Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Tim's Story (Chapter II)

This is the second chapter, so I hope you enjoy...

      Once the pair had dried enough meat from the body of the tree cat to last awhile, they set out from the clearing, leaving the remnants of the carcass to nourish the scavenging creatures of the forest. Their path was mostly uneventful for the next few days, but once they left the protection of the oldest trees, which were protected by woodland sprites, they were less fortunate.

      “I never said anything like that!” exclaimed the half dark elf. “Not once in my life did I ever talk about killing any of your stupid kin!”

      Aricka was taken aback by the sudden burst of anger from her companion. “I didn’t say you did,” she said soothingly. “I was merely talking about the rumors the others who didn’t like you very much spread around.” A sour look from Skitsora followed by a brief spurting of profanity caused her to chuckle under her breath.

      “Some of you elves can be very shallow at times,” he said bitterly.

     She heaved a sigh. “I know. I know, but sometimes, when you’re around for so long, and isolated as most of our people have been, you forget how to be curious, and how to understand.”

      Skitsora opened his mouth to say something, but then stiffened slightly as his sensitive ears picked up a faint rustling from the side of the trail. He crouched so the low-growing bushed could hide him and signaled for Aricka to do the same. She did as he instructed and they slid to the side of the trail together. She pulled her legs under a large bush just as a hideous foot stepped onto the path.

      Under the bush, both the young elves screwed their noses up as the scent of rotten meat rushed at them. “Ogre,” mouthed Skitsora silently as another foot joined the first one, followed by another pair, and then two more. The four pairs of feet shuffled around for a few moments, and the two elves could hear the ogres sniffing the air.

      For several minutes, the two lay completely still as the monsters conversed in the guttural grunts of their language, until they turn towards the spot where the elves were hiding. Skitsora slowly slid his sword out of its sheath, while Aricka quietly pulled a purple-fletched arrow from her quiver. Before the lead humanoid could even touch the branches of the bush, he was sent stumbling back with the shaft of an arrow sporting purple feathers protruding from its eye.

      The other ogres wasted a precious moment staring at their dead companion and trying to conceive what had just happened. They had almost no time to react as two small figures leapt from the bush and attacked them with in a swirl of steel. Skitsora sliced a fat hamstring with his short sword even as he conjured a ball of flame in his other hand. Aricka rolled and came up slashing at the belly of one of the beings with her purple blade.

      The creature Skitsora attacked fell to the ground, howling with pain as a fiery first was pressed against his eye.

      Aricka darted around the club that the ogre was trying to brain her with and placed a deep clash on its belly. She took a step back as the monster grabbed at its spilling guts and tried to shove them back into its body. She was about to rush in again and finish the kill when she felt a thick hand grab her ankle and flip her upside down, knocking the sword from her hand and spilling arrows everywhere. “Skitsora!” she cried as the ogre pulled her close to his face, smelled her, and then gave her a mighty shake.



      The dark-skinned elf turned at the sound of his name just in time to see the slender elf fall into unconsciousness, and his lips began moving to shape the words of a spell. The beast that held her had apparently for gotten about her darker companion because he swung her by her ankle against a nearby tree like a small child with a plaything.

      Skitsora winced at the sound of flesh against wood, but didn’t cease murmuring the words to his spell. Before the ogre could swing Aricka against the tree again, his head was engulfed in a cloud of black fire. “Arrrrrrgggh!” it cried and dropped the elf to the ground where her broken form lay crumpled and unmoving.

      “Aricka!” Skitsora ran to the motionless form of his companion and fell to his knees beside her. He gently rolled her onto her back and cradled her limp head in his arms. Just as he was moving his sensitive ear closer to her lips to check for breathing, a hand grabbed his ear and hauled his head to the ground.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” demanded the pale Aricka as she sat up and spat out a mouthful of blood.

      “N-nothing! Just checking to see if your alive is all,” said the shaken dark elf as he tried to pull the tender flesh of his ear from her strong fingers.

      “Hmm. Very well. I guess you had the right intentions.”

