#undeath

"My life is not a public area for you to dispose of your personal nastiness and filthy way of life. You dispose of that in your own private elsewhere."

--God

These humans these days are like cats. If you want to hang around the Lord's land, you have to respect the Lord. The land is not your personal litter-box, cat. You are not allowed to crap on the ground. Get the fuck out of my sight.

Filthy god damned beasts.

They are like dogs too. Dogs, you are not allowed to run around without a leash. You are stupid, dirty, and dumb. You are vile beast that destroys everything in your stupid dog life. That is criminals in human terms.

You have to be on a leash or you are wrong.

...

This isn't really a complaint. Do you know why? Here is a pair of my shoes:

They are witcher boots. The Lord is helping me learn to use my witcher senses to track, identify, and understand past events and their happenings. "What is this trace? Someone made a mound here. They are f-ing with me again because mutant slime freakishness. Whatever... wait a minute. Where did swarm of evil intelligent flies come from!?

They buried a nasty turd.

. . .

Likely a cat.

Probably the one I chased away this morning and I saw complaining about it to the other neighbor lady.

. . . how, why, what. . . the solution. Communicate to cats the ways of feline law in civilization as they have never changed. Aka... witcher work.

. . .

Someone oughta pay me for this.

As tagged previously, I hail from the School of the Dingo. We are the craftiest of the bunch, and our magic is surprisingly sly and charismatic. When coupled with the Christian Word-Blaster, we are a date to dine for, beloved.

Come get some body, if you want to be somebody.

^^

You got another thing comin', dingos don't go it alone.

(Just like that, a wicked hunter dies in the Jungle.)

. . .

The sins of the past never stop haunting us, that's true. They do get better.

Do you know what it feels like to be hunted like that? Do you really know?

Maybe when Danny Crites, Zephra Doerr and myself reenacted The Most Dangerous Game with my evil home camcorder, we caused a future event to become destined to happen.

In the end, (my good friend Danny) and I were in a mortal struggle in his own palatial home of abundant love and grace of God in the Lord's name Jesus Christ. (Me a poor wretch fighting for my life).

We were struggling over a sketchy air-soft toy gun I possessed that looked very real. (Don't ask me). Anyway, I dosed the harmless unloaded device with a little common table flour. (It was CO2 powered and had a catridges for a BB gun as well).

Poof.

And he fell over and died.

It was a good movie, I think. I wonder if anyone still has it.

Sean Brown was also involved in this film, I believe. I'm not entirely recollective of all of our roles. I vaguely recall a scene at Haynes Park at night when I climbed onto something and jumped off of it.

The point is, they are really hunting me like that irl.

(I already knew about all that)

It's still a mortal struggle, but I also know how it's going to end and am helping direct the scene. You know? I not really struggling for my life here, if that's what you thought, and you don't need to remind me in any way about the good green grass of God's saving grace in Jesus name, amen.

I am really struggling for all of our lives all the same. It is something I am able to do, despite my disability.

The problem is that although you are showing images that you need to show the public, you are not showing the true authority yourself on the dark side.

Realistically, you would be trembling like Death Eaters before. . the Dark Lord.

setting the scene: mishka is a lonely necromancer in search of a body that will both love him and not completely rot away within a week, which has proven to be a very difficult task.

Mishka's head drooped to the floor as the mumbling wails from his new experiment slowly faded out. Frustrated, he dug in grimy fingernails into the table's sides. All that was left was a raspy breathing sound as the body tried desperately to keep functioning. But it was too rotten. Sighing, Mishka laid his eyes on his failed project; young-ish man, similar to his age, but you really couldn't tell just by looking at him. Half his face had already decomposed, revealing the inner workings of his scalp and jaw. Flesh rotted off his ribs, and his organs grew mould. It was too late for this one. Mishka took his spell book, noting the hand movement and which words to mutter under his breath, before letting the body drop dead with a flick of his wrist.

This was the sixth or seventh one- he couldn't remember. Loneliness tug at his heart badly. He could barely remember the nights he spent digging up graves, and pulling a body back to his house. The dirt under his nails the next morning was all that he could remember. And to think that all those times were for nothing...? He dug his face into his hands and gave out a raggedy breath. It was all pointless. He even tried to find the newest gravestones from which to pull out his victims, but still, he was always too late to catch them before degradation.

