Archive for the ‘Fiction’ category

Pointy Things:2004

November 9, 2010

Pointy Things

Lightning cracked: Lighting the sky: Brilliant: Silver: Blue: Yellow:

Virgil: Squats amongst boulders: Peering out across the rock-strewn landscape:

Crawlies dream of being: Pointy things protruding from upper lips:

Clothing clings to rotting flesh: Time marches on:

One creature lusts the soul: The others yearn the flesh:

 

Bats circle in the crackling sky above: Honing in on Virgil’s scent: For the Master:

His would be minions marching through the night: The never-ending mission to feed:

The Army of the Dead turned out to be a bad idea:

The Count: Thought they might come in useful: In his quest to rule the world:

They proved an uncontrollable mob: Impossible to threaten:

Hunger of the most gluttonous locust: All living flesh devoured in its path:

Leaving The Count: Little human candidates for conversion:

 

Virgil: Just the man he needs on his side:

To master the Army: Who blindly followed: Never heeded:

Virgil: Reserved for special treatment: The Count: Not going to allow:

Eternal gnawing of the Army of the Dead: Will not get in the way:

Apprehension: Conversion of a right hand man:

Racing thoughts: Drive Virgil’s feet forward: Boulder hopping slick rocks:

Between lightning strikes: Thunder claps: The Count: Pursues:

Modern day Nosferatu: Minus hook-nose: Dismounts his supple steed:

Suckling a nip: Before setting off on foot: Across the moraine:

The Live Undead: Trudging some distance behind: Along the road:

Soon to lose itself: In the boulder field of the moraine:

The moraine of Black Glacier: Zombies aren’t built for mountain travel:

 

The storm clears: Full moon rises in above The Weaver: Piercing the starlit sky:

Virgil: Knows of a cave: Nestled in The Weaver:

Above the moraine: Above the glacier: Tucked into the Bergshrund:

Above the mother of all crevasses: At the bottom: The Count: Bothering no one:

Virgil: Thinks of ambushing The Count: The Army will not it make above the glacier:

Virgil: Always flees with his pointy things:

Crampons: Sharpened wooden handled ice axe:

 

Below The Count: His full arsenal: Pointy things:

Virgil: Reaches the foot of Black Glacier: Ever retreating as the globe warms:

Truly a Black Glacier: As much rock and dirt as ice:

Deadly slick spots: Dropping into deep and dark crevasses:

Bottomless: Un-escapable:

 

Virgil: Gingerly wrestles: Pointy things from pack:

Clamps on crampons: Loops the ice axe strap around his wrist:

Glances back down the moraine: Spies the figure of The Count:

Nimbly plying the boulder field below: Gaining rapidly:

The Army has reached the edge of the moraine: They descend on The Count’s steed:

Zombie Power Bar: Final screams echo: Off the walls of The Weaver’s Cirque:

A mere hors d’ oeuvre: Ravenous mob never satisfied: Eternal curse of the Live Undead:

 

Questing out onto the moraine: Driven by the search for fresh flesh: Sniffed on the wind:

Boulder hopping skills lacking: Zombie March into boulder field:

Slipping and sliding: A necral pratfall of manic proportions:

Cries of frustration: Brainless zombies wallowing in their mire:

Virgil: Can’t help but giggle at the spectacle: The Count: Pauses and looks back:

Evil laugh echoes through the cirque: Event of utmost humor:

Emotion zombies no longer enjoyed: Bonding man and Vampire for a fleeting moment:

A truce in the never-ending war: But a brief truce: Nosferatu: Pursues the chase:

 

A few intrepid zombies: Navigating the moraine: Successfully:

Three Quarters down: One Quarter left to battle the glacier itself: Minus pointy things:

Virgil: Heads up glacier: Slow going: Terrain no zombie can navigate:

The Count: Another matter: Intrepid mountaineer:

Pioneer of countless Black Glacier routes: Nocturnal climber of distinction:

But Virgil: Will lead him on The Astral Plane: A route The Count knows nothing about:

A route to the heart of the bergshrund: Virgil: Knew he would follow:

 

Nothing would stop The Count: Mission of utmost importance:

The Count: Now on Black Glacier: Following Virgil’s tracks: Pointy things:

The Count: Protruding: Pointy things: Vibrating in anticipation:

Yearning for blood: The door to the soul: Pushing ever upwards:

Zombies below: Step on the ice: Sans pointy things:

Slipping: Sliding: Crashing: Hurling: Plummeting: Damnation of Eternal Crevasse:

Virgil: Stops: Listen to screams:

 

The bergshrund ahead: The Count: Below:

Virgil: Reaches the head of the glacier: Gazes down into the bergshrund:

He rigs up his rope: Rappels into the dark depths: Clicking on headlamp:

Scanning the walls for the cave: Lamp lands upon the grotto:

Virgil: Swings into the entrance: Finding firm footing:

He unhooks from rope: Pulling it down into the cave:

Clicks off his lamp: Sits and waits:

 

The Count: Reaches the crest: Drops into the bergshrund:

No headlamp needed: Nocturnal eyes peering:

Virgil: Squatting in the dark of the cave wall: Waiting:

The Count: Sees the cave: Swings over to its entrance:

Virgil: Leaps up: Knife in hand: Slicing the rope: Plummeting Count:

Crevasse below: Bouncing off walls:

Descent stops: Grabbing a ledge: Struggling up:

Virgil: Hears: The Count: Below: Curses his luck:

 

The game is not over: Arsenal of pointy things engaged:

Protruding: Tingling: Pointy things: Up climbs The Count:

Virgil: Sharpens his stake: Wooden ice axe handle: Double duty:

The Count: Emerges into dark: Scanning for Virgil: Not seeing:

Virgil: Swings in from above: Wooden Stake meeting its mark:

The cries of the damned: Echo: Through Black Glacier:

Unite for a moment: Disappear into the depths:

 

Makes extra sure the job is done: Multiple stabbings: Lifeless Vampire:

Dragged to the rising sun: Body devoured by light: Pointy thing necklace:

Virgil: Heads up The Weaver: Gazes on the chaos below: Consuming the world:

Virgil: Deep into the mountains: Sole companions: Pointy things:

Advertisements