hell.
Resident Evil- Live Action Movie Trilogy
This is the cover of the Resident Evil movie trilogy. The main characters and plot have little to nothing to do with its father video game series, but it is a good series nonetheless.
Hellsing- Attack of the 'Freak' Soldiers!
This is a screenshot of an Anime OVA series called "Hellsing". The creatures here are essentially vampires created artificially using what's called a "freak chip", thus, why they are refered to as "freaks" and not "vampires." Though useless on their own, the freak chips make them easy to program to perform a certain task, like gearing up for a raid on the Hellsing Mansion!
Don't Forget Your Leg, Sweetie.
Have a good day at school...I think. Not every undead thing has to be menacing and decaying. This artist from Japan made this picture a zombie school girl getting ready for her first day of junior high. I thought it was cute and funny.
List of Websites relating to Zombies and the Undead
Zombie Network- A vast link space that links to other websites that relate to undead.
Zombie Sirens- the hottest undead chicks on the planet! The “Siren” was a Greecian mythological female creature that lured men to them with their beautiful voices then ate them to reserve their corporeal bodies. It is a fad of many zombie fans where they find undead women to be sexually attractive, thus sparked this site..
Zombie Podcast- Here, you can download your favorite horror theme songs from your favorite movies, games, shows and more. It mostly includes tracks and audio clips from horror movies, like the Michael Myers theme from Halloween, or the Freddy’s Back theme from Nightmare on Elm Street 2. It also includes sounds from the classic “Scary Sounds of Ghosties and Bogies” CD that you played at the front door during Halloween to scare the kids.
Infernal Dreams- A compilation of top-notch photoshopped masterpieces featuring the undead. Some of the artists are practically cyber-versions of Da Vinci or Van Gogh. The works are done all on the computer, though they look like they were done by hand.
Girls and Corpses- The first lewd comedy magazine about girls, temptation...and death. Originally, it was just a perverted site for guys with a necrophilia streak and a lot of time on their hands. Now it is done in a little more moderation, but not much. Here, people draw their own sexual comic strips about lustful encounters with undead women, and then viewers then rate them based on good they were.
The "Z" Effect- A how-to zombie survival guide that we ensure you stay alive when the world ends in zombie attacks. This is just one of trillions of the classic concept of surviving a zombie apocalypse and what you should do in order to stay alive. The entries in this site are sort of infantile and cheesy, but they do provide good knowledge on how to kill a zombie, though. Some authors also attend this site to post their own persona beliefs about Armageddon and many have even posted their own novels.
Zombie Swag- Shop for the hottest undead paraphernalia, including shirts, hats, socks, and adult toys too. It is sort of like a Spencer’s of a Hot Topic thrift store that features zombie paraphernalia. It’s like a toy store for creepy people, Goths and emos. The emphasis here is on the “adult toys”. People go here just to order the strangest sexual devices, or the wackiest t-shirt designs they can find. They also mail-order weapons, like daggers and swords as well.
Zombie Nexus- Another master link page that redirects you to several dozen zombie-related sites. There’s nothing special about this site, except that it takes you to many others that are.
Deoxy.org/Shaman- Teaches the origins of shamanism from a shaman himself. Shamanism is an old art of communicating with the spirits of the other realms. A living, breathing, voodoo-toting shaman from a foreign land tells his stories about being spiritually open-minded and true to his beliefs. He also has a link to his own website where you too can learn how to be a shaman and perform cool rituals that grant you luck, happiness, and all other kinds of benefits. Warning: Does not teach you the art of sacrificing the living or blood rituals to Satan. Too bad.
Danbooru.com/tags/zombie- This is a well-known site for internet artists with no desire to make a name for themselves with their art. People from all over the world post their work here, everything from pictures, to audio clips, to movies, to songs, animations and more. All these things they make completely on their own, too. The zombie search section here is copious in variety, so stop on by and take a look. But be warned, some of the pictures are highly pornographic and sexual so be careful what thumbnail you click on.
Nekobooru.com/tags/zombie girls- An offshoot of Danbooru, this site is a little more explicitly dispositional, and contains mostly sexual comics of undead women getting it on with men who accidentally stumble upon their tombs and wake them up. The pornographic content here is off the charts, and the scenes are as graphic as humanly possible, so don’t go here and type in “zombie” in the tag search unless you have a gut made of steel and haven’t eaten for a day.
ZombieEscapePlanHeadquarters.com- As I said, Sites that explain how to survive the end of the world caused by zombies is a popular fad amongst net-goers. This site, however, contains pictures of combat moves (not really, just guys being funny), the food you’ll need to eat every day (Ravioli and Pop Tarts, apparently) and how to tell a zombie from a real person (you don’t have to. If it moves and it ain’t you, run like hell.)
Zombie Sirens- the hottest undead chicks on the planet! The “Siren” was a Greecian mythological female creature that lured men to them with their beautiful voices then ate them to reserve their corporeal bodies. It is a fad of many zombie fans where they find undead women to be sexually attractive, thus sparked this site..
Zombie Podcast- Here, you can download your favorite horror theme songs from your favorite movies, games, shows and more. It mostly includes tracks and audio clips from horror movies, like the Michael Myers theme from Halloween, or the Freddy’s Back theme from Nightmare on Elm Street 2. It also includes sounds from the classic “Scary Sounds of Ghosties and Bogies” CD that you played at the front door during Halloween to scare the kids.
Infernal Dreams- A compilation of top-notch photoshopped masterpieces featuring the undead. Some of the artists are practically cyber-versions of Da Vinci or Van Gogh. The works are done all on the computer, though they look like they were done by hand.
Girls and Corpses- The first lewd comedy magazine about girls, temptation...and death. Originally, it was just a perverted site for guys with a necrophilia streak and a lot of time on their hands. Now it is done in a little more moderation, but not much. Here, people draw their own sexual comic strips about lustful encounters with undead women, and then viewers then rate them based on good they were.
The "Z" Effect- A how-to zombie survival guide that we ensure you stay alive when the world ends in zombie attacks. This is just one of trillions of the classic concept of surviving a zombie apocalypse and what you should do in order to stay alive. The entries in this site are sort of infantile and cheesy, but they do provide good knowledge on how to kill a zombie, though. Some authors also attend this site to post their own persona beliefs about Armageddon and many have even posted their own novels.
Zombie Swag- Shop for the hottest undead paraphernalia, including shirts, hats, socks, and adult toys too. It is sort of like a Spencer’s of a Hot Topic thrift store that features zombie paraphernalia. It’s like a toy store for creepy people, Goths and emos. The emphasis here is on the “adult toys”. People go here just to order the strangest sexual devices, or the wackiest t-shirt designs they can find. They also mail-order weapons, like daggers and swords as well.
Zombie Nexus- Another master link page that redirects you to several dozen zombie-related sites. There’s nothing special about this site, except that it takes you to many others that are.
Deoxy.org/Shaman- Teaches the origins of shamanism from a shaman himself. Shamanism is an old art of communicating with the spirits of the other realms. A living, breathing, voodoo-toting shaman from a foreign land tells his stories about being spiritually open-minded and true to his beliefs. He also has a link to his own website where you too can learn how to be a shaman and perform cool rituals that grant you luck, happiness, and all other kinds of benefits. Warning: Does not teach you the art of sacrificing the living or blood rituals to Satan. Too bad.
Danbooru.com/tags/zombie- This is a well-known site for internet artists with no desire to make a name for themselves with their art. People from all over the world post their work here, everything from pictures, to audio clips, to movies, to songs, animations and more. All these things they make completely on their own, too. The zombie search section here is copious in variety, so stop on by and take a look. But be warned, some of the pictures are highly pornographic and sexual so be careful what thumbnail you click on.
Nekobooru.com/tags/zombie girls- An offshoot of Danbooru, this site is a little more explicitly dispositional, and contains mostly sexual comics of undead women getting it on with men who accidentally stumble upon their tombs and wake them up. The pornographic content here is off the charts, and the scenes are as graphic as humanly possible, so don’t go here and type in “zombie” in the tag search unless you have a gut made of steel and haven’t eaten for a day.
ZombieEscapePlanHeadquarters.com- As I said, Sites that explain how to survive the end of the world caused by zombies is a popular fad amongst net-goers. This site, however, contains pictures of combat moves (not really, just guys being funny), the food you’ll need to eat every day (Ravioli and Pop Tarts, apparently) and how to tell a zombie from a real person (you don’t have to. If it moves and it ain’t you, run like hell.)
Narrative #2: Reprisal of the Necroid Artsman
Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe in the middle of the night
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler had a fine fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there's none so rare as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.
“Please, sire! Please allow me to do it!” The man begged. He was dressed in a bland, white robe with tears and rips in it. He had a shock of grayish red hair, not natural for a 32 year old man. He wore a necklace made of silver, emblazoned with some sort of insignia the King never bothered the question. The thing is, Timone was a necromancer, or as the King called him, a “Necroid Artsman”. King Cole Sanders was always a blithe, yet somewhat belligerent ruler of Britain. He allowed his desires to get the best of him and he often made the mistake of judging people before he knew them. Timone, who was once a commoner, knew the King’s faults better than he knew his own, and lived every day in fear of what he would do to him if he fell out of line.
“Rise, Timone. You forget, you are no longer a common beggar in my kingdom.”
“Then sire, please! I beseech your lordship! Please allow me to conduct the sacred ritual that will bring—“
“Enough, Timone!” The King roared in retort. Timone fell silent, boiling with anger and the last bit of words teetering on his tongue.
“It is a pity that you wife took ill and died, but I will not have your personal emotions cloud your judgment. Have you done what I’ve asked of you?” King Cole asked, stroking his furry graying beard. In his days of youth, King Cole had been an ambitious young suitor who loved horseback riding and lounging in the courtyard. But when the late King Isnaac and Queen Bardella died, he became bitter and arrogant, and for these traits, Timone hated him.
Recently, Timone’s dearest wife, Dollaiya, died from a strange and incurable disease. Timone’s distraught had no effect on the tactless ruler, and thus, drove Timone to hate him more. A feminine voice spoke.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Galliao, are you not satisfied with what his majesty has provided you?” Timone looked up in surprise at a pale, mocking face that taunted him with the slightest flick of the eyebrow. Queen Shujo, Cole’s wife. She was pale as the moon and just as shallow. She shared all of Cole’s traits, if not more in depth. She was known for her haughty attitude, though she as only of partial royal blood, for her father had married a commoner. Timone stared helplessly at the pale face that he knew could not stand the sight of him. Timone knew Her Heinous despised what he did for a living, and sought to torment him verbally every time they shared the same space.
“N-no, your Grace. I am quite satisfied with—“
“Then why do you continue to chirp so?" She sighed, pushign her hair nonchalantly behind her ear. "Let your new life remind you of how much my husband has done for you. I suppose you’ll be expecting to wear the crown next.” She laughed a hoarse, cackling jaunt that made Timone’s hackles stand on end. He could feel his ears swell with boiling blood. He fought to keep himself from shouting at her in retort.
“Absolutely not, your Grace. I never intended to take the crown. That is an honor best reserved for his majesty, King Cole.” Queen Shujo clapped her hands twice, and two maids clad in white rags ran out to her. One had a large, white feather-crafted fan, and the other got down on her hands and knees before the Queen. She brought her feet up and rested them on the maid’s back. Both girls had dirty faces and short, raven dark hair. They both couldn’t have been older than 12 or 13 years of age. Timone’s heart was on fire with rage now. A ball of something ahrd and choking caught in his throat.
“Well, good. You’ve seen the error of your chirping. Now, away with you, Galliao. Return to your corpse herding. We have a land to rule and you’re interfering with my stream of thinking.” The Queen flicked her wrist at the shaking man 2 yards from the throne, a rude gesture he knew well that meant ‘get out of my sight’.
“Y-yes your Graces. I will take my leave, now.” With a bow, Timone stood and left. As he reached the door, his exulted one’s voice grated on his ears jubilantly.
“Oh, Timone! I have good news! I took your sorrow for your wife’s death into consideration! And after much thought, I’ve decided to have my sages take a look at your wife’s body. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not. How does that sound?”
Timone spun around so quickly he nearly tripped.