      “Um, can you let my ear go please? I did just save your life.” The sight of such a feared elf with his head pinned to the ground at the mercy of a seemingly harmless healer would have been rather amusing for any passers-by.

      “Why should I? I see no problem with the current predicament,” said Aricka. She pinched his nose, and he made a pitiful mewling sound.

      “Please?” Two dark eyes looked into the lighter brown of his captor.

      “Oh, fine, since you asked nicely,” She let go of his ear, and he sat up, shaking his head. “That hurt, you know,” he said as he rubbed his ear.

      “I don’t really care. Now, get a move on. You still haven’t figured out where we’re going,” Aricka said as she rose and gathered the supplies that had been strewed about during the attack.

      “I don’t know that any better than you do,” he said as he rolled over the body of an ogre in search of useful materials.

      Once the bodies had been searched and the supplies gathered, the unlikely pair set off.



      After several days of walking and dining on the meat of small forest animals unlucky enough to cross the path of Aricka’s bow, the two elves chanced upon a tiny farmhouse. They were still in the shelter of the trees when they saw the two young children playing with a small brown puppy.

      “I’ll go find someone to ask about a meal and a place to rest,” Aricka whispered as she peeked out from behind a massive tree. “But, you should probably stay here. At least until I can figure out their opinion on. . . you know.”

      “On a half dark elf staying at their farm and eating their food? Possibly planning an attack?” Skitsora turned away from her gaze. “Yeah, I know.”

      A wave of guilt washed over the female elf as she regarded her outcast friend. “It’ll be alright. They won’t mind,” she said, but she was trying to convince herself as much as she was him.

      “You know they won’t stand for having me anywhere near their home, let alone staying as a guest. I can sleep out here in the woods while you ask for shelter. Perhaps in the morning they will give you some food for the road, but until then, I can hunt.”

      “Skitsora, I will not leave you out here alone where you’ll probably get yourself ambushed by a rabid bear,” she sighed heavily. “I’ll just ask them if they have a place where my traveling companion and I may stay the night. Besides, your skin is not as dark as a full dark elf. We could always say that your color is a birth defect or the result of a misspoken spell.

      The dark-skinned elf fixed her in his gaze. “You really won’t give up, will you?” The only response he got was the crossing of her arms and a harsh glare from brown eyes. “Fine, do as you please, but if one of us is killed as a result of your foolishness, the blame will be yours alone.

    She flashed a mischievous grin at Skitsora before bounding o of the trees and into the small clearing around the farmhouse. He shook his head at the nonsense of the beautiful, stupid elf.



      “Greetings, children,” Aricka called gently in the human tongue as she stepped out of the trees. Might your parents be near?”

      The smallest of the children cowered behind his big sister, who stood tall and without fear, though she was no more than eight years old. “They’re ‘round back, tending the garden,” she said. “Go git ‘em, Harold.” She gave the little boy a shove towards the house, and he ran off calling for his parents.

    Aricka started to take a step closer to the girl, but she quickly froze at a screech from the child. “You’d better be staying right there, or me dog will get you!” The sight of a little girl trying to threaten a full-grown elf brought a faint smile to Aricka’s face. The little puppy happily gnawing on a stick, not even taking the time to sniff the newcomer, made it even more amusing. However, the elf did not want to cause any trouble with the farmers, so she calmly sat on the soft grass where she stood.

      The high-pitched voice of Harold could still be heard as he tried to get his parents to listen to him. Within a few moments, the little boy reappeared, this time dragging the hand of a woman, probably his mother. Right behind the pair game a man holding a pitchfork in a threatening manner. “Who are you, and what is your business here,” he demanded.

      “My name is Aricka, and I come from the elven city of Ervingallin with my companion. We have been on the road many days and are in need of a safe place to rest before continuing on our journey. My companion and I were wondering if perhaps we might find a meal and shelter in exchange for some coins.”

      “Where is your companion, and what kind of coins will you pay?” The man’s eyes softened with reason at the mention of money.

