Thursday, November 1, 2012

[Novel] UnAlive (Day 1 of NaNoWriMo)

Here are the first few pages written for NaNoWriMo from my story titled:  UnAlive.


Introduction
  This is compilation of articles from newspapers and books but most importantly, from a work of literature dubbed:  The Dark Diary. 

  My name is Professor Luke Harding and I have put this compilation together to give new light on a horrific and terrifying past.  In reading this, my hope is that you come to a deeper understanding of the plague that beset our land, and how it affected both sides of the war. 

  May we never forget the darkness in the hearts of men.




Dark Diary Entry 1:
November 1, 2025
  I write in this diary to solidify my sanity in writing.  Many have given in to the mindlessness, have given up on trying, have lost themselves to the darkness.  My hope is that by writing my thoughts, my life, down in words, I can preserve what little humanity I have left.  Perhaps my sins can be forgiven when you read my words, but I have little hope.  My sins are too heavy for a single soul to bear.

  I don’t remember much before my turning, I used to be a biologist I think, a physicist, a scientist of some sort.  Things are fairly hazy, but I’m better off than most.  Those who were maimed too much in the turning or dead too long before their awakening have trouble with memory.  They are most easily lost to the call of the master.  And then many remember, but lose themselves in their insanity.  The crimes we commit are too much for some to bear, so they simply let go. 

  I will never give in; I will write my sins on paper so that my burden may be shared.

  Last night we feasted.  Do you know what it is like to rip a fleshing apart and eat them bit by bit while they cry out in terror?  I say fleshlings, for that is what we call them, but they are in truth, human.  But killing innocent lives is too much to bear so we call them something else, something to dull the edge.  It’s not like we have a choice you know; when the master calls, we obey.  But we see, we feel, we remember all that we do. 

  So last night I killed a young man, thirty or so with blond hair.  It was a night raid, as is usual.  We entered the sewers from the south of the city, and entered under the stealth of night.  The humans know thought, so they have traps and weapons readied.  So we send the broken first, those immortals already too far gone to be of much use in combat.  The master calls, and they obey.  It’s easier to see one of us get shot through the head than to feast.  There is no choice though, and so I entered a small, quaint home, the broken in front of me acting as a shield.  I grabbed the man and threw him against a wall breaking his back.  We’re strong, you know.  I haven’t figured out exactly why we gain so much extra strength during the turning.  The man fell to the ground and I ripped one of his arms off, stepping on his chest while he cried out in terror.  I only pray that his broken back numbed some of the pain.  He watched as I tore into his arm, consuming his flesh.  I killed him swiftly once I had regained some of my humanity, and finished devouring the man.

  It is strange that by feasting on humans, we become more human ourselves.  The master keeps us, waiting for days until our humanity starts to lessen, until the hunger begins.  Then he sets us loose on a city, a wild pack of demons, destroying anything in our way. 

  It is in that moment that you realize what you have done, a part of your mind returning to normal, that the insanity hits you the worst.  Looking down at the man I had broken snapped me last night.  I knew I had to either lose myself entirely, as many have done, or find a way to focus my mind and my thoughts.  So I write.  I stole this diary from the man’s house and took it with me as we fled the city after the raid.  Hopefully it offers me a way to retain my mind, that by reading it when the hunger comes I can retain my humanity.  But I’m not fooling myself, I can’t stop the master’s call.  When he calls, I will kill.   

  So we retreated here, to a cave in the hills, where our base is set up.  Humans have vastly underestimated us and our ability fight.  They are learning, slowly, that they should be very, very afraid.  An apocalypse such as this has always been joked about, but their culture is their downfall.  They see us as mindless brutes, and while some of us are, they don’t know how we think.  The master is brilliant.  His combat strategies have taken over the entire Western United States.  He has forces entering Mexico and Canada and his main force is pushing slowly across the U.S.  gaining numbers. 

  Immortals, we are called.  At least the master calls us that.  It’s a ruse of course, we are nowhere near immortal.  We don’t feel pain, sure, and we don’t rely on oxygen or moving blood to survive, but we can be killed.  I still haven’t figured out why.  What moves our bodies?  The master seems to be some sort of advanced species; he drinks human blood constantly and I imagine it’s similar to eating human flesh for us.  He retains his mind indefinitely and is stronger and more alive than any of us immortals.  Perhaps some link with him keeps us moving, but I have not figured out what it is. 