“Oh, thank you, your Majesty! Thank you so much! The Gods themselves will sing of your generosity for all eternity!” He returned to his knees and bowed repeatedly. When he looked up, he saw King Cole nodding his head in approval, reveling in hearing how great he was from what he saw to be a lesser man.
“Very good. You may go.” With that, Timone opened the huge wooden mahogany edifice and returned to his village.
It wasn’t that he was dissatisfied with the King’s words. A small ray of hope shone in his heart. Then he remembered what he had actually said, and the light turned to bitter darkness once again. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not.
“Worth bringing back!? That scoundrel! That dung devourer! That slimy, no good, arrogant child of a sorry excuse for a ruler! He’s the one that deserves to be judged! He should be the one to give his life for my wife’s, whose done nothing but help make the kingdom a better place to live, even for that odious bastard!”
Timone’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao, was the architect for the King’s palace and many of the villages geographical additions, such as the Dollaiyan Wall, and the Galliaoan Bridge, and the personal advisor of the King himself. Though a peasant, she was revered for her tender yet firm courage when dealing with the King’s ludicrous tirades about how this beam was too slanted or that stool leg was too short. Everything Dollaiya did she did for the good of her country and her King. It stands to reason that she should be brought back. Timone could do it. He had successfully revived a chipmunk, a rabbit, a crow, and even a baby. Being the village’s shaman was no simple task, but he was not feared for his work. Timone recalled a time when a little girl in the village with whom his daughter played, Gwena, had come to him with her dead kitten. After only two hours of his toilsome work with the dead, he successfully managed to bring back the purring ball of fuzz. The King’s so-called “sages” however, used blood sacrifices and live specimens to conduct forbidden alchemy, a science Timone knew much of but practiced very little. Of course, they were also powerful, so they were feared more than respected. Timone kicked in the door of a small, straw hut on the edge of the castle’s boundaries. Here, he could easily access the village’s stores and villas without having to travel too far. A small child of nearly 9 was sitting at the table, sketching on what looked like a wanted poster of a mustachioed brute. Timone kissed her one the head, and she turned and yelled, “Papa! How did it go?” She hugged him before he could climb the ladder to his makeshift second floor.
“His royal Ass said he would have his sages examine mommy.”
“Ohh. Can they really bring Mommy back to life, Papa?” She asked, wide-eyed.
“No, sweet Tamil. But your Papa can. And she won’t become a mindless husk like those awful sage bastards make. No, when I get the right ingredients, Mommy will be right back in bed with us like the days of past.”
“Yaaayy! Mommy’s coming back! Mommy’s coming back!” she chanted, dancing around the house. Timone smiled, and climbed the ladder to his attic to think.
Timone Galliao awoke in the middle of the night with a start. He had had a strange and gut-wrenching vision of his future. He was to become immortal, but in return, he must die a horrible death at the hands of a demon in the guise of a human. He was to be killed because he murdered the demon’s mate as an act of revenge, and he suffered for it. He sat up in bed, sweating profusely. He rubbed his eyes, got out of bed, and ran outside. He stared out at the starry night sky, which was now devoid of clouds, and saw to him what must have been a frightening image in the star’s patterns. He saw a man and two women. Both women were dead and the man was killing himself. Timone struggled to keep himself from collapsing. He clutched his chest as a dark, smoky mist consumed his entire being. He cried out for a moment, and then slumped to the ground in a heap. When he picked up his head, his eyes had black markings lining them, like inky black thorns tattooed under his eyes for a festival. But these were no ordinary markings. They were alive! They pulsed and beat, and with every beat, Timone could feel his body swell with energy from another dimension. He now had the resolve he’d been waiting for. He knew that what he was about to do would make his life better, and the King and Queen’s not so much. Timone Kixtav Galliao had the motivation he needed…to kill the King and Queen of Britain, and sacrifice their souls on his Altar in order to bring his beloved Dollaiya back from the grave.
It was early morning, and the sun had barely risen. Timone kissed Tamil on the head as she cuddled her doll tightly in her sleeping arms, and set off towards the King’s palace for the last time.
His majesty was seated on the throne as usual, sipping at a huge golden goblet while one of the raggedy maid girls he saw the day before sat to his left, waiting patiently for his next order. There was a look of fearfulness in her eyes that Timone loathed. He kicked the doors open and stalked down the red and golden trim silk carpet. Today, King Cole had his Royal Guard lined up on either side of the carpet. But Timone was somehow unafraid. Each man was clad in a clunky metal armor ensemble, complete with either a sword or a crossbow. Timone’s usual timid nature had bubbled to the surface as a headstrong, raving mad savior. He felt that he was losing control of himself, but at the same time, the new energy that coursed through him propelled him forward. As he neared the King’s throne, on of the more elite guards stepped out from the ranks and blocked his path. With one swift motion, Timone thrust his hand sideways, and the guard was sent skittering noisily across the marble floors until he collided with the stone wall, leaving chunks of stone as he fell still. As he continued to walk forward, he could hear the clunking of angry armor behind him. He saw the King had his hand held up.
“It’s alright! Timone Galliao, what is the meaning of this outburst of rudeness?” He asked it in a calm and calculating voice. He had the tiniest of smiles on his lips, as if he had already won. When Timone was almost a yard away from the King, Cole reached for the maid girl to his right and motioned for her to come around to the front of the throne. He grabbed her head and shoved in between his legs. Of course, she resisted.
“You dare defy my orders, you wretched piece of—“ the King’s words were cut short by a pair of doors on the far end of the room swinging open. Into the room stepped the Queen. She glided smoothly over to her throne, almost with a sense of anticipation. The fact that Timone was being scolded by her husband was like watching a move in a theatre for her. She sat neatly in her seat, and glanced at Cole and the girl. She sighed.
“Oh, Cole dearest. You know how I feel about that.”
“Timone said it would relieve me of an itch I had.” Cole replied smoothly, every muscle in his body relaxed as can be.
“Oh, did he now? Timone Galliao, I had no idea you could be such a lecherous man! And your wife’s passing was such a short time ago. What has it been, three, four days now? If you wish to bed with one of our serving girls, all you need do is ask.”
Timone broke into a run and grabbed the girl by her shoulders, and threw her to the ground. When she got up, Timone eyed the second girl, who was already at work fanning the Queen. He pointed at her.
“Get out of here, girl! Get out and never return! Go someplace far away from here and never think of it again! Go now!” The girls did not hesitate. The girl he threw to the ground tossed him a small object and, as the other girl ran past her, clasped hands and began running down the aisle of armored demons. Instantly, before they could start at the runway to freedom, the first 6 knights pointed blade and bow at them. Timone glanced at the thing in his hand. A gold encrusted ring with fine jewels set into it. She must have foisted it from them at some point. He then turned to look at an angry yet cocky King and Queen.
“What do you think you’re doing, Timone the Necroid Artsman!? What is the meaning of this betrayal!?” He stood up, and motioned with his two fingers at the girls. He saw the armored guards stand aside as two men garbed in emerald cloaks trimmed with gold silk block the path. Timone ran to the girls and wrapped his arms around them. He looked at the King, their eyes meeting for the first time. At that moment, Timone saw everything: Wrath, egoism, love, envy, lust, gluttony, and indolence. Timone saw that the King’s seven sins burned brightly like a candle in pitch darkness, illuminating his entire being. The King was nothing but a mass of pure evil. Something inside Timone seemed to snap. Timone returned the King’s victorious glare with a frightening stare of his own: a look of haunting malice and ominous sense of victory. Timone was smiling a full-toothed sneer of the utmost hideousness. He had the girls’ eyes covered with one arm, and with the other, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial that contained a putrid looking dark green liquid. He raised it above his head for all to see. He flashed it at the knights and yelled, “You sinful cretins even think about such a thing, and your skin will melt from your bones! Your organs will shrivel and be eaten alive by creatures of the Nothingworld! Your souls will be raped and killed for all eternity in a fiery pit of the Devil’s piss! Now flee you mortal fools! I have achieved an immortality that not even your beloved “King” could ever hope to achieve! With this elixir I have created, I will gain the powers of God himself! No kingdom sage nor man alive can stop me! AHAHAHAHAHA!” Timone ended his diatribe with a bone-chilling cackle that literally shook the castle walls. The armored knights and sages alike threw down their weapons and ran for the door, screaming, as a rain of shattering glass from the windows above pelted them. Some of them did not make it, and were impaled by the bigger shards. Once they had all gone, Timone released the two girls, whom now he presumed were sisters, and looked them in the eye. They were both terrified, he could tell. He wiped their tears with a scarred hand and rubbed their heads.
“I am no longer human. But, that doesn’t mean you’re not human, either. Live a long and happy life with each other, grow old with dozens of children, and perish in your warm beds with a smile on your faces.” He kissed their foreheads, and gave them a gentle pat on the back as they sprinted for the door, looking back at him as they did. Once they were out of sight, Timone turned his gaze back to the now cowering King and Queen, who were both laying on the floor near their thrones, shivering and spouting nonsensical prayers. Timone felt like a God as he picked up the King by his gold-encrusted lapel. He brought the King’s face to his.
“Your pitiful sages have no power, Cole!” he shrieked. The King was bawling, as tears and snot dripped from his eyes and nose.
“Look at yourself, Cole. You are not at all the man you thought you were. Your men have abandoned you. You wife does not support you. You have no respect for hard working citizens!” He let go of the King, only to shove his fist into his royal gut. The King coughed and sputtered awkwardly, and then vomited all over his throne. The Queen was busy screaming in prayers. Timone turned on her and the King fell over, shaking. He grabbed the Queen by her shoulders and sat her upright. He held her gaze.
“Unlike your pig of a husband, I would never strike a woman, Shujo. And I do not chirp, either. Every time you open your mouth, you chirp. You seemed to always enjoy my misery and suffering. Well, how do you like being the miserable, suffering one!? EH!?” When she couldn’t bare it anymore, she fainted. He let her go roughly, turned around, and walked towards the exit. As he did, he raised his arms over his head and started chanting. Suddenly, stones from the castle walls were ripped from their places and thrown about the room, striking expensive portraits, vases, and anything else that was valuable. He eyed the door before him, and thrust both hands forward in a pushing motion, and instantly, the huge doors were blasted away from him. He walked out of the ruins of the throne room, with the castle’s stones flying about him like birds of prey awaiting to feed on a carcass. He laughed a deep, roaring scream of pure ecstasy as the entire ground beneath him shook. He looked back at the castle, and smiled.
“Fear not, my lord and lady. I shall return tonight for my final…gift to you.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A woman who had once been crowned “Queen” Shujo was struggling futilely on a wooden table in a dark, airless room. Not a few hours after she and her husband were attacked by the King’s Necromancer, she found herself kidnapped and taken to the dungeons. Next to her on another table, lay what was once a woman. But this woman was different from the screaming, struggling one next to it. No, this woman was a corpse. She wore old, greenish rags that covered her whole body. Her skin was gray with age, and a few worms crawled in and out of freshly made tunnels in her skull. She had pale straw colored hair that draped over the side of the table. And worst of all, she stunk horribly of putrid flesh and rotting skin. Suddenly, the struggling woman chained to the wooden torture table realized who she was looking at: the corpse of the Necromancer’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao. A shadow entered the room from seemingly nowhere. It was clad in a large, robed garment. Timone Kixtav Galliao stepped into the dim lamp light. He was wearing the King’s robe. When Shujo stopped squirming to stare at it, Timone replied, “Oh, he won’t need it anymore, my dearest Queen Shujo. And by the way, what do you think of my new headpiece?” He chuckled as he put a gold object on his head. The King’s crown. Shujo screamed as the dim light caught the gleam of a shiny red liquid on its rim. Timone took a small dagger from the folds of his robes, and held it over the Queen’s head.
“I now sacrifice the body, blood and flesh of Queen Shujo Lomaria III in order to restore the soul of Dollaiya Sewah Galliao! Great God Talawondak, hear me and GIVE ME WHAT I ASK OF YOU!” Timone shouted as he plunged the dagger into the skull of the struggling woman beneath him. She went still instantly. Timone put his fingers to her bloody head and traced them on the face of Dolliaya’s corpse. He started chanting again.
