zombie
Planter
This is a little project of mine that I do between Bush ticks and when I am procrastinating. A cookie to the person who guesses who inspired the style of the story.
Icy winds bite my cheeks and penetrate deep within my chest. Slowly I stir from the musty embrace of rotting leaves. I cast out my thoughts into the mist that envelops my brain trying to remember. I am not sure what I am trying to remember, anything at all I suppose. As I slowly come to my feet using the gnarled dead branch of a nearby tree for support I am suddenly driven back into the loam of the surrounding woods by a fiery pain that erupts from behind my right ear. Red engulfs my vision and pain is all I know. Soon the pain passes and I attempt to collect myself once again, slowly this time. I slowly spread each limb out, one at a time. Then I slowly push my way into a kneeling position. My head twinges but I am able to keep composure. I look about my surroundings searching for something to stir my mind and allow me to recall where I am, why I am there, and even who I am.
Upon the realization that I do not know my own name unconsciousness threatens to pull me back into its warm, murky depths. However, the combination of freezing winds and my own willpower forces my mind to continue to sail its tumultuous waters and cling to the last remaining bits of flotsam. As my vision clears for the second time I realize that I must be within the pit of Hades for no thing around you is alive. Cold terror grips at my chest and I am unable to breathe. Bit by bit the paralysis that seized me passes and I realize that I am not in fact trapped within the realm of the Dead, but simply in a clearing of trees that have died long ago, leaving bony white hulks of what they once were behind. However, this revelation brings with it another wave of hysteria. I have not the slightest inkling of where I am or how I got there. The temperature of the night is far below freezing and all I am wearing is a light flannel tunic and slacks. I could very well freeze to death and become another gnarled tree in the clearing. My spine would become the trunk, my twisted limbs the branches and my skull the crowning glory of a majestic bone white tree, petrified in frozen agony forevermore.
But salvation smiles on me for suddenly the pale silver moon clears the clouds that had enshrouded it to this point revealing between the stiff fingers of the dead trees the roof of a house. I pause for a moment before moving towards it, wondering whose it may be and whether I would be welcome or not. Then I press on, anything is better than freezing to death in the woods, I rationalize to myself.
As I labor through the stands of broken white husks of trees the mist, which up till this point, had clung to the dark dells surrounding the clearing becomes more corporeal. Soon I am unable to see my feet, then it is my knees and as I reach the front portal of the home I am wading in a pool of mist that is chest high. However, despite my inability to pierce the fog, I do not once stumble. It is as if my feet were guided through the brambles and loose debris of the woods to only set themselves on good, clear level ground. If I were not in such a horrid predicament I was currently mired in I might have laughed at that absurd thought. But, the situation being what it was, I meekly climb the broken, crumbling stone steps of the house, shoving such absurdities to the back of my head.
From my more immediate viewpoint, I immediately know that the house is uninhabited by any semblance of humanity. The windows are all boarded up, however the planks had rotted over time and fallen from their perches allowing glimpses into the front parlor of the home. I grasp the brass knocker and pull, years of rust and dust fall from the ancient hinges and groan against my efforts. I send three booming knocks through the house where I hear them reverberating against the long forgotten walls. As I wait on the doorstep, rubbing my arms together in a pathetic attempt to hold on to the feeble amount of heat I was losing, a long and baleful moan emanates from the house. Never before in my life have I heard such a sorrowful sound. I press my frozen face against the dirty panes of glass in an attempt to pierce the gloom within the parlor, trying to see where the cry came from, but nothing within shows any sign of life. I decide to wait for a few minutes just in case the moan came from the house and not the dark recesses of my imagination. Then if I am not allowed within, I shall break in for I will surely die from the cold of the woods if I do not get within shelter in short order.
I wait on the frozen concrete of the veranda and strain my senses to pick up any sign on life within the house, or the woods for that matter. The eerie quiet was beginning to affect me. I felt like screaming, letting the world know I was alive. Who knows, maybe someone was out hunting and would point me in the right direction. The brief glimmer of hope that that thought gave me extinguished immediately. It was the middle of a cold autumn night out of hunting season. Or was it? I can’t remember. Black terror threatens to cease the beating of my heart once again. However I am able to reason to myself, of course I don’t know the date. My mind obviously experienced some trauma when whatever event landed me in these woods in the first place occurred. I just had to give my beleaguered psyche time to recoup. That was all there was to it. However, a warm fire certainly would help me to regain my wits. And on that note, I peered once more into the parlor of the dilapidated home and seeing nothing, lowered my shoulder into the door.
Upon contact with the solid oak door I realize I needn’t have bothered with any force. As soon as my shoulder collides with the door, it flies wide open and I spill bodily into the parlor. Once again I find myself lying face down in unfamiliar surroundings in agony.
