Friday, June 28, 2013

Prose: HvZ: Odin's Game

I stood in the darkness, a shadow in the shadow of the night, watching and ready. My back rested lightly against the rough bark of my chose tree, and between my legs stood my broadsword. On the other side of the tree, Father Odin's eye glared down onto the earth with exceptional silver clarity: the Super Moon.

My eyes were well adapted to the shadows, but still they stared out unfocused, tuning all that fell under my gaze to the sensitivity of my peripheral vision.


A pack of zombies sprinted across the field before me, flashing through the zebra-hide shadows, before crouching together to hide their location and numbers. If I moved, they'd have a feeding frenzy, but I only readied my grip on the hilt and pommel, shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, and waited.

The shape of fresh meat bounded through the silvery light, and they gave chase, flanking like amateur tacticians, leaving me to my post.

When they returned, they were greater in number, but all were panting heavily; at least one was injured. A grim grin flashed across my face, and still I did not move.

Soon enough, they left again to a more profitable perch, and left me to my shadow.


Suddenly, out of the darkness came two infected giving chase. They spotted me at the last moment, but only nodded good tidings as they passed, deceived by my darkened flag and missing fear.

They return scant minutes later, still hunger and seeking my companionship, but then at last they noticed my heath. I disabled one and outran the other, my strides taking me into the moonlight, then out of it once more, the eye above me winking in approval.

I settled down to wait once more.


They came around me in numbers, from the blind side of my tree, word of my deception and flight spreading. I injured two before they tackled me, and under Father Odin's watchful gaze I was infected, converted. Only once I became one of them did they release me back into the world.

Enough of my humanity remained, and I departed from their pack, taking up my post once more--though swordless now--to play sentry within my darkness.

Written 28 June 2013 as a fictional accounting of true events from the night of 22 June. Read this for context.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Poetry: 19 June 2013

I'm sitting here and waiting,
wishing I was part of something more.
My world is full of blandness,
nothing new knocks at my door.

I'm sitting here and wishing,
wanting skills to sell.
My fingers darting across the keys
have nothing new to tell.

I'm sitting here and wanting,
wondering what could change:
put a spin on all my greys
to add some color to my mane.

I'm sitting here and wondering,
waiting for that chance,
hoping that I hear the cue
to get my turn to dance.

19 June 2013

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Monday, June 17, 2013

Poetry: I'm Sorry, But I Can't

I don't believe in hope,
that the world will ever change,
that it might turn out all right
just for wishing for the strange.

I don't believe in prayer,
that things come to those who ask,
that all will throw up its arms
because you wouldn't stand fast.

I don't believe in faith,
that is one leap I cannot make,
my world is grim
paper thin
and far too little is at stake.

20 May 2013

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