“Almus kegrin segmus opart. Kergum maknar pryfert raog. Helfez tamor kilamju selk. I call forth the soul of Dollaiya Galliao from the realm of souls departed! In exchange, I offer you, the Gods of Nothingworld, the body of a living sacrifice!” Suddenly, the lamps that lit the room exploded with an angry red fire that encircled the tables and the chanting man in the middle of them. An ominous, disembodied voice rippled through the walls as if it came from underwater.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Kixtav Galliao. You truly wish to sacrifice one life so that you may revive another?” It asked.
“Yes, lord Talawondak! Please, restore life to my beloved Dollaiya in exchange for soul that is her very opposite!”
“Very well, Timone Galliao. Your wish shall be granted. But know this. Such a request comes at a price only you can now pay. So let it be willed, so let it be done by order of the Seven Black Gods of Chaos!” The voice shouted in an imperious tone, and suddenly, just like that, the flames died down to pale orange again, and everything went quiet as it was before.
When he stopped chanting, he stared at the women on the tables. They remained still and lifeless. Timone shook.
“N-no. Dollaiya, I couldn’t…no.” He threw the dagger into the shadows of the room, and dropped to his knees in defeat.
“NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He screamed, pounding the concrete floor until his hands bled. Then he heard rustling. At first, he thought it was a rat. But it sounded too big to be a rat. Timone looked up at the tables, and he gasped as his eyes were filled with the image of motion. He shot to his feet to see two figures on the tables, wriggling around. The first was Shujo. She still had the bloody hole in her head. She said nothing but continued to wiggle around, like she was struggling under water. The other was a sight he wanted to hold in his eyes forever. A vibrant, creamy face looked around frantically with fearful blue eyes. Dollaiya had come back to life. Timone began to cry as he touched her warm, rosy cheeks. She looked at him, confused.
“Timone? Sweetheart, where am I?” her voice was like smooth butter and singing cherubs. Timone still couldn’t speak he was filled with such joy. Dollaiya spoke again.
“Timone, dearest, where am I…and why am I strapped down to a—“ she trailed off and started to really squirm.
“Timone! Help me! Am I in the royal dungeons!? What did I do!? I thought I was…” she stopped talking and moving altogether, and just stared at the man untying the straps that bound her to the table. She stood up, and found herself being caressed by a pair of strong arms wrapped in fur. She touched it.
“Timone, darling, are you…are you wearing the King’s royal cloak?” she asked.
“No! It’s my cloak! He’s dead! I killed the King! And his dog of a wife!” Timone yelled triumphantly. Dollaiya turned to see the struggling figure strapped to the table beside them.
“Oh my God! Timone, is that Queen Shujo?” She sounded mortified, but Timone just smiled at her.
“Yes it is, my love! I used my powers of the Necroid Arts to bring you back to life! You did die of that infernal disease, but I released you! You’re free and alive once again! Oh, won’t our little Tamil be so happy to know her mother is alive!”
“I was…dead? And you…brought me back…to life?” She said it slowly, processing each word as she said them.
“Yes! But you are not undead! I sacrificed Queen Shujo’s being so that you could be reanimated as it once was! You are alive and well again!” He sounded so happy Dollaiya couldn’t help but smile faintly.
“Timone, I feel so sleepy. If I’m dreaming, please help me wake up.” She fell neatly into his arms.
“Oh yes! At once! Don’t worry my love! This dream is just about over—“ just then, the doors of the dungeon swung open, and into the room stepped a staggering King Cole, supporting himself with a golden cane inlaid with colored gems as he limped forward.
“You heretic! You fiend! You monster!” he was shouting. Timone frowned.
“Still alive, eh, your majesty? Well, no matter. I’ll fix you right, you son of a—“Timone’s eyes went wide as a terrible sinking feeling gripped his stomach. The King had thrust a sword into his gut. The handle was actually the top half of his cane. Timone felt the cold chill of death’s hands around his throat. He staggered backward against the dungeon wall. The King turned to see a scared Dollaiya and a squirming Shujo. Cole was dumbstruck. He stared at Dollaiya, who returned his gaze with an angry glare.
“Y-you! You died aforeday! Why now do you stand here in my presence, breathing!?” Dollaiya ignored him and rushed to Timone’s body.
“Do not worry, my love. It is but a small wound. I will return for you and Tamil. I promise. Now go!” He pointed to the door.
“But my love, I can’t just-“
“You must flee if you are to survive this day!” He grasped Dollaiya’s warm hands with his clammy, cold ones.
“If you will wait 3 days for me, I will return when the moon is painted red. Then we the three of us can flee together.” With that, Dollaiya kissed her dying husband goodbye, and ran from the dungeon. But as she did, she heard the king scream.
“Vile creature of sinful creation! You will not escape here alive!” The king grabbed the ceremonial dagger Timone had thrown and hurled it at the fleeing woman. It hit her square in the back. At first, Dollaiya was sure she was just killed again. But she didn’t drop to the ground, nor cry out in pain. She just kept on running, leaving the dying King flabbergasted and confused, watching a trail of dark blood follow closely behind her. When everything was over, the King glanced at his wife, whom he had slain with his sword, her throat cut. He looked at Timone, who was breathing in shallow, croaking whispers,
“You may have killed us, Timone the Necroid Artsman, but I will not die until I see your wretched corpse buried alive!”
The following day, King Cole had his last followers who hadn’t fled the castle bury Timone Galliao in their garden. Instantly, as the last of the dirt was applied to his grave, the surrounding plant life, down to the last weed and insect on it, withered and turned to dead, brown husks. The King of Britain died that day after a triumphant last meal. He had ordered his men to seek out Timone’s family and have them defiled and killed, but unbeknownst to the now deceased ruler, his “scoutingmen” never returned.
Later, on the third night of Timone’s silent gravesight, where not but a single stick shoved into the ground marked his lonely resting place, his mound began to quake and quiver. The moon was high and bulbous in a dark night sky, and had the deepest blood red hue to it. The earth that made up Timone’s grave shook violently, and from its depths, as the grave soil was parted, a decaying hand with a gold encrusted ring on its left ring finger, popped through the dirt, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.
Old King Cole was a bitter old soul, and a bitter old soul was he;
He thought he was great but yet he couldn’t wait
To have his hooks set in his prey
Then a man came forth with a vengeance, and a terrible vengeance it was indeed;
Through sinful magic and betrayal of the soul
King Cole died of misery
He called for his pipe in the middle of the night
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler had a fine fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there's none so rare as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.
“Please, sire! Please allow me to do it!” The man begged. He was dressed in a bland, white robe with tears and rips in it. He had a shock of grayish red hair, not natural for a 32 year old man. He wore a necklace made of silver, emblazoned with some sort of insignia the King never bothered the question. The thing is, Timone was a necromancer, or as the King called him, a “Necroid Artsman”. King Cole Sanders was always a blithe, yet somewhat belligerent ruler of Britain. He allowed his desires to get the best of him and he often made the mistake of judging people before he knew them. Timone, who was once a commoner, knew the King’s faults better than he knew his own, and lived every day in fear of what he would do to him if he fell out of line.
“Rise, Timone. You forget, you are no longer a common beggar in my kingdom.”
“Then sire, please! I beseech your lordship! Please allow me to conduct the sacred ritual that will bring—“
“Enough, Timone!” The King roared in retort. Timone fell silent, boiling with anger and the last bit of words teetering on his tongue.
“It is a pity that you wife took ill and died, but I will not have your personal emotions cloud your judgment. Have you done what I’ve asked of you?” King Cole asked, stroking his furry graying beard. In his days of youth, King Cole had been an ambitious young suitor who loved horseback riding and lounging in the courtyard. But when the late King Isnaac and Queen Bardella died, he became bitter and arrogant, and for these traits, Timone hated him.
Recently, Timone’s dearest wife, Dollaiya, died from a strange and incurable disease. Timone’s distraught had no effect on the tactless ruler, and thus, drove Timone to hate him more. A feminine voice spoke.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Galliao, are you not satisfied with what his majesty has provided you?” Timone looked up in surprise at a pale, mocking face that taunted him with the slightest flick of the eyebrow. Queen Shujo, Cole’s wife. She was pale as the moon and just as shallow. She shared all of Cole’s traits, if not more in depth. She was known for her haughty attitude, though she as only of partial royal blood, for her father had married a commoner. Timone stared helplessly at the pale face that he knew could not stand the sight of him. Timone knew Her Heinous despised what he did for a living, and sought to torment him verbally every time they shared the same space.
“N-no, your Grace. I am quite satisfied with—“
“Then why do you continue to chirp so?" She sighed, pushign her hair nonchalantly behind her ear. "Let your new life remind you of how much my husband has done for you. I suppose you’ll be expecting to wear the crown next.” She laughed a hoarse, cackling jaunt that made Timone’s hackles stand on end. He could feel his ears swell with boiling blood. He fought to keep himself from shouting at her in retort.
“Absolutely not, your Grace. I never intended to take the crown. That is an honor best reserved for his majesty, King Cole.” Queen Shujo clapped her hands twice, and two maids clad in white rags ran out to her. One had a large, white feather-crafted fan, and the other got down on her hands and knees before the Queen. She brought her feet up and rested them on the maid’s back. Both girls had dirty faces and short, raven dark hair. They both couldn’t have been older than 12 or 13 years of age. Timone’s heart was on fire with rage now. A ball of something ahrd and choking caught in his throat.
“Well, good. You’ve seen the error of your chirping. Now, away with you, Galliao. Return to your corpse herding. We have a land to rule and you’re interfering with my stream of thinking.” The Queen flicked her wrist at the shaking man 2 yards from the throne, a rude gesture he knew well that meant ‘get out of my sight’.
“Y-yes your Graces. I will take my leave, now.” With a bow, Timone stood and left. As he reached the door, his exulted one’s voice grated on his ears jubilantly.
“Oh, Timone! I have good news! I took your sorrow for your wife’s death into consideration! And after much thought, I’ve decided to have my sages take a look at your wife’s body. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not. How does that sound?”
Timone spun around so quickly he nearly tripped.
“Oh, thank you, your Majesty! Thank you so much! The Gods themselves will sing of your generosity for all eternity!” He returned to his knees and bowed repeatedly. When he looked up, he saw King Cole nodding his head in approval, reveling in hearing how great he was from what he saw to be a lesser man.
“Very good. You may go.” With that, Timone opened the huge wooden mahogany edifice and returned to his village.
It wasn’t that he was dissatisfied with the King’s words. A small ray of hope shone in his heart. Then he remembered what he had actually said, and the light turned to bitter darkness once again. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not.
“Worth bringing back!? That scoundrel! That dung devourer! That slimy, no good, arrogant child of a sorry excuse for a ruler! He’s the one that deserves to be judged! He should be the one to give his life for my wife’s, whose done nothing but help make the kingdom a better place to live, even for that odious bastard!”
Timone’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao, was the architect for the King’s palace and many of the villages geographical additions, such as the Dollaiyan Wall, and the Galliaoan Bridge, and the personal advisor of the King himself. Though a peasant, she was revered for her tender yet firm courage when dealing with the King’s ludicrous tirades about how this beam was too slanted or that stool leg was too short. Everything Dollaiya did she did for the good of her country and her King. It stands to reason that she should be brought back. Timone could do it. He had successfully revived a chipmunk, a rabbit, a crow, and even a baby. Being the village’s shaman was no simple task, but he was not feared for his work. Timone recalled a time when a little girl in the village with whom his daughter played, Gwena, had come to him with her dead kitten. After only two hours of his toilsome work with the dead, he successfully managed to bring back the purring ball of fuzz. The King’s so-called “sages” however, used blood sacrifices and live specimens to conduct forbidden alchemy, a science Timone knew much of but practiced very little. Of course, they were also powerful, so they were feared more than respected. Timone kicked in the door of a small, straw hut on the edge of the castle’s boundaries. Here, he could easily access the village’s stores and villas without having to travel too far. A small child of nearly 9 was sitting at the table, sketching on what looked like a wanted poster of a mustachioed brute. Timone kissed her one the head, and she turned and yelled, “Papa! How did it go?” She hugged him before he could climb the ladder to his makeshift second floor.
“His royal Ass said he would have his sages examine mommy.”
“Ohh. Can they really bring Mommy back to life, Papa?” She asked, wide-eyed.