     “He is rather shy, for he has a deformity he obtained as a young child when a healer trainee spoke the words of a spell wrong. Because of it, he is often not accepted outside of our own village. And perhaps this will suffice as payment for our stay?”She produced three silver coins from a purse at her belt to show the man.

      His eyes lit up at the sight such great payment. “You and your companion are welcome to stay, but first you must allow me to see his deformity. I don’t need the children having nightmare because of a scary elf.” The man spoke with a much different accent than his daughter did. Perhaps he was from a different are and had moved to these primitive woodlands to raise his family.

      “Very well,” she said. “Skitsora, come out, but keep your hood up until the children are inside.” She watched as the dark figure of her friend slipped silently from the woods and came to stand beside her with the hood of his cloak covering his dark features. The two farmer’s wife dragged the protesting children inside.

      “Alright,” the man said gruffly. “Let’s see what you look like then.”

      Nervously, Skitsora reached his hand up to pull back his hood, but before he could the man was shouting, “dark elf! He’s a dark elf!” Instantly the man was slashing his pitchfork at the elves, screaming, “get back! Get off my property! There is nothing here for you to take, you varmin!”

      Aricka grabbed for the handle of the pitchfork, but not before it punctured Skitsora’s hand as he tried to protect himself. She managed to grab the weapon and pull in away from the man so she and the half dark elf could make their escape.



      They ran for a few miles before finally settling into a tree for the night. “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea,” Aricka said to break the silence as they sat eating yet another stringy squirrel.

      “I told you so,” Skitsora muttered as he wrapped a new bandage around his wounded hand.

      “Here, let me help,” she said and reached for his hand. She spoke a few words and the wound began to close.”

      “Thank you,” he said.

      Without much more conversation, he drifted into a restless sleep while Aricka took the first watch.

Tim's Story (Chapter I)

Iknow this isn't a zombie post, but this is the first chapter of a story that my boyfriend asked me to write for him. It's the first time I've ever tried to write 'D&D' as it's called (I think,) thoughI have read a few books of that genre before. Well, here goes nothing...


   The young elf looked up from her work when she heard the taunts. It seemed as though the half-breed had found himself once more in the wrong place at the wrong time and was now being tortured by the other elves, yet again. She sighed heavily and lowered her head back to the un-fletched arrows in her lap. When would he ever learn. . .

      The mysterious half dark elf had come with his full-elf mother only a few years ago, and had quickly made many enemies. His existence had been somewhat tolerable until his mother was killed when giants attacked the sheltered grove where the elves made their home, but after her death, the dark skinned male had found little peace from the jeers and threats made towards him. He had only been allowed to stay in Ervingallin because of his mother’s reputation with the elders of the tribe.

      The details on his conception and birth were nothing more than rumors passed around by those trying to stay awake on sentry duty, but it was common knowledge that Theanna, the half-elf’s mother, had been captured when dark elves attacked the peaceful woods many years ago, only to return with the strange child and refusing to speak nothing of her history with the dark elves.

      The elf maiden looked up from her fletching again as the acrid scent of smoke tickled her nose. It was coming from the trees on the other side of the clearing where the males had chased the half-elf. She debated on getting the elders, but knew they were tired of dealing with the unending bullying of the dark one. Another, heavier, sigh left her chest as she bundled up her arrows and tossed them into the hollow at the base of her tree. She quickly scaled the side of the tree to her sleeping hollow and grabbed the lavender steal sword hanging on a branch near the entrance, and then swung down to land softly on the mossy ground. It’s only a matter of time before that fool gets himself killed, she thought to herself as she jogged lightly towards the source of the smoke. Why hasn’t he left already like any smart elf would?

      She caught up with the others at Herald’s Tear Pond, where three elf lads circled a light body covered in a dark robe. The oldest of the trio was holding a crude club formed from a tree root and waving it threateningly at the dark shape. “You know it’s time for you to be leaving this place and finding the filthy caverns where your father lives,” he growled. “You know you won’t last much longer up here on the surface, especially if you keep this thieving up!” With the last sentence, He jabbed the club into the half-elf’s stomach, forcing him backwards a step.