  His commands are absolute.  You can never disobey when he grasps your mind.  He tells us to go, to destroy, and we obey. 

  I have now killed twenty humans.  I remember each death, the look of pure terror in their eyes as I stand over them.  Each time as my mind comes to, my animalistic satisfaction of domination wanes and panic sets in.  Regret.  My only prayer is that someday someone can put an end to my misery.  For now I kill, and I will write them down in this book, to give them a memory.

  May the living die in peace.



Rocky Mountain Newspaper
11-1-25:
  Yesterday a horrific attack took place in downtown Fort Collins.  Over two hundred zombies attacked the city, ravaging and killing nearly three hundred residents.  Now two months since Z-Day began, the zombie forces have taken over the entire west coast.  Colorado has been one of the key battleground states in the war against the undead. 

  The attack was startling as forces had not yet been seen on this side of the Rocky Mountains.  Residents were armed but not prepared for the massacre that took place.  In just two hours, the undead came, killed and left, leaving behind only a few dead of their own.  Attacks like these weigh down on morale for Americans around the country, but General Mitchells has responded by sending some marines from Denver to guard Northern Colorado from another attack. 

  He is quoted saying, “We will not let these atrocities go unpunished.  We will deal with these monsters swiftly and effectively to bring peace to the minds of American Citizens around the country.  These monsters can and will be destroyed.” 

  The U.S. Military is spread thin with a war against China taking most of our forces overseas.  What police and military forces remain in the United States have banded together and are in the process of forming a new anti-zombie coalition to stop these monsters here in Colorado.  

  People around the community are beginning to pick up the pieces, to band together and console each other after the loss of so many.  We will fight on, for we are Americans.  We will battle the darkness, the evil that has beset the land and we will prevail!



Message from an Unknown Operative to General Mitchells
11-2-25

  Large forces have been sighted in Roosevelt National Forest. We have located a large contingency of deadheads in a valley. We have not seen any other enemy factions nearby. Sending the coordinates to the strike squads and await orders to engage the target.


The Dark Diary Entry 2:
November 3, 2025
  The master has alerted us to some fleshling meat coming our way.  He knows of course.  He always knows.  All night we built traps under the ground for when they come.  Six tons of C4 are buried underneath the cavern.  The fleshling warriors will come, and they will die.  We are the immortals and cannot be defeated!  Tonight I will write of our victory, our success against these inferior beings.

  The craving is strong tonight.  When we leave out the back entrance and the fleshlings arrive, we’ll blast the main force to bits and converge out of the forest around them.  Our sniper squad is stationed up at the top of the ridge overlooking the cave.  What fools to think that we cannot use their technology!  These soft tasty creatures have no idea what we are capable of.  Their folly is their naivety. 

  I was given a sword today.  The master sees my strength and rewarded me for my cunning, for my twenty kills.  I am strong, and tonight I will feast on sweet flesh. 

  We shall conquer the world, rising as the next rulers of the planet!  With Master to guide us we… are… IMMORTAL.


Transcript from an Emergency call to the AZF in Denver
11-3-25
--“Lt. Ryan, Do you read me?  What is your status?
--“They… killed everyone.   An explosion took out the main force, and snipers fired on us from the hill taking out half of the remaining men.”

--“Snipers?!  Don’t tell me these beasts can use weapons!”

--“We retreated behind a nearby hill but they are converging fast.  I’m not sure we have enough…”

**Multiple Gunshots**

--“Lieutenant!  Get your squad out of there!”

--“We can’t they have us surrounded!  We’re gonna try and break through to the south!”

**end of transmission**


The Dark Diary Entry 3:
November 4, 2025
  When I read my previous entry I am both appalled at my degradation of the mind and fascinated at the same time.  I am almost entirely a different person.  Sadly, our mission was a success.  The master had planned it perfectly.  Two strike squads came from the south to the mouth of the cave and engaged a small contingency of broken ones.  The explosion left most of the soldiers in multiple pieces.  Our snipers engaged on the third strike squad sitting out in the forest.  From there it was a simple massacre. 

  I killed five last night.  A young woman with green eyes and blond hair, an old man with stars on his shoulders, a young man with fiery red hair, who tried to fight me with his bayonet, another young man who I grabbed from behind and ripped both arms off at once, and another young lady in white, a nurse perhaps, that I ate the legs of.  Twenty five now; my new sword has tasted the blood of three of them.  I hate this sword, but I cannot throw it away, for it was a gift from the master.