“No, sweet Tamil. But your Papa can. And she won’t become a mindless husk like those awful sage bastards make. No, when I get the right ingredients, Mommy will be right back in bed with us like the days of past.”
“Yaaayy! Mommy’s coming back! Mommy’s coming back!” she chanted, dancing around the house. Timone smiled, and climbed the ladder to his attic to think.
Timone Galliao awoke in the middle of the night with a start. He had had a strange and gut-wrenching vision of his future. He was to become immortal, but in return, he must die a horrible death at the hands of a demon in the guise of a human. He was to be killed because he murdered the demon’s mate as an act of revenge, and he suffered for it. He sat up in bed, sweating profusely. He rubbed his eyes, got out of bed, and ran outside. He stared out at the starry night sky, which was now devoid of clouds, and saw to him what must have been a frightening image in the star’s patterns. He saw a man and two women. Both women were dead and the man was killing himself. Timone struggled to keep himself from collapsing. He clutched his chest as a dark, smoky mist consumed his entire being. He cried out for a moment, and then slumped to the ground in a heap. When he picked up his head, his eyes had black markings lining them, like inky black thorns tattooed under his eyes for a festival. But these were no ordinary markings. They were alive! They pulsed and beat, and with every beat, Timone could feel his body swell with energy from another dimension. He now had the resolve he’d been waiting for. He knew that what he was about to do would make his life better, and the King and Queen’s not so much. Timone Kixtav Galliao had the motivation he needed…to kill the King and Queen of Britain, and sacrifice their souls on his Altar in order to bring his beloved Dollaiya back from the grave.
It was early morning, and the sun had barely risen. Timone kissed Tamil on the head as she cuddled her doll tightly in her sleeping arms, and set off towards the King’s palace for the last time.
His majesty was seated on the throne as usual, sipping at a huge golden goblet while one of the raggedy maid girls he saw the day before sat to his left, waiting patiently for his next order. There was a look of fearfulness in her eyes that Timone loathed. He kicked the doors open and stalked down the red and golden trim silk carpet. Today, King Cole had his Royal Guard lined up on either side of the carpet. But Timone was somehow unafraid. Each man was clad in a clunky metal armor ensemble, complete with either a sword or a crossbow. Timone’s usual timid nature had bubbled to the surface as a headstrong, raving mad savior. He felt that he was losing control of himself, but at the same time, the new energy that coursed through him propelled him forward. As he neared the King’s throne, on of the more elite guards stepped out from the ranks and blocked his path. With one swift motion, Timone thrust his hand sideways, and the guard was sent skittering noisily across the marble floors until he collided with the stone wall, leaving chunks of stone as he fell still. As he continued to walk forward, he could hear the clunking of angry armor behind him. He saw the King had his hand held up.
“It’s alright! Timone Galliao, what is the meaning of this outburst of rudeness?” He asked it in a calm and calculating voice. He had the tiniest of smiles on his lips, as if he had already won. When Timone was almost a yard away from the King, Cole reached for the maid girl to his right and motioned for her to come around to the front of the throne. He grabbed her head and shoved in between his legs. Of course, she resisted.
“You dare defy my orders, you wretched piece of—“ the King’s words were cut short by a pair of doors on the far end of the room swinging open. Into the room stepped the Queen. She glided smoothly over to her throne, almost with a sense of anticipation. The fact that Timone was being scolded by her husband was like watching a move in a theatre for her. She sat neatly in her seat, and glanced at Cole and the girl. She sighed.
“Oh, Cole dearest. You know how I feel about that.”
“Timone said it would relieve me of an itch I had.” Cole replied smoothly, every muscle in his body relaxed as can be.
“Oh, did he now? Timone Galliao, I had no idea you could be such a lecherous man! And your wife’s passing was such a short time ago. What has it been, three, four days now? If you wish to bed with one of our serving girls, all you need do is ask.”
Timone broke into a run and grabbed the girl by her shoulders, and threw her to the ground. When she got up, Timone eyed the second girl, who was already at work fanning the Queen. He pointed at her.
“Get out of here, girl! Get out and never return! Go someplace far away from here and never think of it again! Go now!” The girls did not hesitate. The girl he threw to the ground tossed him a small object and, as the other girl ran past her, clasped hands and began running down the aisle of armored demons. Instantly, before they could start at the runway to freedom, the first 6 knights pointed blade and bow at them. Timone glanced at the thing in his hand. A gold encrusted ring with fine jewels set into it. She must have foisted it from them at some point. He then turned to look at an angry yet cocky King and Queen.
“What do you think you’re doing, Timone the Necroid Artsman!? What is the meaning of this betrayal!?” He stood up, and motioned with his two fingers at the girls. He saw the armored guards stand aside as two men garbed in emerald cloaks trimmed with gold silk block the path. Timone ran to the girls and wrapped his arms around them. He looked at the King, their eyes meeting for the first time. At that moment, Timone saw everything: Wrath, egoism, love, envy, lust, gluttony, and indolence. Timone saw that the King’s seven sins burned brightly like a candle in pitch darkness, illuminating his entire being. The King was nothing but a mass of pure evil. Something inside Timone seemed to snap. Timone returned the King’s victorious glare with a frightening stare of his own: a look of haunting malice and ominous sense of victory. Timone was smiling a full-toothed sneer of the utmost hideousness. He had the girls’ eyes covered with one arm, and with the other, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial that contained a putrid looking dark green liquid. He raised it above his head for all to see. He flashed it at the knights and yelled, “You sinful cretins even think about such a thing, and your skin will melt from your bones! Your organs will shrivel and be eaten alive by creatures of the Nothingworld! Your souls will be raped and killed for all eternity in a fiery pit of the Devil’s piss! Now flee you mortal fools! I have achieved an immortality that not even your beloved “King” could ever hope to achieve! With this elixir I have created, I will gain the powers of God himself! No kingdom sage nor man alive can stop me! AHAHAHAHAHA!” Timone ended his diatribe with a bone-chilling cackle that literally shook the castle walls. The armored knights and sages alike threw down their weapons and ran for the door, screaming, as a rain of shattering glass from the windows above pelted them. Some of them did not make it, and were impaled by the bigger shards. Once they had all gone, Timone released the two girls, whom now he presumed were sisters, and looked them in the eye. They were both terrified, he could tell. He wiped their tears with a scarred hand and rubbed their heads.
“I am no longer human. But, that doesn’t mean you’re not human, either. Live a long and happy life with each other, grow old with dozens of children, and perish in your warm beds with a smile on your faces.” He kissed their foreheads, and gave them a gentle pat on the back as they sprinted for the door, looking back at him as they did. Once they were out of sight, Timone turned his gaze back to the now cowering King and Queen, who were both laying on the floor near their thrones, shivering and spouting nonsensical prayers. Timone felt like a God as he picked up the King by his gold-encrusted lapel. He brought the King’s face to his.
“Your pitiful sages have no power, Cole!” he shrieked. The King was bawling, as tears and snot dripped from his eyes and nose.
“Look at yourself, Cole. You are not at all the man you thought you were. Your men have abandoned you. You wife does not support you. You have no respect for hard working citizens!” He let go of the King, only to shove his fist into his royal gut. The King coughed and sputtered awkwardly, and then vomited all over his throne. The Queen was busy screaming in prayers. Timone turned on her and the King fell over, shaking. He grabbed the Queen by her shoulders and sat her upright. He held her gaze.
“Unlike your pig of a husband, I would never strike a woman, Shujo. And I do not chirp, either. Every time you open your mouth, you chirp. You seemed to always enjoy my misery and suffering. Well, how do you like being the miserable, suffering one!? EH!?” When she couldn’t bare it anymore, she fainted. He let her go roughly, turned around, and walked towards the exit. As he did, he raised his arms over his head and started chanting. Suddenly, stones from the castle walls were ripped from their places and thrown about the room, striking expensive portraits, vases, and anything else that was valuable. He eyed the door before him, and thrust both hands forward in a pushing motion, and instantly, the huge doors were blasted away from him. He walked out of the ruins of the throne room, with the castle’s stones flying about him like birds of prey awaiting to feed on a carcass. He laughed a deep, roaring scream of pure ecstasy as the entire ground beneath him shook. He looked back at the castle, and smiled.
“Fear not, my lord and lady. I shall return tonight for my final…gift to you.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A woman who had once been crowned “Queen” Shujo was struggling futilely on a wooden table in a dark, airless room. Not a few hours after she and her husband were attacked by the King’s Necromancer, she found herself kidnapped and taken to the dungeons. Next to her on another table, lay what was once a woman. But this woman was different from the screaming, struggling one next to it. No, this woman was a corpse. She wore old, greenish rags that covered her whole body. Her skin was gray with age, and a few worms crawled in and out of freshly made tunnels in her skull. She had pale straw colored hair that draped over the side of the table. And worst of all, she stunk horribly of putrid flesh and rotting skin. Suddenly, the struggling woman chained to the wooden torture table realized who she was looking at: the corpse of the Necromancer’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao. A shadow entered the room from seemingly nowhere. It was clad in a large, robed garment. Timone Kixtav Galliao stepped into the dim lamp light. He was wearing the King’s robe. When Shujo stopped squirming to stare at it, Timone replied, “Oh, he won’t need it anymore, my dearest Queen Shujo. And by the way, what do you think of my new headpiece?” He chuckled as he put a gold object on his head. The King’s crown. Shujo screamed as the dim light caught the gleam of a shiny red liquid on its rim. Timone took a small dagger from the folds of his robes, and held it over the Queen’s head.
“I now sacrifice the body, blood and flesh of Queen Shujo Lomaria III in order to restore the soul of Dollaiya Sewah Galliao! Great God Talawondak, hear me and GIVE ME WHAT I ASK OF YOU!” Timone shouted as he plunged the dagger into the skull of the struggling woman beneath him. She went still instantly. Timone put his fingers to her bloody head and traced them on the face of Dolliaya’s corpse. He started chanting again.
“Almus kegrin segmus opart. Kergum maknar pryfert raog. Helfez tamor kilamju selk. I call forth the soul of Dollaiya Galliao from the realm of souls departed! In exchange, I offer you, the Gods of Nothingworld, the body of a living sacrifice!” Suddenly, the lamps that lit the room exploded with an angry red fire that encircled the tables and the chanting man in the middle of them. An ominous, disembodied voice rippled through the walls as if it came from underwater.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Kixtav Galliao. You truly wish to sacrifice one life so that you may revive another?” It asked.
“Yes, lord Talawondak! Please, restore life to my beloved Dollaiya in exchange for soul that is her very opposite!”
“Very well, Timone Galliao. Your wish shall be granted. But know this. Such a request comes at a price only you can now pay. So let it be willed, so let it be done by order of the Seven Black Gods of Chaos!” The voice shouted in an imperious tone, and suddenly, just like that, the flames died down to pale orange again, and everything went quiet as it was before.
When he stopped chanting, he stared at the women on the tables. They remained still and lifeless. Timone shook.
“N-no. Dollaiya, I couldn’t…no.” He threw the dagger into the shadows of the room, and dropped to his knees in defeat.
“NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He screamed, pounding the concrete floor until his hands bled. Then he heard rustling. At first, he thought it was a rat. But it sounded too big to be a rat. Timone looked up at the tables, and he gasped as his eyes were filled with the image of motion. He shot to his feet to see two figures on the tables, wriggling around. The first was Shujo. She still had the bloody hole in her head. She said nothing but continued to wiggle around, like she was struggling under water. The other was a sight he wanted to hold in his eyes forever. A vibrant, creamy face looked around frantically with fearful blue eyes. Dollaiya had come back to life. Timone began to cry as he touched her warm, rosy cheeks. She looked at him, confused.
“Timone? Sweetheart, where am I?” her voice was like smooth butter and singing cherubs. Timone still couldn’t speak he was filled with such joy. Dollaiya spoke again.
“Timone, dearest, where am I…and why am I strapped down to a—“ she trailed off and started to really squirm.
“Timone! Help me! Am I in the royal dungeons!? What did I do!? I thought I was…” she stopped talking and moving altogether, and just stared at the man untying the straps that bound her to the table. She stood up, and found herself being caressed by a pair of strong arms wrapped in fur. She touched it.