      The dark one clenched his fists and glared with at his tormentors with the rich brown eyes so common among the surface elves. “I took nothing of yours, nor would I leave so obvious a trail! You may not consider me an equal, but I am surely not as stupid as you believe,” he growled.

      His show of courage and logic in such a dangerous position clearly did not affect the brash young elves. Another slug from the club brought the fierce half-elf to his knees, but his piercing glare never faltered. A flicker of light on the dark skin of his hand caught the maiden’s attention. She saw a tiny flame dancing there that no one seemed aware of but her. She never would have even noticed it if not for the smell which touched her sensitive nose. The others must have been too involved in their cause to notice how dangerous the situation was rapidly becoming.

     Not one to sit around and let her home burn to the ground, the female softly murmured a spell and watched as a tendril of water reached up and gently extinguished the flame. At the touch of the water on his hand, the dark-skinned elf turned suddenly to face her and said, “Oh, so you’re in one it too now. Why am I not surprised?”

     “I am not with them, as a matter of fact, Skitsora,” she rose from where she had been kneeling by the water’s edge. “I was merely preventing you from burning the entire forest down.

      “I was in complete control!” he shouted at her, temporarily forgetting the others. His anger brought a larger flame to life in his palm. However, a quick bash across the back of his head from the lad holding the club sent the half-elf tumbling into the water where the fire was once again extinguished.

      For a moment, it seemed as though Skitsora would be content just to sit and stare blankly up at the elves, but that was not to be the case. His brown eyes seemed to shine with anger as his signature glare reappeared on his face tenfold. A primal roar erupted from his throat and a loud whoosh swept through the clearing followed by a blast of heat as every tree in sight burst into flames. She stood near the water completely stunned as animals cried out and her own people began bolting; mothers to their children, scholars to their scrolls, and spell casters to the flames themselves.

      She stood frozen, unable to believe the extent of Skitsora’s power, until she felt rough hands grab her arm and pull her into the water just as a crackling branch fell where she had been standing. “Wake up, Aricka! You know, for a healer you can be very stupid sometimes,” the calm voice of the fire-starter himself, along with the cool water, brought her to her senses.

     “You. . . you did this. . . all of this. . .” she stammered. The cool water seeping through her clothes and the heat from the fire against her exposed flesh created a stark contrast both painful and soothing as her mind raced to escape the shock of what had happened. Aricka barely resisted as he slid a damp cloth over her mouth and nose to filter out the smoke.

      “Yeah,” he said weakly. “I guess I did.





      The pair floated in the middle of the pond, well away from the burning trees until finally the fire had died down enough for elves to enter the clearing surrounding Herald’s Tear and finish dousing the flames. Skitsora and Aricka were pulled from the water, dried off, and checked for burns by one of the minor healers in the tribe. Just as the healer was handing a cup of warm tea to Aricka to help with shock, the bear skin covering the entrance to the hollow was thrown open and four elders stormed inside.

      “Skitsora!” demanded Argen, the oldest of the group. “You must come with us at once, or face immediate death.

      Skitsora, who was still shaky from the massive spell he had cast barely had time to utter the word “why” before he was pulled to his feat and dragged from the hollow by two strong hunters. He barely put up a fight even as the hunters leapt from the tree and landed awkwardly, twisting the knee of their shared burden.

      “Hmm, I wonder what they could be taking him so roughly for,” The healer woman mused. “AS far as I know, his only crime was being born with a darker color of skin.”

      The maiden knew all too well what the half-elf was being taken for, and she spilled the cup of tea she had been balancing on one knee as she stood and walked calmly out the door, not even turning to acknowledge the healers noise of dismay as she regarded the spilled liquid.

      When Aricka reached the central clearing of the woods, which still smelled of smoke from the singed trees on its northern edge, she saw that the hunters were still holding onto Skitsora’s arms roughly as te elders spoke to one of the lads who had been tormenting him before the fire. “You’re sure this fire was the fault of the dark-skinned one, Dronjeihm?” a fair-haired elder asked the young elf.