  The only solace I have in our attacks is my sanity after I feast.  I can almost forget the severity of it after I wipe the blood away and sit down to write.  I feasted on three of my kills, and my mind seems clearer now than ever before.  The difference in my pre and post feeding mental states is staggering. 

  I have a friend here with me now, a younger immortal who I will refer to as bucket.  He is fairly far gone so he makes for good conversation.  One way conversation at least.  During the town raid a few nights back he managed to procure a bucket and seems to enjoy wearing it on his head.  In all honesty it saved him tonight for I saw three bullets ricochet off of it.  He’s an amusing fellow and takes my mind off my troubles.  I asked him where he got the bucket and he replied: “Hos.  Hose.”  I think he found it near a faucet on the outside of a house, it’s hard to say sometimes with his single word answers.  Bucket is fairly strong for an immortal, last night I saw him pick up two large men from behind and throw them off a short cliff about thirty feet away.  I was fairly impressed I am not sure I have the strength to do that.  One human, sure I could throw that far. 

  I have noticed my body restructuring itself slowly as well.  As I devour humans, my body seems to adapt, to grow stronger.  My muscles have expanded, stretching my pale white skin and I have noticed an increase in my mobility and strength.  What incredible creatures we are.  If only we weren’t cursed by our mindless obedience to our most powerful overlord, and if only we weren’t consumed by the need to kill, we could truly be a magnificent race of creatures.  The decay of mental acumen is troublesome, however.  I think if I was able to feast each day, I could improve our situation. 

  As I look around our camp, I see so much that could be improved.  We could use our more intelligent immortals to create armor and weapons to prolong our fighting capabilities; we could divide up extra corpses among our elite soldiers to provide incentive to become the best.  I think of these things and it makes me want to vomit.  How can I even contemplate improving an already deadly plague upon the world.  And yet, I am one of them.  I kill, I murder, I feast.  This is my sin. 

  Who was I?  Before I was so irrevocably torn into this world by my beloved wife. 

  …Interesting, I seem to remember more than before as that thought had not yet occurred to me.  Yes, yes indeed.  It seems my wife bit me as I blew her brains apart.  How tragic.

  I wonder if she was cognizant of her actions at the time.  At least she is resting peacefully.  She should not have to bear such a burden.  So here I am, with Bucket, contemplating our predicament.

  I can hear him now. The master is calling to me. I must go. Hopefully my sanity stays with me longer this time. For I will have need of it yet I think.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

[Short Story Teaser] Grey Eyes

Here is a teaser of a short story I started.  It's not something I currently plan to finish, but I just wanted to start doing these as a way to get some of my creative ideas down on paper and out of my head.  If you like it let me know, if you have criticisms I'm all ears as well as this is an attempt to refine my writing style and get better at creative writing.


Grey Eyes


“Move!” The soldier prodded the greying man in the back with his buckler, shoving him toward the edge of the cliff.  The two thousand foot drop known as Shadow Gorge lurked only a few feet away now.

“You’re making a big mistake.”  The prisoner muttered as he took another step.

“What’s that?  Killing a ra’sha like you has no consequence, mistake or not.”  The soldier spat on the older man’s head and cracked the flat of his sword across the prisoner’s back, slightly lacerating his bared skin.  The prisoner simply looked back, his light grey eyes—the color of polished steel—smiling.  A sinister grin broke across his mouth as the soldier pushed him to the edge of the ravine.  The young soldier grabbed the manacles behind the prisoner’s back and shoved him outward toward the edge so that his toes were hanging past the ledge. 

“In the name of King Aexar the Great, this man is punished by trial of the Shadow for theft of the King’s property and murder of the King’s troops.  He is hereby declared…”  The man yelled out to the forty soldiers that had accompanied him.  “… A shade.”  And with that he kicked the man in the back and sent him tumbling off the cliff.  Turning around, he saluted with his fireblade, holding it up in the air over him, signifying the end of the execution.  The reddish orange gem in the middle of his sword glimmered in the sunlight casting a ray of red and orange light across the ground.  He held the blade for a moment and then sheathed it and began to walk toward the organized lines of men under his command.

As he took his first step, a blast of wind knocked him forward and he nearly fell on his face.  Startled, he quickly turned to see what it was as the sound of drawn weapons and startled gasps filled the air behind him.  There on the edge of the cliff was the prisoner.  His manacles were shattered and from his forearms and shins an eerie white glow shimmered from beneath the skin.  