“Timone, darling, are you…are you wearing the King’s royal cloak?” she asked.
“No! It’s my cloak! He’s dead! I killed the King! And his dog of a wife!” Timone yelled triumphantly. Dollaiya turned to see the struggling figure strapped to the table beside them.
“Oh my God! Timone, is that Queen Shujo?” She sounded mortified, but Timone just smiled at her.
“Yes it is, my love! I used my powers of the Necroid Arts to bring you back to life! You did die of that infernal disease, but I released you! You’re free and alive once again! Oh, won’t our little Tamil be so happy to know her mother is alive!”
“I was…dead? And you…brought me back…to life?” She said it slowly, processing each word as she said them.
“Yes! But you are not undead! I sacrificed Queen Shujo’s being so that you could be reanimated as it once was! You are alive and well again!” He sounded so happy Dollaiya couldn’t help but smile faintly.
“Timone, I feel so sleepy. If I’m dreaming, please help me wake up.” She fell neatly into his arms.
“Oh yes! At once! Don’t worry my love! This dream is just about over—“ just then, the doors of the dungeon swung open, and into the room stepped a staggering King Cole, supporting himself with a golden cane inlaid with colored gems as he limped forward.
“You heretic! You fiend! You monster!” he was shouting. Timone frowned.
“Still alive, eh, your majesty? Well, no matter. I’ll fix you right, you son of a—“Timone’s eyes went wide as a terrible sinking feeling gripped his stomach. The King had thrust a sword into his gut. The handle was actually the top half of his cane. Timone felt the cold chill of death’s hands around his throat. He staggered backward against the dungeon wall. The King turned to see a scared Dollaiya and a squirming Shujo. Cole was dumbstruck. He stared at Dollaiya, who returned his gaze with an angry glare.
“Y-you! You died aforeday! Why now do you stand here in my presence, breathing!?” Dollaiya ignored him and rushed to Timone’s body.
“Do not worry, my love. It is but a small wound. I will return for you and Tamil. I promise. Now go!” He pointed to the door.
“But my love, I can’t just-“
“You must flee if you are to survive this day!” He grasped Dollaiya’s warm hands with his clammy, cold ones.
“If you will wait 3 days for me, I will return when the moon is painted red. Then we the three of us can flee together.” With that, Dollaiya kissed her dying husband goodbye, and ran from the dungeon. But as she did, she heard the king scream.
“Vile creature of sinful creation! You will not escape here alive!” The king grabbed the ceremonial dagger Timone had thrown and hurled it at the fleeing woman. It hit her square in the back. At first, Dollaiya was sure she was just killed again. But she didn’t drop to the ground, nor cry out in pain. She just kept on running, leaving the dying King flabbergasted and confused, watching a trail of dark blood follow closely behind her. When everything was over, the King glanced at his wife, whom he had slain with his sword, her throat cut. He looked at Timone, who was breathing in shallow, croaking whispers,
“You may have killed us, Timone the Necroid Artsman, but I will not die until I see your wretched corpse buried alive!”
The following day, King Cole had his last followers who hadn’t fled the castle bury Timone Galliao in their garden. Instantly, as the last of the dirt was applied to his grave, the surrounding plant life, down to the last weed and insect on it, withered and turned to dead, brown husks. The King of Britain died that day after a triumphant last meal. He had ordered his men to seek out Timone’s family and have them defiled and killed, but unbeknownst to the now deceased ruler, his “scoutingmen” never returned.
Later, on the third night of Timone’s silent gravesight, where not but a single stick shoved into the ground marked his lonely resting place, his mound began to quake and quiver. The moon was high and bulbous in a dark night sky, and had the deepest blood red hue to it. The earth that made up Timone’s grave shook violently, and from its depths, as the grave soil was parted, a decaying hand with a gold encrusted ring on its left ring finger, popped through the dirt, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.
Old King Cole was a bitter old soul, and a bitter old soul was he;
He thought he was great but yet he couldn’t wait
To have his hooks set in his prey
Then a man came forth with a vengeance, and a terrible vengeance it was indeed;
Through sinful magic and betrayal of the soul
King Cole died of misery
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Narrative #1: A Day in the Life of Post-Armageddon
“I’d be willing to bet that just about everybody on earth thought they could handle a zombie apocalypse.” I said to Amy, trying to lighten the mood. I had just emptied a clip from a V2-208 Scorpion into the skull of a Rabid Hunter, so we were both covered in blood. But Rabid Hunters are just a mutated strain from the original virus that wiped out all of Manhattan, and then the rest of the world. I know, I know, a zombie apocalypse sounds corny and overused, right? Well, it happened. Amy kicked me with her foot.
“And look how they ended up.” She replied grimly. She was fiddling with her Bluetail V8 Shotgun, probably trying to fix the reloading mechanism. It was always jamming up on her.
We had our backs to an old Chevy, probably once black in color, but the corrosive winds ate away at the paint until it was bleak and grey and rusty. That’s pretty much what happened to the rest of the world, too. Bleak, gray, ugly, and every day is filled with fear. My name is Kirk Mercy. I’m 17 years old, and I’m pretty tall for my age. The pretty bombshell model of a babe sitting next to me is my girlfriend. The thing is, we met under extremely crazy (and now extremely hilarious) circumstances. I was running from, wouldn’t you know it, a Runner, trying desperately to reload my Falcon-C14 handgun, but the damn thing was jamming up on me. Just when it was about to pounce, a slender shadow dropped down from nowhere and mounted the skinny, rotting monstrosity on my tail. In seconds, the poor creature was choked to death in between a pair of strong, athletic track legs. Before I could raise my gun, a huge shotgun was pointed at my head. She said her name was Amy Uderland. Sounded German to me. Or Russian. Well, long story short, I made nice, and after spending a lot of quality time together. Now we are inseparable, but she still wears the pants most of the time. I don’t mind.
“Did you hear what I said, Mercy?” She shouted, shaking me out of my reverie.
“Huh? What? Did you see something?” I felt so flustered.
“Not really. Just don’t go coppin’ out on me when the s**t hits the fan…for the millionth time.”
“Alright, alright. I’m awake and alert and—“
“Hungry?” She asked, revealing a small candy bar. She has this hard, ‘I can do it myself without your help, bub’ type facial expression. But no matter how much she scowled at me, I always thought she was adorable. When I told her, I was punished with a broken pinky. She really is a sweet girl, but it takes a while to dig through the layers of ice and concrete to get there. She has medium length dirty blond hair with streaks of natural brown in it. She has bright, piercing green eyes, and she likes to wear skimpy clothing. “It’s so I don’t trip and fall and die of idiocy.” She told me when she walked out from behind the car in a tube top and cut-off shorts.
“I swear to God, Mercy! Pay attention!” she yelled, decking me. Wish I was paying attention now.
“Oww! What now?” I said, rubbing my cheek. She had this neat habit of talking to me with her eyes. I couldn’t do it as well as she did, but I always knew what she was saying. She was looking past my shoulders at an old Barns&Burgers Restaurant. From out of the dusty newspapers flittering aimlessly in the gritty winds, I could see slow moving figures hobbling towards us. The always hobble first, but they do run...fast. I reached behind my back and pulled out my favorite gun in the whole universe: an old fashioned bolt-action Winston&Hawk rifle that I painted yellow…you know…so I could see it better.
“How many are there, Cap’n?” I asked, flashing a smile. She pinched my butt and rested her gun on my shoulder.
“Always too damn many.”
“Sooo…you take that side and I take this side?” I asked.
“Shut up and hold still! I can’t aim with you movin’ around alla time.” She rested a semi-automatic Octopus SV-34 with an extended barrel on my right shoulder. I always loved that thing. So long and smooth, yet so quiet like a whisper. She even had her favorite silencer on. Hell, she even painted skulls all over it. SPLAT! A zombie’s head about 10 feet away from us disappeared. I must confess: spending time in this world has made me just a little sadistic. I love watching a zombie’s head explode when a high-caliber bullet punctures their dead flesh. It’s so awesome! I could feel the gentle jump of the gun against my shoulder as she squeezed the trigger once per second, aiming carefully. SPLAT SPLAT SPLISH went their dead little heads. When all was said and done, we were staring at a pile of meaty flesh. I looked at her. A sheen of sweat from the adrenaline rolled down from her forehead. She looked like a modern day valkyrie goddess of death or something. I was just about to kiss her when the whole ground shook like crazy. Usually when it does that, it’s probably a hulker. Hulker’s used to be wrestlers and fat people. They aren’t fast, but their not stupid. And that’s the problem. They work is teams of 3 or 4, and when one starts shaking things up, it means that A) They know we’re here and B) They’re cooperating to lure us into a trap and then…you know, do zombie stuff to us. Amy cocked the gun, knocked out the magazine, and punched in a new one. Click, slick, chonk. That’s all it took for her. Me, I like smaller guns. I don’t know how she manages all that heavy artillery, but I’ve never bothered to ask (Cuz’ if I did, I’d probably lose some teeth). As we ran, hand in hand, the shaking got harder and louder. Usually, if you can’t see what you’re afraid of, then you’re more likely to get eaten. We turned a corner and saw an old abandoned Walmart.
“Aww! I could sooo go for a twinkie right about now!” I laughed as we bolted past a group of deadies and into the parking lot. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about living in this dead world, you can’t just…walk into any deserted space indoors and make yourself at home. Amy must’ve read my mind again, because she picked up what looked like a leather dress shoe, and chucked it at an unsteady pile of canned food. The pile toppled to the floor in a loud thudding noise, and instantly, like a bell that tolls for a hungry dog, three bloody, undead dummies came charging at us from pretty much nowhere. It’s actually freaky to look at em’ up close. Ever seen a good zombie flick, where their faces are half eaten so you can see the teeth in their jaw, or their skulls eaten off so you can see their blackened brain entrails? Some of em’ even lack the decency to wear clothes or at least eat properly, so sometimes there’s the occasional naked zombie babe running at me, or a dead football jock charging my girlfriend. Before a word was exchanged, I whipped out my Falcon and squeezed the trigger neatly 3 times. Bam, bam, bam! They each sported a new, bloody hole in their foreheads as they hit the ground running. Behind me, I could here the screaming of what must have been a Rooker Daniels Navy issue magnum. KA-BLAM! It was so freaking loud, but she managed to put a hole in almost 5 of the zom-boobs that were chasing us. In the distance, a tall, black, SUV-sized man creature slowly hobbled from the shadows of dusk. Amy shoved past me, grabbed my hand as if on reflex, and lead us into the store, where we immediately slammed both shop doors behind us. Thankfully, the handle on the inside were those old fashioned square shaped ones. Amy grabbed an armful of skis and stuffed them through the handles. We then threw ourselves behind the check-out counter, and waited. The sign hanging above our heads that said “Check out here” was half doused in dried blood and guts.
“Oh, how lovely.” Amy said, grimacing at it.
“Shya, no kiddin’”.
“I swear to God, if that big brute of a zombie comes through that door…” she trailed off and angrily took an RPG-7 from her back strap and propped it up against the counter next to her. I forgot she had that thing back there.
“He’ll wish he hadn’t?” I asked, snickering. Amy just hmphed and turned away. Amy wasn’t always like this. I used to go to school with her. She was kind of a geek, but she was sweet to me nonetheless. She was quiet and unattentive and nobody really knew she existed. She didn’t go to prom or school parties and avoided everyone who looked at her. She wore goth-y clothes and had weird peircings. She probably listened to scream-o music and cut herself at home. She may have been a little shy, but she had the most rockin’ body I’ve ever seen, and I fell in love with her when she punched out Elizabeth Serzi, the most popular (and we all new why) girl in school. Oh man, was that high-octane orgasm fuel! After that, her reputation blossomed, but she didn’t care much for people. Well, after the whole zombie fiasco totally crushed Manhattan, we ran into each other. She was crying and covered in blood, telling me her parents just tried to kill her. I knew exactly why. I felt terrible, of course, cuz’ my parents suffered the same fate. Walter and Whitney Mercy were eaten alive by our jerk-off neighbor Burney Bronzstein. Who woulda thunk it? I put a hand on her shoulder, gently massaging it. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I could tell she was smiling. I smiled, too. It’s times like these I wish we could just go back in time, so I could court her like a real man, without the incentive from a post-Armageddon world. The loud shaking of the hulker’s footsteps grew louder and louder, and then, just like that, it stopped.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
“Shh. I think it’s still looking for us.” She said, propping her weapon up on the counter. Then, without warning, we heard a loud KA-BOOM! But Amy didn’t fire the RPG. No, it came from outside. Fire and shrapnel blasted through the windows. We both looked at each other was we heard cheering and laughter. It sounded like an audience to a comedy show. Canned, but real enough for us. We looked at each other with looks of surprise and confusion.