      “Yes, it was him. A fire kept igniting in his hand while we were talking to him, and then he became extremely angry and the entire clearing caught fire,” he said looking the elder in the eye.

      “He was provoked!” She was surprised by the strength of her own voice echoing through the silent clearing. “Skitsora was being tormented by Dronjeihm and his allies, Grollen and Oakleaf.”

      “Is this true?” the elder asked as he turned his attention back to the now nervous lad. “Did you and the other two indeed provoke Skitsora?”

      “Well, he stole Grollen’s hunting knife. We found it sticking out of the base of his tree when we were looking for it,” the young elf looked at the tops of his shoes as he spoke.

      “He’s lying,” Skitsora’s voice cut in before the elder could speak. “I took nothing. I’ve never taken anything from anyone. Besides, if I even wanted to steal his knife, I wouldn’t have left it out in the open. Just because my skin is darker than yours doesn’t mean I am more stupid or evil than you.”

      The elders asked a few more questions before gathering to converse among themselves. Aricka heard only a few snatches or language as she waited nervously near Dronjeihm. She knew that she had taken a risk in speaking up at a meeting she was never supposed to be at, but she also knew in her heart that what she had done was right. Skitsora had been provoked and wrongfully accused by the lads. Granted, he had no reason to destroy so much life in the peaceful existence of Ervingallin, but he need not be charged with setting the fire unprovoked. Besides, she knew that the penalty of lying to the elders about petty theft would find the half-elf’s tormentors a punishment much less desirable.

    After several tense moments, the elders turned back to the accused, the accuser, and the uninvited guest. The head elder, Kurina, stepped forward from the group and said to Dronjeihm, “Skitsora’s intelligence is common knowledge, so it is unlikely he stole this knife you seem to value so greatly, and though a knife owned by one so young as Grollen must surely be truly valuable, it would appear as though you have found the lost thing and therefore, there is no trouble concerning that.” The other elders chuckled softly as Kurina continued speaking, her own voice tinged with humor. “However, we cannot allow the destruction of any part of our precious grove to go unpunished,” her voice grew serious as she turned her gleaming blue eyes to Skitsora. ”We have given you shelter and a place to call home for years even after the death of your mother. We have ensured that no trouble come to the son of one of our finest warriors. However, your actions have become increasingly unpredictable, and no one in this tribe has the experience needed to train one such as yourself. Therefore, we have decided that it is time for you to move on and find a better place to call home. Somewhere you may cause less harm for others as well as yourself.”

      Skitsora’s dark face seemed to almost pale as the elder finished speaking. Though no words escaped the tight line of his lips, his emotions were easy enough to see. Anger and pain danced across his eyes as he struggled not to speak his mind and find himself with an even worse penalty, though he could not see how anything could be worse than being banished from the only home he remember.

    “You will be given traveling supplies and escorted to the edge of Ervingallin at dawn’s first light. After that, if you are seen within the boundaries of our tribe, our warriors will suffer no ill fate for killing you on sight. Do we have an understanding?” Kurina finished.

     Aricka watched in dismay as the dark head of Skitsora bobbed once in a determined nod. She opened her mouth to defend him once more but received sharp looks from both the half-elf and many of the elders which silenced all complaints she had been about to speak.



      The young elf maiden was kept awake by the anger boiling in her veins brought by the unfair banishment of Skitsora. Though she had never had a real friendship with the dark skinned elf, she felt strongly about justice, and knew from the looks on the elders’ faces that the fire was merely an excuse to banish him. They didn’t want to keep protecting Skitsora from would-be attackers who hated him simply for the dark color of his skin.

     Her anger came from more than just a strong desire for justice. She also knew of the passion and devotion the strange elf was capable of. She had often found him shooting arrow after arrow at a target, casting pointless spells over and over, or performing precarious routines with knives, swords, axes, anything he could get his hands on it seemed, when she was out gathering feathers for fletching or components for her spells. She knew that the few things that brought peace to the troubled elf’s mind were also the few things he could spend hours meditating over. Others, who despised the color of Skitsora’s skin, would find such activities suspicious, and devise some story that he was practicing such skills as a way to defeat the elves of Ervingallin when his darker family decided to attack again.

