Month: November 2011

Another Story II

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

II.
The words hung hollow in the street.

Jonas skidded across the cobblestones to engage the next once-man. Right boot slipped, dropping his guard. His teeth rattle as the bony hand rakes across his face with surprising force. The squire’s vision blurred, making his blood appear purple as it landed on the front of his cloak.

Without stopping to think, Jonas lashed out — the sword’s pommel glanced off the yellowed skull. Skipping backwards, he swung in panic. Forgetting form in exchange for speed, his breath came quick and gasping. The skeleton fell backwards. Jonas heard the chink of steel on cobblestones as he battered its still form. The ribs crunched as he landed a furious kick.

Eight skeletons now. Jonas felt his blood turn to acid. His war cry had drawn them.

One clutched a dead hen, as if caught on the way to market. Another still had enough hair clinging to the skull for him to recognize Mogrin. She had walked the way-path near his father’s farm, taking the cows to pasture. They had shared kisses and some sweaty moments in the field, hidden from view by the tufted hay bales. The acid drained out the bottom of his feet, and left him feeling channeled out and sick.

Mogrin’s yellow hair had gone green and black with decay.

The squire spit blood and rainwater on the cobblestones. He had only been in Gilead for a few …minutes? An hour perhaps?
_
Gotta get to higher ground — someplace I can fight them and not get surrounded._

His eyes swept the city square wildly. Past two more of the skeletons, a bay window — stained glass, too dark to reveal its design. Jonas stole a quick second to dash more rain from his face, and flung himself at the two rotting townsfolk between him and the church window.

Another Story.

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

I.
It was raining in Gilead.

Pulling his hood a little tighter around his head, the traveler ducked under an awning. He left his hand under the water running off the rooftops, feeling how it pounded into his flesh. The rainwater stuttered against his hand, scattering droplets all across his faded brown cloak.

Jonas had come home.

Hearing movement from across the street, he immediately ducked behind a nearby barrel. Peeking out from behind it, Jonas saw what he expected. A skeleton, green pinpricks of light in its eye sockets. It still wore the rags of its former life, a faded blue tunic and a leather apron. Its bony feet clacked against the cobblestones. The traveler’s eyes widened — It’s old Haccomb, the butcher, I’m sure of it!

Tears came to his eyes, and Jonas sank down behind the barrel again. His nose began to run, and he wiped it away on his sleeve.

A puddle caught his reflection — blue eyes in a young face, a poor excuse for a beard downing his chin. A squire lost from his knight.

Breathing shallowly, Jonas unsheathed his sword. It was good steel, plain except for an odd notch near the hilt. Saying a prayer for Haccomb’s soul, he rose and turned to face the skeleton.

Four skeletons. A fifth rounding the corner. Their rags give Jonas quiet clues, naming other old friends.

Sucking in air too fast, Jonas chokes — then swallows a scream. Dropping his sword into a ready position, he moves toward Haccomb.

The blade swings. It crunches into the rib cage of the first skeleton, but thin arms still reach. Dancing backwards, Jonas slashes downward, scattering flecks of bone. The Haccomb skeleton stutters forward again and is met with a flash of steel, severing rib cage from pelvis. The squire, if that is what he is, kicks the legs apart as they continue forward.

The other four are upon him. Jonas wipes the rainwater quickly from his face. His lips part, and he cries.

“For Gilead!”

Day Zero.

G. Derek Adams2 Comments

Well — here we go.

I’m writing.

[GASP.]

Bit by bit, day by day – I’m writing.

But I can’t exist in a vacuum — I’m just not that good at delayed gratification.  I need an audience.

Cue you, internet stranger.

First I’m going to post a short story I wrote in chunks for the next few days, then I’ll collate it all down into a page for you to read the whole thing. [You know, if you hate scrolling.]

Then..I’ll post some more stuff I wrote. Rinse, repeat.

Comments and criticism are welcome — especially on this first piece. I wrote it about a year ago and haven’t revised it suitably to let anyone read it.

So, be kind – and don’t tell Mrs. Stephens.

[Mrs. Stephens was my 10th grade English Teacher.]