“Amy…what is that noise?”
“Other people, genius. Clearly we’re not the Adam and Eve of hell on earth yet.”
“Should we change that?” I asked, gesturing with my gun. She gave me an evil smile.
“Maybe. C’mon. Let’s go see if they’re friend—“ the doors exploding from their hinges drowned out Amy’s voice. My ears were ringing. The flood of voices came pouring into the room. Amy was obviously paying attention, and quickly grabbed the intercom thingy from the floor.
“Attention shoppers. This is the manager speaking. I can see you. All of you.” She said into it in a deep, manly tone. Her voice echoed throughout the store clearly and loudly. I felt so happy to know she had such a talent. The voices quieted down and a man’s voice spoke up.
“Oh yeah? Well, come on out and we promise we won’t hurt ya.”
“Let me see your hands.” Amy replied firmly. There was a clinking and rustling of metal. We exchanged glances and she knew they were armed to the teeth. Amy dropped the intercom and stood up, RPG poised and ready.
“Freeze, jackholes!” She screamed. I flinched, and stood up with her, Falcon aimed and ready, too. There were at least 12 of them, most of them probably middle class working fathers, complete with torn suits and missing ties. They looked disheveled, and their hair was greasy and unkempt. Bottom line: They all looked like Hell. The guy in the red suit with a black “A” painted on it, looked surprised.
“Holy Mary Mother o’ Jesus! What in God’s name is you doin’ widdat!?: He had a Southern drawl that slurred most of his English, but I could tell he was genuinely crapping himself right about now.
“Keeping you from shooting at us!” She yelled, hopping over the counter. She stayed at least 8 feet from the leader, rocket launcher pointed straight at the floor in the middle of everyone.
“Okay, fellas. Nobody has to die today. Not when all we got is each other. So why don’t you guys just take what ya’ll need from the aisles, and leave.” I said, mimicking his accent, thinking I might get across. I think it worked.
“Hey, now! There ain’t no need fer violence. We jus’ noticed ya’ll runnin’ in here from—“
“Yonder frickin’ window? Pfft, can it, buddy! We don’t trust you as far as we can throw you, which is too bad for you, cuz’ I can blast you farther than both.” She said, gesturing with the RPG again.
“Alright, calm down Miss Uderland. I thought all those years in my classes taught you respect for at least something.” A kinder voice said. A taller man in a cream-colored suit and a red tie stepped out from the crowd. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a cigarette in his mouth. I was this close to killing him for that cigarette.
“Mr. Trattermayn? You’re still alive?” Amy exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
“’Course. I’m a survivor, just like you. Mercy, nice to see you again.”
“Same, Mr. T. So, is this Southern guy here really yer leader?” I asked, scratching my head.
“No. I am. Raymond’s the lieutenant, if you want to get technical.”
“Great. Now get yer s**t and get out. We got here first.” Amy said venomously, re-strapping the RPG to her back. Quick as lightning, she drew out the Octopus and pointed it at the crowd, like a cop movie or something.
“Easy, Miss Uderland. We came here to help you with the hulker.”
“Well, you did what you had to do and for that we’re both grateful, now either get out or I’ll—“ I put a hand on her shoulder.
“What she means is ‘thank you’ and ‘would you like to stay for dinner’?” Mr. T looked at his men, and then back at us, considering his situation.
“You sure you don’t mind?” He asked. Mr. Craig Sterling Trattermayn, married 34 years and going, had 3 kids and a hot wife. From the faraway look in his eye, I’d say he was only Trattermayn family member left alive. He had short, buzzed brown hair. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and he had a little stubble on his chin. He had deep, brownish green eyes and had a generally mild attitude and an overall sense of zen. He the won the Teacher-of-the-Year Award 11 years in a row. We always knew he was in the marines and the air force after his father, and took martial arts at the dojo a few minutes away from mine. All in all, he was a good guy. He scratched his chin fuzz and looked from me to Amy. He smiled a sheepish smirk.
“Ohh, I see. Well, maybe we should just be on our way, eh gentlemen?” He motioned with his arm to follow him as he and his crew walked out of the destroyed doors. Suddenly, we heard a loud, screech, and turned to see a zombie charging straight at Amy. I spun around so fast the gun flew from my hand and clanked against the counter top. I was about to tackle her and sacrifice myself for her when I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a certain Bluetail shotgun going off. I looked up from holding Amy to see a headless zombie corpse fly head first into the cash register. We turned to see Mr. T with his back to us still, Amy’s shotgun pointed over his shoulder. From the angle I was at, I could tell he was smiling triumphantly. He set the gun on the counter, brushing aside his kill like a paper towel.
“It shouldn’t jam any more, Miss Uderland. Take care, both of you. And if you need us, I put a short-wave radio on the counter so you can reach us. The frequency is—“
“Four two three eight eight! I know!” Amy shrieked. “It’s the same damn one you used to rat me out when I was smoking under the bleachers in 9th grade. Now get the hell outta my store before I blow you all to hell!” She was screaming now, probably because she was embarrassed to have to be saved by a teacher she hates and respects. As the last of the men left, Amy immediately ran and closed the doors. They shut 93% of the way. Amy looked around and spotted a stack of bicycles.
“Help me with this, Mercy.” She said, dragging bike after bike up against the door. By the time we were done, we had 20 odd bikes blocking the front entrance.
“Freakin Bastille now, baby!” I said, putting up my hand for a high-five. Instead she grabbed my arm, craned her neck, and kissed me on the mouth.
“It better be. I don’t need everybody trying to save helpless, innocent lil’ ol’ me.”
“Innocent maybe, but helpless? I don’t think so.” She sighed and kissed me again, this time a little longer.
“Dya’ think this place sells mattresses?” I asked, holding her hand.
“Probably. Why?” I flashed a devilish grin.
“Well, it’s been a long day…and I’m tired…and I could really use another one of your special…massages.” She pinched the back of my leg and ran off ahead of me. I laughed and followed her. In this zombie, post-Hell world, all we need to survive is a decent firearm, a spare magazine, and a condom…just in case.
“And look how they ended up.” She replied grimly. She was fiddling with her Bluetail V8 Shotgun, probably trying to fix the reloading mechanism. It was always jamming up on her.
We had our backs to an old Chevy, probably once black in color, but the corrosive winds ate away at the paint until it was bleak and grey and rusty. That’s pretty much what happened to the rest of the world, too. Bleak, gray, ugly, and every day is filled with fear. My name is Kirk Mercy. I’m 17 years old, and I’m pretty tall for my age. The pretty bombshell model of a babe sitting next to me is my girlfriend. The thing is, we met under extremely crazy (and now extremely hilarious) circumstances. I was running from, wouldn’t you know it, a Runner, trying desperately to reload my Falcon-C14 handgun, but the damn thing was jamming up on me. Just when it was about to pounce, a slender shadow dropped down from nowhere and mounted the skinny, rotting monstrosity on my tail. In seconds, the poor creature was choked to death in between a pair of strong, athletic track legs. Before I could raise my gun, a huge shotgun was pointed at my head. She said her name was Amy Uderland. Sounded German to me. Or Russian. Well, long story short, I made nice, and after spending a lot of quality time together. Now we are inseparable, but she still wears the pants most of the time. I don’t mind.
“Did you hear what I said, Mercy?” She shouted, shaking me out of my reverie.
“Huh? What? Did you see something?” I felt so flustered.
“Not really. Just don’t go coppin’ out on me when the s**t hits the fan…for the millionth time.”
“Alright, alright. I’m awake and alert and—“
“Hungry?” She asked, revealing a small candy bar. She has this hard, ‘I can do it myself without your help, bub’ type facial expression. But no matter how much she scowled at me, I always thought she was adorable. When I told her, I was punished with a broken pinky. She really is a sweet girl, but it takes a while to dig through the layers of ice and concrete to get there. She has medium length dirty blond hair with streaks of natural brown in it. She has bright, piercing green eyes, and she likes to wear skimpy clothing. “It’s so I don’t trip and fall and die of idiocy.” She told me when she walked out from behind the car in a tube top and cut-off shorts.
“I swear to God, Mercy! Pay attention!” she yelled, decking me. Wish I was paying attention now.
“Oww! What now?” I said, rubbing my cheek. She had this neat habit of talking to me with her eyes. I couldn’t do it as well as she did, but I always knew what she was saying. She was looking past my shoulders at an old Barns&Burgers Restaurant. From out of the dusty newspapers flittering aimlessly in the gritty winds, I could see slow moving figures hobbling towards us. The always hobble first, but they do run...fast. I reached behind my back and pulled out my favorite gun in the whole universe: an old fashioned bolt-action Winston&Hawk rifle that I painted yellow…you know…so I could see it better.
“How many are there, Cap’n?” I asked, flashing a smile. She pinched my butt and rested her gun on my shoulder.
“Always too damn many.”
“Sooo…you take that side and I take this side?” I asked.
“Shut up and hold still! I can’t aim with you movin’ around alla time.” She rested a semi-automatic Octopus SV-34 with an extended barrel on my right shoulder. I always loved that thing. So long and smooth, yet so quiet like a whisper. She even had her favorite silencer on. Hell, she even painted skulls all over it. SPLAT! A zombie’s head about 10 feet away from us disappeared. I must confess: spending time in this world has made me just a little sadistic. I love watching a zombie’s head explode when a high-caliber bullet punctures their dead flesh. It’s so awesome! I could feel the gentle jump of the gun against my shoulder as she squeezed the trigger once per second, aiming carefully. SPLAT SPLAT SPLISH went their dead little heads. When all was said and done, we were staring at a pile of meaty flesh. I looked at her. A sheen of sweat from the adrenaline rolled down from her forehead. She looked like a modern day valkyrie goddess of death or something. I was just about to kiss her when the whole ground shook like crazy. Usually when it does that, it’s probably a hulker. Hulker’s used to be wrestlers and fat people. They aren’t fast, but their not stupid. And that’s the problem. They work is teams of 3 or 4, and when one starts shaking things up, it means that A) They know we’re here and B) They’re cooperating to lure us into a trap and then…you know, do zombie stuff to us. Amy cocked the gun, knocked out the magazine, and punched in a new one. Click, slick, chonk. That’s all it took for her. Me, I like smaller guns. I don’t know how she manages all that heavy artillery, but I’ve never bothered to ask (Cuz’ if I did, I’d probably lose some teeth). As we ran, hand in hand, the shaking got harder and louder. Usually, if you can’t see what you’re afraid of, then you’re more likely to get eaten. We turned a corner and saw an old abandoned Walmart.
“Aww! I could sooo go for a twinkie right about now!” I laughed as we bolted past a group of deadies and into the parking lot. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about living in this dead world, you can’t just…walk into any deserted space indoors and make yourself at home. Amy must’ve read my mind again, because she picked up what looked like a leather dress shoe, and chucked it at an unsteady pile of canned food. The pile toppled to the floor in a loud thudding noise, and instantly, like a bell that tolls for a hungry dog, three bloody, undead dummies came charging at us from pretty much nowhere. It’s actually freaky to look at em’ up close. Ever seen a good zombie flick, where their faces are half eaten so you can see the teeth in their jaw, or their skulls eaten off so you can see their blackened brain entrails? Some of em’ even lack the decency to wear clothes or at least eat properly, so sometimes there’s the occasional naked zombie babe running at me, or a dead football jock charging my girlfriend. Before a word was exchanged, I whipped out my Falcon and squeezed the trigger neatly 3 times. Bam, bam, bam! They each sported a new, bloody hole in their foreheads as they hit the ground running. Behind me, I could here the screaming of what must have been a Rooker Daniels Navy issue magnum. KA-BLAM! It was so freaking loud, but she managed to put a hole in almost 5 of the zom-boobs that were chasing us. In the distance, a tall, black, SUV-sized man creature slowly hobbled from the shadows of dusk. Amy shoved past me, grabbed my hand as if on reflex, and lead us into the store, where we immediately slammed both shop doors behind us. Thankfully, the handle on the inside were those old fashioned square shaped ones. Amy grabbed an armful of skis and stuffed them through the handles. We then threw ourselves behind the check-out counter, and waited. The sign hanging above our heads that said “Check out here” was half doused in dried blood and guts.