“HE’S A FUSLING!”  The soldier yelled as his soldiers readied for combat.  He readied his fireblade and tapped the red gem in the center, igniting his blade in an inferno of deadly flames.  No one else in his squad had a gemblade, in fact for a lieutenant like himself, owning a gemblade was both rare and impressive.  But one gemblade was not much when faced with a fusling.  Moreover the lieutenant had never even heard of a quad fusling.  It was unnerving, but the lieutenant could not fail here, he had one of the best trained squads with him.  Together they had won countless skirmishes and battles against the Tyraks to the west earning them an honored place in the King’s guard.

“Squad A: left flank!  Squad B and C: wedge formation from the right!”  The lieutenant yelled to his men.  The grey eyed prisoner jumped as the first squad attacked from the left.  At the pinnacle of the twelve foot high jump, the prisoner spun around and kicked out with his left leg.  As he did, the gem in his left leg glowed brightly and a focused blast of air took the form of a blade and hit one of the attacking soldiers in the shoulder, severing his arm from his torso.  The soldier screamed and dropped his blade, clutching the spewing wound as he fell to the ground.  As the prisoner landed he rolled into a handstand and spun around creating a deadly ring of wind blades that expanded outward.  Three more men from squad A died, their spears unable to deflect the blades of air, but squad B and C had their shield men out in front, deflecting most of the attack.

The lieutenant rushed in from the side, tapping his fireblade even more.  He stepped in and stabbed his sword toward the prisoner’s neck as the prisoner rolled back into a standing position.  Flames leaped from the sword and rushed forward engulfing the grey eyed man as he stood up and crossed his arms in front of him.

A giant gust of wind blasted the inferno away as the man threw his arms outward.  Moving like water, the man ducked under two sword swings and punched the lieutenant in the head, leaving him crumpled on the ground in a flash of lucid white light.

For ten more minutes the soldiers tried to kill the grey eyed fusling, dropping one by one, until only he remained.  Severed arms, legs and heads littered the cliff as the man shook off some of the blood from his arms and chest.  His only piece of clothing—his burlap loincloth—was now dark red with the blood of the King’s soldiers.

“Ra’sha my ass,” The man muttered, “But I don’t mind being a shade.  It makes my job a hell of a lot easier.”  For just a moment, a hint of anger could be seen in his eyes, but it passed quickly, leaving the serene, calm face of a middle aged man who has resigned himself to fate.  The glow that lit his arms and legs faded as he stopped tapping his reservoir. 

“Oh this will be nice.”  The grey eyed man said as he picked up the lieutenants fireblade.  “Haven’t had a quality weapon like this in years!”  He perused the pockets of each dead squad taking what gold, food and items he could carry.  Most of it was soaked in blood and much of the food was useless, but he was able to procure a large bag to carry his spoils and a few good pieces of clothing to wear.

It was a crisp autumn day and the grey eyed man took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh fall air.  “Ah, today is going to be a great day!  I just know it!”  And with that he set off south away from the Shadow Gorge, toward the heart of the great city, Dar’Nakra.  After all, he had a king to kill.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

[Novel] Prologue V2

I am deleting my old posts and re-writing my story.  My writing style has evolved quite a bit since I started this story, and yet again, it needs to be re-written.



Prologue
  The night roared.  A young lady ran, grasping at branches for support and hopping to avoid insidious roots.  To simply say she was running would be misleading for the half sprint, half scramble was the kind of running your body can only do when fueled by stark, unrestrained terror.  Behind her a large willow tree splintered in half from the blade of one of the dark horsemen.  The black sword swallowed the light around it, engulfing what little light permeated the thick canopies above.  His horse, a dark, thick black beast, had eyes that glowed red—unnatural, and full of wild fury. 

  Tears fell from the young woman’s large aquamarine eyes leaving trails of cleared dust.  Blood trickled down her arms from where she had thrown herself through a barbed thicket moments before.  Despite the overwhelming fright of the situation, in the back of her mind she knew she could not afford to fail.  For the world as she knew it would forever fall into chaos.  She focused her mind and turned around to face her attacker.  Silently, she muttered a few words and threw her hands in front of her.  As she did so, water began to coalesce out of the air into long pointed masses.  Ice crept along the globules turning the floating water into deadly blades of ice.  She lifted her head and looked into the black lifeless eyes of the horseman.  “Shardstorm.”  The words came like a torrent of power from her mouth and activated the spell.  The magic enhanced ice easily shredded the man’s armor and mortally wounded him, throwing him off his steed.  Without a moment’s stalling, the young lady turned around and once again continued down the thick, forested valley.   She had now killed two of them:  The Dark Order.  The first had fallen prey to a hastily placed ice trap she had cast after escaping their lair.