I have alot more work to do on it. I would like the finished project to be about 20 pages long and I am sitting at 3 full pages right now. Constructive criticism is most welcome.
Icy winds bite my cheeks and penetrate deep within my chest. Slowly I stir from the musty embrace of rotting leaves. I cast out my thoughts into the mist that envelops my brain trying to remember. I am not sure what I am trying to remember, anything at all I suppose. As I slowly come to my feet using the gnarled dead branch of a nearby tree for support I am suddenly driven back into the loam of the surrounding woods by a fiery pain that erupts from behind my right ear. Red engulfs my vision and pain is all I know. Soon the pain passes and I attempt to collect myself once again, slowly this time. I slowly spread each limb out, one at a time. Then I slowly push my way into a kneeling position. My head twinges but I am able to keep composure. I look about my surroundings searching for something to stir my mind and allow me to recall where I am, why I am there, and even who I am.
Upon the realization that I do not know my own name unconsciousness threatens to pull me back into its warm, murky depths. However, the combination of freezing winds and my own willpower forces my mind to continue to sail its tumultuous waters and cling to the last remaining bits of flotsam. As my vision clears for the second time I realize that I must be within the pit of Hades for no thing around you is alive. Cold terror grips at my chest and I am unable to breathe. Bit by bit the paralysis that seized me passes and I realize that I am not in fact trapped within the realm of the Dead, but simply in a clearing of trees that have died long ago, leaving bony white hulks of what they once were behind. However, this revelation brings with it another wave of hysteria. I have not the slightest inkling of where I am or how I got there. The temperature of the night is far below freezing and all I am wearing is a light flannel tunic and slacks. I could very well freeze to death and become another gnarled tree in the clearing. My spine would become the trunk, my twisted limbs the branches and my skull the crowning glory of a majestic bone white tree, petrified in frozen agony forevermore.
But salvation smiles on me for suddenly the pale silver moon clears the clouds that had enshrouded it to this point revealing between the stiff fingers of the dead trees the roof of a house. I pause for a moment before moving towards it, wondering whose it may be and whether I would be welcome or not. Then I press on, anything is better than freezing to death in the woods, I rationalize to myself.
As I labor through the stands of broken white husks of trees the mist, which up till this point, had clung to the dark dells surrounding the clearing becomes more corporeal. Soon I am unable to see my feet, then it is my knees and as I reach the front portal of the home I am wading in a pool of mist that is chest high. However, despite my inability to pierce the fog, I do not once stumble. It is as if my feet were guided through the brambles and loose debris of the woods to only set themselves on good, clear level ground. If I were not in such a horrid predicament I was currently mired in I might have laughed at that absurd thought. But, the situation being what it was, I meekly climb the broken, crumbling stone steps of the house, shoving such absurdities to the back of my head.
From my more immediate viewpoint, I immediately know that the house is uninhabited by any semblance of humanity. The windows are all boarded up, however the planks had rotted over time and fallen from their perches allowing glimpses into the front parlor of the home. I grasp the brass knocker and pull, years of rust and dust fall from the ancient hinges and groan against my efforts. I send three booming knocks through the house where I hear them reverberating against the long forgotten walls. As I wait on the doorstep, rubbing my arms together in a pathetic attempt to hold on to the feeble amount of heat I was losing, a long and baleful moan emanates from the house. Never before in my life have I heard such a sorrowful sound. I press my frozen face against the dirty panes of glass in an attempt to pierce the gloom within the parlor, trying to see where the cry came from, but nothing within shows any sign of life. I decide to wait for a few minutes just in case the moan came from the house and not the dark recesses of my imagination. Then if I am not allowed within, I shall break in for I will surely die from the cold of the woods if I do not get within shelter in short order.
I wait on the frozen concrete of the veranda and strain my senses to pick up any sign on life within the house, or the woods for that matter. The eerie quiet was beginning to affect me. I felt like screaming, letting the world know I was alive. Who knows, maybe someone was out hunting and would point me in the right direction. The brief glimmer of hope that that thought gave me extinguished immediately. It was the middle of a cold autumn night out of hunting season. Or was it? I can’t remember. Black terror threatens to cease the beating of my heart once again. However I am able to reason to myself, of course I don’t know the date. My mind obviously experienced some trauma when whatever event landed me in these woods in the first place occurred. I just had to give my beleaguered psyche time to recoup. That was all there was to it. However, a warm fire certainly would help me to regain my wits. And on that note, I peered once more into the parlor of the dilapidated home and seeing nothing, lowered my shoulder into the door.
Upon contact with the solid oak door I realize I needn’t have bothered with any force. As soon as my shoulder collides with the door, it flies wide open and I spill bodily into the parlor. Once again I find myself lying face down in unfamiliar surroundings in agony.
I have alot more work to do on it. I would like the finished project to be about 20 pages long and I am sitting at 3 full pages right now. Constructive criticism is most welcome.