      Aricka was not one to believe such nonsense. She had found that her isolated tribe was quite judgmental of things they knew little of; things like Skitsora and his skills. Her two decades of life had supplied her with all she needed to know about her homeland, and ten years of knowing Skitsora had supplied her with all she needed to know about the dark skinned one.

      The rising sun shed light on an elf dressed for travel with a light pack strapped to her back, a bow and quiver of arrows slung over her slender shoulders, and a pale purple blade hanging at her hip.



     Slipping out of the small village was easy for the other elves were used to seeing Aricka going out to explore the forest. She had been taken in by one of the most respectable healers the tribe had ever known after her mother died on a trip to the human settlement of Felslora, and her grief-stricken father disappeared, abandoning the couple’s young child. Growing up under the care of Gradelva had taught Aricka many things about magic and how to use it for healing, and the many trips she had made with her mentor outside the camp and into the surrounding woods where they spent weeks camping and studying the animals and herbs that could be used for medicines had given her a chance to see much more in her 20 years than even some of the elders had in their sheltered lives, for few had ever ventured far from their little village in the woods, and even fewer had made a habit of it.

     The brown-haired elf was waiting in a tree above the main road leading from Ervingallin when Skitsora was escorted out of the village. She could almost feel the anger rolling off his mind in waves as one of the warriors tossed him a pack. His dark eyes shot a penetrating glare at the elf who had handed him the pack, which only received him a rough shove. “Don’t you even think of returning to Ervingallin with any of your dark elf kin to destroy the rest of our home. If you do, we will kill you first in a way that will make even the evilest of dark elves think twice of ever coming to the surface again!”

      Skitsora glared once more before spinning around to leave behind the most accepting home he had ever known.



      Aricka followed the dark-skinned elf’s path from the treetops as he walked, stopping only to gather food and rest when it became too dark to see where his next foot would fall. She soon found herself regretting her urgency to pack when her supply of dried berries and jerky ran out, leaving her to find food and follow Skitsora at the same time, which proved difficult due to his fast pace. Never the less, all went relatively smoothly for the first four days.

      She watched from the branches of a tall oak as Skitsora built a small fire and started roasting a small squirrel he had caught while walking earlier that day. She jammed her pack against the trunk of the tree and lay back as he did the same on the ground almost a hundred feet below. Sleep was just starting to cloud her mind when a deep growl came from a few braches below her. Suddenly alert, she grabbed for her bow and aimed an arrow downward, searching for the source of the growl. For several moments, everything was still and silent. Suddenly, a movement in the darkness caught her eye, and a dark silhouette became visible. A giant tree cat; one of the fiercest creatures of the Northern woods.

      The animal was crouched on a branch about thirty feet below the Aricka. The cat was waiting to pounce on Skitsora, who lay sleeping, unaware of the danger so many feet above him. Aricka could see the outline of his dark face in the light of the dying coals from his fire. Aricka tensed and drew back her arrow, but she was too late. The big cat pounced...

      A great yowl belonging to some kind of giant creature woke Skitsora. He bolted to his feet and drew his sword as a huge body crashed through the branches above his head and fell into the tiny clearing where he had made camp. The cat landed roughly on the ground before getting shakily to its feet. It staggered slowly towards the elf, but Skitsora was on the beast before it could go more than a few steps. He made work work of slicing the cat’s throat with a well-aimed slash of his blade. Once the cat’s final twitches had ceased, he knelt to examine his kill. There was an arrow protruding from the tree cat’s back. The feathers on the end of the arrows shaft were died a pale purple. Even though the true color of the feathers was obscured, Skitsora knew they were from a snowy owl. That was the only one elf who would go through the trouble of finding the white feathers of the owl and dying them before fletching them just so. He had never met another elf so obsessed with something so insignificant.