  She hadn’t planned on discovering them; she simply was exploring the forest south of the Grand Capital, Alestia and came across an unusual gathering of rocks.  As she neared she had noticed some magical barriers around them and curiosity had overwhelmed what little sense of self-preservation she possessed.  Indeed, she was somewhat of a reckless child, but her aptitude and skill in magic had kept her both safe and well over confident.  Using some magic threading techniques she had disabled the traps and entered the cavern as the rocks parted.  There, tucked in a corner at the top of the cave, she had learned dark secrets and plans that threatened the peace of the entire nation.  They discovered her spying as she tried to escape back out and began the deadly chase.

  Her mind now raced, trying to determine an escape.  Killing two of them would hardly slow the chase, but it bought her some time.  Ahead, a small clearing in the woods opened up.  A large sword crashed through a tree to her left and she dashed out of the forest onto the banks of a large lake.  Two more riders behind her slashed at the foliage to get to her.   Quickly she scanned the banks.  To her despair, hundreds of dark clad wizards and archers began to emerge along the lakeside.  She had run out of options and dove into the lake.  An arrow zipped past her thigh as she swam, clipping her skin and drawing blood.  Another arrow pierced her shoulder and she gasped, nearly losing all her oxygen.  Her blood floated up around her.  If she came up for air, she knew, she would die. 

  And so she turned to her final and most desperate resort.  The spell was forbidden, and by all rights she should never have known of its existence.  Her adventurous curiosity had uncovered more than a few hidden secrets.  She recited the complex spell in her mind, taking care to set the spell up carefully.  Slowly, each cell in her body began to freeze as the time-defying spell froze her legs, then her arms, then her chest and finally her head.  Her consciousness began to fade as she poured the last bit of magic into preserving her life.  Her body, devoid of any air, sank to the bottom of the lake, far away from the light of the sun.  Her mind began to black out as questions floated through her head:  Would she ever be found?  Would she be found in time?
 
  The dark order checked the shores thoroughly for any sign of the intruder.  Blood was found on the surface of the lake and the young girl was declared dead and the search called off.  As quickly as it came, the darkness that made the pitch black night look bright faded away into the dark forests.

    In the dark the maiden lies,
                With secrets black, the frozen sighs
                Until the time, The Weaver’s fight
                Will shatter then—eternal night

Thursday, November 3, 2011

[Poetry] Fallen

Jason Carter
11/7/2007

Fallen

A rock hits my chest—lightening strikes
my rifle sticks to the earth—a magnet
head hits the ground
            crack
I hear the crowd cheering
“That was a fine home run boy” dad
says “a fine run.”

Saturday, October 22, 2011

[Poetry] Window Cleaning

I wrote this poem after my window cleaning job one cold day in December.


Jason Carter
12/5/2006

Window Cleaning

Frost creeps up into my veins
the wind lifts his head—eyes gaze at mine,
he laughs as I carry my bucket and walk toward the glass
one by one, he rips the skin and nerves from my fingers
leaving red stubs: useless and thoughtless.

I thought to run and give up,
but—what am I, if not a man; and what do I have, if not
stubbornness?

The wind and the sky whisper to each other
and talk about the rain and the moon,
my hero has already set.

Friday, October 21, 2011

[Poetry] Halloweeen

Jason Carter
12/18/2006

Halloween

So much happened
its easy to say
we went along

with the mob
and their lunacy
remember

the small bottle
one-shot
Smirnov

the girl
her costume all
too pleasantly revealing

and the apples in our
five dollar cups

the waves of people—the cars
Everclear wakening
our tongues

you can’t really say,
it wasn’t a night of nights.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

[Poetry] Regardless of Reason

This is a poem about indoor rock climbing... yes, indoor rock climbing.  At this time in my life it was a massive hobby of mine and I was going 2-3 times a week.


Jason Carter
8/30/2006

Regardless of Reason

why does my body
pulse
so that I cannot but
cling to faux-cliffs
tearing anew
wounds of past
why do my arms
shake
when I think of it
the pump the
ferocity
within which I take pleasure.