Posts Tagged ‘ zombie ’

The Slumber

Flash fiction is the way of the future, it’s true. Flash fiction is defined by its length, usually from 500 to 1000 words, and in today’s world it makes for a great snack-sized, immediate payoff, slice of entertainment. It’s refreshing to see writing find a way to compete in a world with YouTube. When that means you’re only a minute away from farting pandas, honey badgers, and Viking Metal who wants to struggle through words like this Latin nonsense

Anyway, I like to dabble time and again, so I’ll be posting flash fiction right up here to this blog.


The Slumber

I awake from my slumber surrounded by the tendrils of black barren trees reaching for the starless night sky.  I must have slept for some time as I do not recognize this part of the woods, thick with frost covered moss.   As I tilt my head up I find myself laying at the feet of a stony angel.  Her arms outstretched a sign of welcome, belittle her woeful frown I expect marble tears to roll off her cheeks and onto my face. I know this angel, she guards the family plot at St. Benedict’s Cemetery

            She welcomes the dead, for my resting place is no forest but a burial ground.  The grounds are lit by a ring of melting candles flickering in a crisp gale which guttered out the weakest of flames.  A man in heavy robes watches with deranged eyes from beyond the ring.  He holds his arms across his chest pulling his robes tight to shut out the cold.

I know not where the thought came from but I am so sure of my conviction on the matter, this man must have woken me I call out to him to ask what he wanted from me but no sound came from my lips, not even my breath shows on the cold night air.  All that I can muster is the sickening crackle of a jaw not used to speak for too long.

“Arise and arm yourself!” The wizard’s words pierce my very soul and before I can think, I was gaining my footing and slowly plodding towards what he is now pointing at outside the ring of candles.  When I reach the spot I find myself staring at a pile of dimly lit and very crudely made swords, jagged and cracked from years of neglect.  I crave a sword, I need the steel. I reach for a blade, any will do but what is this?

As I reach for a sword, horror and despair crowd my command for control of my actions. My hand comes to view from the darkness but all the flesh has fallen from it.  Long I must have been asleep, a slumber I never should have woken from for all that is left of me is alabaster bones that tatters and rags hang from .  Still, I carry my sword with grim obligation for his command has silenced any thought of objection in my mind.  My soul is his to command by some dark pact; I will serve him today and the rest until the day I am nothing more than dust.