      “Alright, Aricka. You can come out now,” he called to the trees.

      The braches rustled for several moments before the silhouette of Aricka appeared. “Why are you following me?” Skitsora asked her calmly.

      “I wanted to get out of there,” she replied just as calmly. “Besides. It would seem that you needed someone to watch your back. You were sleeping so heavily, if I hadn’t of wounded that cat for you, you’d be nothing but bones and drying blood by now.”

      Two dark eyes seemed to shoot razor-sharp arrows at her as she chuckled. “I would have been just fine. And why would you want to leave? You were on your way to being the next great healer.”

      “Among a herd of elves as stupid as the cows humans like.” Skitsora looked stunned at the comparison.

      “You’re going to have to go back,” he said firmly.

      “Oh?”

      “Yes. I don’t want you with me, so you’ll have to go back.”

      “Says who? No one owns these woods and honestly, the last thing I need is to hear that you got yourself killed because I wasn’t there to wound all the monsters that want dark elf for dinner.”

     With one final glare, Skitsora turned away angrily and swung his supplies onto one shoulder before trudging away into the darkness. “You know, I’ll just follow you until you let me travel with you,” Aricka said just before he stepped from the light of the coals she was coaxing back to life.

      Skitsora paused. There would be no shaking this determined elf. Someone who could spend so much time doting over the fletching on her arrows would never falter in her quest to join a half dark elf. Too much adventure and excitement were promised in the journey. Frustrated with himself for giving in so easily, he threw his pack back on the ground and leaned back against it. The unlikely pair fell into an uneasy slumber with hardly another word shared between them.

Not Zombie Poems :(

These are some poems I wrote before I was bitten as an assignment. We were instructed to use this out line:
Your eyes...
Your smile...
Your touch...
And when I see you, I want to...

So anyway, here's two poems; one about hate and one about love.

Hatred of God and Religion
Your eyes are unknown to me, like the darkness in my heart.
Your smile means nothing, for it is just a lie; you never loved me.
Your touch is not felt here, in this cold being you have killed.
And when I see you, I want to turn and leave despite all the false glory you promise.

Love of My Wizard
Your eyes burn into me with pure chocolate love.
Your smile cuts through my tears like sails through water.
Your touch is like the strongest medicine; it heals me.
And when I see you, I want to lose myself in your magic.

The Zombie Sonnet

Sweet Zombie, with your rotting, stinking flesh.
Oh, how I love your tender undead kiss.
Your fluids seep through your skin like it's mesh.
I wait for your bite to bring me to bliss.

Together, we will rule this undead realm.
We will be as unbreakable as death.
We shall be the undead forces' greatest helm.
This virus is as addicting as meth.

We will join with necrophelic passion;
Our unbeating hearts burn with our true love.
Your rags turn me on; so clearly in fashion.
We'll dine together on fluffy, white dove.

We are nothing but love, except we are dead.
I care not, for they will die in our stead.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Elizabeth Bishop Style Poem

Humans

Their skulls hold brains,
their arms hold veins,
and their blood is sweet when it rains.

They run in fear
when we walk near
and cower as they hear

our victims screams
flowing forth in vocal streams
as our blood lust teams.

They die slow,
one by one they go
and join our fabulas show.

The children crying
and their mothers lay dying
and the fathers are lying

as they promise safety,
but they are crafty
and the words satisfy

the childs need
and the fathers greed
and soon we feed.

Billy Collins Style Poem

Reasons to Love Zombies

Every day they just keep walking.
They don't care who is in their way
As they search for blood and brains.
They simply don't care about anything.

They do not care about your skin color.
Nor do they care about your looks.
Having flesh is all that is required to
please the undead and sate their hunger.

Zombies do not give up on their mission.
They always try to find the brains,
even if it could mean death for them.

As inspirational as zombies are,
They receive no credit because they
long for the taste of tender brain meat
melting in their rotting mouths

While their bodies decompose
And their hearts do not beat at all,
These humanoids are the truths of
Humanity that none wish to ever face.