Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Prompt and Share: Undead killing

This is a short story based on the main character of my undead/zombie story. This is in the point of view of the undead, Mikael. I dunno how much of this will make sense without knowing more about the story, but I hope it makes some sort of sense. This was for a Wednesday Prompt-and-Share by Nina Pelletier.

Per the prompt:
According to the world calendar, today is World Turtle Day. So we are going to write about turtles. Okay, I'm kidding. But in honor of World Turtle Day today's prompt will focus on having a tough outer shell. What is your character carefully hiding beneath their hard surface?
hint keep in mind and use the "sense of the unknown"

Word Limit 500
The usual still applies: At least one character, one setting, one conflict and one resolution

“Kill them,” she ordered me.

Her command reverberated into my dead bones. I could no more ignore her bidding than I could stop my constant hunger for living flesh. I looked over the city’s wall, the horde beating against the wall looked like ants from this height. I knew why they beat against stone walls. Inside it were humans with blood pumping through their veins. The hunger I felt was tempered by logic and the orders of my mistress, but the horde below us followed their blind hunger for living flesh. Their mistress did not care for her undead to think or reason. She was a goddess of death.

My mistress was little more than a girl trying to save the humans. I was her only weapon.

I heard the breath catch in my mistress’ throat as I leapt onto the thick stone balustrade and fell down into the horde below. I wanted to land head first and kill myself, but I couldn’t. I had to kill them.

I landed hard, my legs snapping as they took the brunt of the fall. I fell into a heap of broken bones. I would survive, I had the human flesh of a criminal I had been allowed to eat in my belly. Human flesh gave me the strongest magic. Without my feast, I would not be able to do this task.

Bones stitched themselves back together and tendons tightened. My muscles grew in strength and speed. The armor that was my skin became thicker. My metal nails grew long and sharp. By the time I rolled back up to my feet, my body was whole and ready for battle.

I began to fight my kin. At first I could see the confusion in their face. Why was one of their kin attacking them? The confusion turned to anger as I betrayed my people and murdered them. I replaced the anger in their glowing eyes with the bliss of death. My undead heart did not beat, I drew no breath, but I still felt my chest tightening in anger as I became the weapon my mistress wanted me to be.

I knew the humans on the wall rejoiced as a circle of true dead formed around me. I did not see victory. I was giving my brethren the peace of a true death and I envied them. No, I hated them.

I cut into them with sharp strokes of my claws, I dug my hands into their chests and heads and ripped out their dead brains and hearts. I was violent, a whirlwind of destruction. Despite the chaos I created, every one died with peace in their faces. I hated the peace they were given.

My soul was dead and withered inside me but it still wanted a freedom I would never be given.

Too soon there were no more undead to kill. I had laid them all to rest. I slumped to my knees as the last of the human flesh burning in my belly faded. I was empty of magic, empty of thought, empty of movement.

The humans cheered on the wall, they believed they were safe. More would come. I would fight my kin again. I was nothing but a weapon for the humans, a weapon to kill my own people.

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