“Oh, how lovely.” Amy said, grimacing at it.
“Shya, no kiddin’”.
“I swear to God, if that big brute of a zombie comes through that door…” she trailed off and angrily took an RPG-7 from her back strap and propped it up against the counter next to her. I forgot she had that thing back there.
“He’ll wish he hadn’t?” I asked, snickering. Amy just hmphed and turned away. Amy wasn’t always like this. I used to go to school with her. She was kind of a geek, but she was sweet to me nonetheless. She was quiet and unattentive and nobody really knew she existed. She didn’t go to prom or school parties and avoided everyone who looked at her. She wore goth-y clothes and had weird peircings. She probably listened to scream-o music and cut herself at home. She may have been a little shy, but she had the most rockin’ body I’ve ever seen, and I fell in love with her when she punched out Elizabeth Serzi, the most popular (and we all new why) girl in school. Oh man, was that high-octane orgasm fuel! After that, her reputation blossomed, but she didn’t care much for people. Well, after the whole zombie fiasco totally crushed Manhattan, we ran into each other. She was crying and covered in blood, telling me her parents just tried to kill her. I knew exactly why. I felt terrible, of course, cuz’ my parents suffered the same fate. Walter and Whitney Mercy were eaten alive by our jerk-off neighbor Burney Bronzstein. Who woulda thunk it? I put a hand on her shoulder, gently massaging it. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I could tell she was smiling. I smiled, too. It’s times like these I wish we could just go back in time, so I could court her like a real man, without the incentive from a post-Armageddon world. The loud shaking of the hulker’s footsteps grew louder and louder, and then, just like that, it stopped.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
“Shh. I think it’s still looking for us.” She said, propping her weapon up on the counter. Then, without warning, we heard a loud KA-BOOM! But Amy didn’t fire the RPG. No, it came from outside. Fire and shrapnel blasted through the windows. We both looked at each other was we heard cheering and laughter. It sounded like an audience to a comedy show. Canned, but real enough for us. We looked at each other with looks of surprise and confusion.
“Amy…what is that noise?”
“Other people, genius. Clearly we’re not the Adam and Eve of hell on earth yet.”
“Should we change that?” I asked, gesturing with my gun. She gave me an evil smile.
“Maybe. C’mon. Let’s go see if they’re friend—“ the doors exploding from their hinges drowned out Amy’s voice. My ears were ringing. The flood of voices came pouring into the room. Amy was obviously paying attention, and quickly grabbed the intercom thingy from the floor.
“Attention shoppers. This is the manager speaking. I can see you. All of you.” She said into it in a deep, manly tone. Her voice echoed throughout the store clearly and loudly. I felt so happy to know she had such a talent. The voices quieted down and a man’s voice spoke up.
“Oh yeah? Well, come on out and we promise we won’t hurt ya.”
“Let me see your hands.” Amy replied firmly. There was a clinking and rustling of metal. We exchanged glances and she knew they were armed to the teeth. Amy dropped the intercom and stood up, RPG poised and ready.
“Freeze, jackholes!” She screamed. I flinched, and stood up with her, Falcon aimed and ready, too. There were at least 12 of them, most of them probably middle class working fathers, complete with torn suits and missing ties. They looked disheveled, and their hair was greasy and unkempt. Bottom line: They all looked like Hell. The guy in the red suit with a black “A” painted on it, looked surprised.
“Holy Mary Mother o’ Jesus! What in God’s name is you doin’ widdat!?: He had a Southern drawl that slurred most of his English, but I could tell he was genuinely crapping himself right about now.
“Keeping you from shooting at us!” She yelled, hopping over the counter. She stayed at least 8 feet from the leader, rocket launcher pointed straight at the floor in the middle of everyone.
“Okay, fellas. Nobody has to die today. Not when all we got is each other. So why don’t you guys just take what ya’ll need from the aisles, and leave.” I said, mimicking his accent, thinking I might get across. I think it worked.
“Hey, now! There ain’t no need fer violence. We jus’ noticed ya’ll runnin’ in here from—“
“Yonder frickin’ window? Pfft, can it, buddy! We don’t trust you as far as we can throw you, which is too bad for you, cuz’ I can blast you farther than both.” She said, gesturing with the RPG again.
“Alright, calm down Miss Uderland. I thought all those years in my classes taught you respect for at least something.” A kinder voice said. A taller man in a cream-colored suit and a red tie stepped out from the crowd. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a cigarette in his mouth. I was this close to killing him for that cigarette.
“Mr. Trattermayn? You’re still alive?” Amy exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
“’Course. I’m a survivor, just like you. Mercy, nice to see you again.”
“Same, Mr. T. So, is this Southern guy here really yer leader?” I asked, scratching my head.
“No. I am. Raymond’s the lieutenant, if you want to get technical.”
“Great. Now get yer s**t and get out. We got here first.” Amy said venomously, re-strapping the RPG to her back. Quick as lightning, she drew out the Octopus and pointed it at the crowd, like a cop movie or something.
“Easy, Miss Uderland. We came here to help you with the hulker.”
“Well, you did what you had to do and for that we’re both grateful, now either get out or I’ll—“ I put a hand on her shoulder.
“What she means is ‘thank you’ and ‘would you like to stay for dinner’?” Mr. T looked at his men, and then back at us, considering his situation.
“You sure you don’t mind?” He asked. Mr. Craig Sterling Trattermayn, married 34 years and going, had 3 kids and a hot wife. From the faraway look in his eye, I’d say he was only Trattermayn family member left alive. He had short, buzzed brown hair. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and he had a little stubble on his chin. He had deep, brownish green eyes and had a generally mild attitude and an overall sense of zen. He the won the Teacher-of-the-Year Award 11 years in a row. We always knew he was in the marines and the air force after his father, and took martial arts at the dojo a few minutes away from mine. All in all, he was a good guy. He scratched his chin fuzz and looked from me to Amy. He smiled a sheepish smirk.
“Ohh, I see. Well, maybe we should just be on our way, eh gentlemen?” He motioned with his arm to follow him as he and his crew walked out of the destroyed doors. Suddenly, we heard a loud, screech, and turned to see a zombie charging straight at Amy. I spun around so fast the gun flew from my hand and clanked against the counter top. I was about to tackle her and sacrifice myself for her when I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a certain Bluetail shotgun going off. I looked up from holding Amy to see a headless zombie corpse fly head first into the cash register. We turned to see Mr. T with his back to us still, Amy’s shotgun pointed over his shoulder. From the angle I was at, I could tell he was smiling triumphantly. He set the gun on the counter, brushing aside his kill like a paper towel.
“It shouldn’t jam any more, Miss Uderland. Take care, both of you. And if you need us, I put a short-wave radio on the counter so you can reach us. The frequency is—“
“Four two three eight eight! I know!” Amy shrieked. “It’s the same damn one you used to rat me out when I was smoking under the bleachers in 9th grade. Now get the hell outta my store before I blow you all to hell!” She was screaming now, probably because she was embarrassed to have to be saved by a teacher she hates and respects. As the last of the men left, Amy immediately ran and closed the doors. They shut 93% of the way. Amy looked around and spotted a stack of bicycles.
“Help me with this, Mercy.” She said, dragging bike after bike up against the door. By the time we were done, we had 20 odd bikes blocking the front entrance.
“Freakin Bastille now, baby!” I said, putting up my hand for a high-five. Instead she grabbed my arm, craned her neck, and kissed me on the mouth.
“It better be. I don’t need everybody trying to save helpless, innocent lil’ ol’ me.”
“Innocent maybe, but helpless? I don’t think so.” She sighed and kissed me again, this time a little longer.
“Dya’ think this place sells mattresses?” I asked, holding her hand.
“Probably. Why?” I flashed a devilish grin.
“Well, it’s been a long day…and I’m tired…and I could really use another one of your special…massages.” She pinched the back of my leg and ran off ahead of me. I laughed and followed her. In this zombie, post-Hell world, all we need to survive is a decent firearm, a spare magazine, and a condom…just in case.
Friday, March 12, 2010
List of 20 Images about Necromancy and the Undead
List of 20 Images Relating to The Undead
Zombies Ate My Sister!- by Hannelhelthe5fth
I don’t know the gender of this one. The artist has is a cartoon artist and created a cartoon of his older sister being eaten alive by a swarm of zombie football jocks. It was done in Photoshop.
The Druid Raising a Soul- Melhekesh Vernendacht
Done in pastels. Artist might be Ukrainian.
Worship of an Empty Coffin- Christiandefiler
This guy is British. His works are all done in crayon and colored pencil.
Zombie Brigade- Carrenkollen
Female. She might be in her mid 50’s now. This one is in black and white pencil.
Undead Oda- Sander Mertwaynee
“Oda” as in Nobunaga Oda, a Japanese conqueror who almost overthrew all of Japan. Like a Japanese Hitler. Sander is from East Czechoslovakia.
The Mersk and the Watyiou- Boris Vallejo
Boris is Peruvian, but he was born in America. His stuff is phenomenal and is done in different kinds of paints, depending on what it is. A “mersk” and a “watyiou” are Belgian verisons of spirits that cause mischief.
Soucouyant- Prestin Guiness
This artist is from Pennsylvania. His art is all black and white colored pencils.
Undead Man- Luscife Madiee
Madiee was born in France. His art is mostly paint, but sometimes he uses oil pastels.
Real Zombie Dog!- Dogwatchers.com/real%zombie%dog13#4_17
A hilarious yet disturbing picture of a dog that looks like it crawled out of the Pet Cemetery. It’s not a piece of “artwork” per say, but it is relevant to the topic.
Zombie Chicken- Weird, True and Freaky.com/zombie%chicken%image%14_9
Same deal as the Zombified dog. A chicken from Iowa was able to stay alive for about 2 weeks after having its heads cut off. It moved around slowly and stumbled a lot, like a zombie, and barrled into other chickens often.
Death and the Man, His Creator- Spankthemoogle
This particular artist is a weird-case from Idaho. Most of his works contain hidden sexual innuendoes in them, and they are always done in colored pencil and some areas are painted for a dramatic effect. His work is particularly sharp and pointy.
Who Made You?- Carrenkollen
Female. Mid 50’s. This one is just a man addressing another man he believes to have been brought back to life after he died the day before.
Vampire Lust- Carrenkollen AND Marishika Folkorov
Carrenkollen’s associate is a genuine Russian-Ukrainian hybrid. They created this one together. It is massive in size, like a couch, and depicts an incredibly graphic sex scene between a female vampire and her female captive. There is also a lot of blood in it too, and they dripped red candle wax on the bottom so that the blood in the painting appears to be spilling out into our world. Ms. Folkorov is very talented.
The Sunset Phantom- Janice de Sheen
Female. Unknown age or race. This work was a colored pencil sketch and then erased with a pencil eraser to create a haunting, evanescent effect to the picture.
Tattoo of the Death in Me- Asmodious@karf.whirlybin/tattoo_of_the_death_in_me
A picture on a website that depicts a skeleton on a man’s chest. He believes it represents his own soul dying slowly.
Breach- Christiandefiler
Whisps of Little Ghosties- Spankthemoogle
White, Black, and a Zombie Secretary- Asmodious@karf.whirlybin/white_black_and_a_zombie_secretary
Zombie Sex- Spankthemoogle
Shaman Ritual 384- Fonghrave Geehts (http://www.shamanbackscratchers.com/shaman_ritual_384
**You may have to dig to find these pictures/sites if you’re going to look at ‘em. Most of the sites were in a foreign language or just a bunch of boxes. Sometimes the links lead to a search tray, and you have to click in a link that brings you to the image. It’s complicated. Also, I may have spelled some of the titles wrong. Most of the title I had to translate over from other languages using translation site, but it was worth it.**
Zombies Ate My Sister!- by Hannelhelthe5fth
I don’t know the gender of this one. The artist has is a cartoon artist and created a cartoon of his older sister being eaten alive by a swarm of zombie football jocks. It was done in Photoshop.
The Druid Raising a Soul- Melhekesh Vernendacht
Done in pastels. Artist might be Ukrainian.
Worship of an Empty Coffin- Christiandefiler
This guy is British. His works are all done in crayon and colored pencil.
Zombie Brigade- Carrenkollen
Female. She might be in her mid 50’s now. This one is in black and white pencil.
Undead Oda- Sander Mertwaynee
“Oda” as in Nobunaga Oda, a Japanese conqueror who almost overthrew all of Japan. Like a Japanese Hitler. Sander is from East Czechoslovakia.
The Mersk and the Watyiou- Boris Vallejo
Boris is Peruvian, but he was born in America. His stuff is phenomenal and is done in different kinds of paints, depending on what it is. A “mersk” and a “watyiou” are Belgian verisons of spirits that cause mischief.
Soucouyant- Prestin Guiness
This artist is from Pennsylvania. His art is all black and white colored pencils.
Undead Man- Luscife Madiee
Madiee was born in France. His art is mostly paint, but sometimes he uses oil pastels.
Real Zombie Dog!- Dogwatchers.com/real%zombie%dog13#4_17
A hilarious yet disturbing picture of a dog that looks like it crawled out of the Pet Cemetery. It’s not a piece of “artwork” per say, but it is relevant to the topic.
Zombie Chicken- Weird, True and Freaky.com/zombie%chicken%image%14_9
Same deal as the Zombified dog. A chicken from Iowa was able to stay alive for about 2 weeks after having its heads cut off. It moved around slowly and stumbled a lot, like a zombie, and barrled into other chickens often.
Death and the Man, His Creator- Spankthemoogle
This particular artist is a weird-case from Idaho. Most of his works contain hidden sexual innuendoes in them, and they are always done in colored pencil and some areas are painted for a dramatic effect. His work is particularly sharp and pointy.
Who Made You?- Carrenkollen
Female. Mid 50’s. This one is just a man addressing another man he believes to have been brought back to life after he died the day before.
Vampire Lust- Carrenkollen AND Marishika Folkorov
Carrenkollen’s associate is a genuine Russian-Ukrainian hybrid. They created this one together. It is massive in size, like a couch, and depicts an incredibly graphic sex scene between a female vampire and her female captive. There is also a lot of blood in it too, and they dripped red candle wax on the bottom so that the blood in the painting appears to be spilling out into our world. Ms. Folkorov is very talented.
The Sunset Phantom- Janice de Sheen
Female. Unknown age or race. This work was a colored pencil sketch and then erased with a pencil eraser to create a haunting, evanescent effect to the picture.
Tattoo of the Death in Me- Asmodious@karf.whirlybin/tattoo_of_the_death_in_me
A picture on a website that depicts a skeleton on a man’s chest. He believes it represents his own soul dying slowly.
Breach- Christiandefiler
Whisps of Little Ghosties- Spankthemoogle
White, Black, and a Zombie Secretary- Asmodious@karf.whirlybin/white_black_and_a_zombie_secretary
Zombie Sex- Spankthemoogle
Shaman Ritual 384- Fonghrave Geehts (http://www.shamanbackscratchers.com/shaman_ritual_384
**You may have to dig to find these pictures/sites if you’re going to look at ‘em. Most of the sites were in a foreign language or just a bunch of boxes. Sometimes the links lead to a search tray, and you have to click in a link that brings you to the image. It’s complicated. Also, I may have spelled some of the titles wrong. Most of the title I had to translate over from other languages using translation site, but it was worth it.**
allenthegreat1- "Death Itself"
allenthegreat1 made this picture entirely from colored pencil and smudging techniques for the shadowing effect, and finished it in 1998. He is a Japanese student and currently holds a job as a cashier at "Hap-Happy Grocery" in Gomon, Kyushu. How is this related to Necromancy and the Undead you ask? Ask HIM! He's the one who thought of both!
Teddsdeadneedbread- "Barely Made It"
Teddsdeadneedbread was not the original artist of this picture. The picture is a colored concept art scene for a very explicit and gory zombie manga called "Kill or Be Eaten". The boy is Kido Ishizuka, and the girl is Asuka Shimiyune. Teddsdeadneedbread had this picture hosted on a Japanese website. Since I couldn't get a picture of this without having to pay to download the whole thing to my computer, I give the credit of this picture to the hosting of "Tedd". The scene has Kido and Asuka trapped in a storage room in their school after fighing their way through a pack of hungry zombies.
theOppaiwatcher- "Skelegus Draconis"
Although the phrase "skelegus draconis" doesn't mean anything, this talented artist from Italy painted this on a canvas with oils and paints for 14 days, and then photoshopped it to perfection. He is allegedly 38 years old and created this masterpiece in the late winter of 2001. If you look closely, the word "TOM" is barely visible in the wing of the dragon farthest the right of the picture. The relevance this picture has to the concept speaks boldly for itself. The dragons screaming on a winter night are skeletal and menacing.
kurtisTHECAT- "Gangster"
kurtisTHECAT is also a nameless Japanese artist who moved to Honshu from Connecticut when he was 16 years old. He created this piece from a screenshot of one of his favorite Japanese gangster movies. He made it in Photoshop in the late fall of 2003.
SoulCalibur4- "Cervantes de Leon"- Costume Art
Many of the myths that exist today about beautiful mermaids and the legendary Sea Kraken originated from early pirates adrift at sea. One of them is that a pirate could sell his soul to "Davy Jones" AKA the aquatic version of the Devil, in order to gain lasting life and immortality, at the price of savagery and unfullfillable desires. This character is named "Cervantes de Leon", an undead pirate captain who was corrupted by the power of an evil sword, which he wields as two swords. He is a character from the hit video game series "SoulCalibur", and is a popular pick among fans.
The Condemned 2: Bloodshot- Cover Art
While the enemies in the video game "The Condemned" aren't actually "zombies", they were sort of 'brought back to life' in the form of raving mad lunatics. The plot of the story is that a man is trying to create a cult of humans with special vocal cords that allowed them to manipulate people's minds, or kill them on the spot. This is done by tearing them open, killing them, and reconstructing them into pseudo demi-dead machanical humans with one hell of a singing voice!
findrzkeeprzClown4.0- "Surrounded"
findrzkeeprzClown4.0 is also a relatively anonymous artist, who created this work on Photoshop. The image depicts Veronica from the popular zombie action shoot em' up game series Resident Evil ("Biohazard" in Japan). She is surrounded by a hoard of unfriendly zombie fiends, and from the look on her face, she must not have enough ammo left to kill them all. The artist is also Japanese, and made this work in mid 2006.
Dead but Lively: One Piece- "Brook the Musician"
The original character in the picture's name is Brook. He is a character in the popular anime OVA series called "One Piece". He has the power to live forever as long as he isn't 'killed' again. Aboard his pirate ship with his captian, Monkey D. Luffy, and the rest of the crew, Brook has charge of providing music and entertainment for the crew should they get restless and cranky. Other than that, he's not much of a fighter. The credit of the photoshopped backdrop goes to Smoker Studios 2008.
aerta40- "All Girl's School"
This was done with watercolors. The artist's internet handle is "aerta40", and it was done in 2007. According to the description she gave with her work, the picture is her view on the girls at her school in Japan. The one in the front left is currently at war with aerta40, regarding attention from her boyfriend.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Art Critique # 1
The title of this work of art is called “Tyrant P-3”, which stands for “Tyrant Progenitor Version 3”. The artist who rendered the image is Eiko Rikuchiba, a volunteer staff member of the Resident Evil video game series development team. The medium of the work was first done in pencil, then ink, and then rendered into virtual 3-D format via CGI. The subject matter consists of a humanoid monster with a mutated appearance. It has greenish-gray skin, and it is riddled with a layer of quivering, blistering pink sores. It has a claw like hands used for killing prey.It is gruesome and menacing, and instills the need to pull the covers over one’s head. My initial reaction to the piece was that I’d always liked the Resident Evil zombie thriller video game series. I liked the image because it is an original piece of the first game I hadn’t played until recently. I suppose the “emotion” I felt was morbid excitement for an old favorite.
The creature’s skin color is grayish with a noticeably greenish hue, which is complemented nicely by its color opposite, a pale plethora of pinkish, pus-filled sores. The color of the green skin denotes a sense that it is a zombie, that it is dead. The shadows of any large room would almost completely conceal it presence. The place the eye is drawn to first is the atrophying lump of muscle on it chest, and then its clawed right hand, shaping the picture’s focal point. There is a 180 degree plane across which the creature appears to walk on two solid legs, going neither up nor down. The proportion of the figure is anatomically correct; however, its limbs are purposely disproportionate, as its right arms and hand is slightly bigger than the left, making the creature sag to the right just a little. The Tyrant P-3 is shaded well, where most of the shadowing comes through in the lower legs and chest area, giving it eh allusion that it is more alive. The tone of the shading consists of dull greens and reds. This vapid color combination makes it appear more frightening and zombie-like. The emphasis is placed in 3 specific areas: the porous left shoulder, to its chest area, then down diagonally to its freakish right hand. There is also a general sense of movement, as the image is slightly hunched forward, with a drooling mouth, arms slightly poised forward for a quick lift, and one foot is behind the other. This makes the Tyrant P-3 appear to stalking a prey, lurching slowly towards its target unceasingly. This monstrous being does actually have quite a narrative in it. The inception of the creatures of the Resident Evil series stemmed from mere humans. In this case, we see a tragic man who was probably kidnapped by scientists from the organization, taken to some research facility, and endured excruciating biochemical testing until his nerves broke down, his consciousness shattered and dulled to nothing, and his mind eaten away by the most basic of instincts: to hunt, to kill, to feed and then repeat the process into infinity.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Art Critique # 2
Art Critique #2
The title of this work of art is called “The Witch of Endor”. This is controversial because there have been so many remakes of this work that few are certain who actually painted it. But I know. The artist’s name is Januarius Zick, and the medium of the work is done in charcoal over a canvas. The subject matter consists of a woman known as the “Witch of Endor” (Right), King Saul (Left), and his best friend Oeprius (Center). The Witch was instructed by the King to bring back the friend of King Saul, who recently died of a disease. Endor was a Canaanite city listed in the Book of Joshuaas (an old Hebrew bible-like record of journals) as one of the cities with its dependencies that the Israelites failed to get rid of.
It is very dull and mostly black, and doesn’t stand out as a decent piece of artwork I would consider viewing. My initial reaction to the piece was that I thought it was very droll and boring and sparked no interest in me whatsoever, but the fact that it had to do with forbidden magic and raising the dead gave it a redeeming quality worth scrutinizing. Other than that, I never would have taken a second glance at it.
There is a bit of a chiaroscuro showing through in the candle light, and the light surrounding the Oeprius’s head as a sign that it is important to the picture. The focal point is Oeprius’s head, signifying that he is what the whole picture is about. The value is done well enough to show the distinctions between the walls and floors, and the shadows of the people make them more believable. The pigment seems to have seeped through the lines in the canvas to create an almost dream-like, old fashioned cinema-like appearance. King Saul appears to be attempting to approach his newly revived friend with great haste, while the undead man before his kneels at his feet in respect, giving the work the idea that movement exists. Each form (mainly the figures) in the painting appear to be slightly distorted, probably due to the medium used to create it, as they look almost mediocre yet surreal at the same time. There is definitely a narrative present here in the artwork; it did convey to me a story similar the one I thought of. The proportion of each figure appears to have a strangely warped proportion, and the room itself is very small in size, giving it the feeling of secretiveness, like the King wanted the Witch to revive his friend in private so he could reunite with him properly. While the picture is strange and surreal, it is however realistic in its form and anatomically correct human figures show that it is more of a record of an event than an abstract dream or a hallucination, thus denoting its realism. The balance of each figure is spaced equally apart from each other, and they are all in their own separate piece of the canvas. The composition of the work is sparse; much of what is going on takes place in the foreground of the room, while the background consists of just a table and chairs, as if the situation were rather tense.
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