Not even bothering to wash his hands, he pulled on a nice warm coat, and made his way outside into Maotown. Cold air chipped at his neck, but he could care less. After walking along the salt-covered cobblestone path, he reached a bar. Sitting himself down at a small table in the corner, he asked for whatever was strongest; three of them. Glasses clanked and voices laughed. Bitterness grew inside him. Just as he heard the sound of three glasses being set upon his table, he lifted his eyes and looked around the room. God, everyone was so happy all the time. Always with someone. And- huh. Someone caught his eye.

A guy sitting on a bar stool, towards the front of the bar. He wore a dark navy turtleneck sweater and black jeans that shaped his massive ass. His skin was pale- like he was already dead, in some sense, especially contrasting with his short dark blue hair. He was sat listening to someone intently, with a small smile on his face. Mishka couldn't tell if he was bored or interested. The girl in front of him was eagerly chatting to him, before she put a hand on his arm warmly, returning a big grin.

Mishka downed one of his suspicious alcoholic drinks, feeling it seep down his throat. Now the man started talking- he couldn't hear what, exactly. But it seemed he was pretty interested. Mishka drank another. A few minutes passed as he stared at the guy. Suddenly, the man got up. What the freak. Mishka's eyes followed the guy walk to... the bathroom? He downed the last glass, and walked to the bathroom himself. His vision blurred as he tapped the guy on the shoulder and... he couldn't remember the rest.

He woke in his house, on an armchair. A ringing in his ears persisted, and his stomach churned. Groaning softly, he pulled himself out of the chair, and realised that his coat was stained with something. And instead of soil under his fingernails, there was blood.

Stumbling into the living room, he saw a body on the table. Very fresh. With a stab wound in his heart. The knife lay beside the guy. Mishka blinked in disbelief. The sexy guy at the bar; it was him.

Mishka got to work. He pulled off his own coat, and the dead guy's sweater and the shirt underneath too. He frantically flicked through the pages of his spellbook, before landing on that same stained page that had been haunting him for the last 6 or 7 times. He recited the chant under his breath, and laid his bloodied fingertips on the guy's chest. Before finally starting his ritual, he quickly pulled back the guy's dark hair out of his face, feeling his cold cheek on his hand. Now on top of the table, and hands firm on the guy's chest, he muttered the words to raise this poor guy from the dead. He shut his eyes, focusing all of his control on this man. Mishka's warmth trickled into the dead guy's flesh, his incantation conjured slivers of bluish-purple energies to surround both of them, air started blowing Mishka's hair back from the force.

The energy suddenly dissipated. Mishka's eyes opened as he panted, hoping for the best. Positioned right above the guy's hips, he watched as his eyelids fluttered open in a dazed confusion. He blinked a couple times, and tried to move his head, and let out a prolonged groan.

"Are... are you awake?" Mishka asked desperately. He lifted himself off of the man, and instead stood beside the table. He raised the guy's head gently, locking their gazes.

"Huh....?" he managed to let out. Mishka's eyes scanned his body- the only damage done was to the man's heart. He encouraged the man to sit up, as his legs dangled from the table. Mishka began wrapping bandages across his chest and shoulder.

"So, uh..." he began awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I don't remember much from last night." The guy looked at him blankly. He wasn't all there yet. "Anyway, uh... could you remind me of your name, then?"

"A..Alyosha, I think..." the guy replied, still trying to reawaken those rusty vocal cords. Mishka tied up the bandage. He found his hands lingering. Well, what was the harm? He had to know how his subject was doing. His hands traveled across the man's muscles, from his shoulders, back, and to his arms. Yes, he was a good specimen.

"Wh... what happened to me...?" Alyosha asked, trying not to let his eyes roll back into his head. "I feel... funny..."

Mishka laid a hand on the guy's jaw, and turned his head, making sure to note any injuries. "You don't have to worry about that. What matters is that you're here."

Alyosha didn't reply- he just sat there, posture shrimp-ened. His head felt empty. It was like his body was held together with nearly nothing- just on the verge of utter collapse. He couldn't think. He could barely move. It made him dependent on this strange man in front of him. He owed his undeadness to him.

It's cool, it's brutal, but I'm not a metal guy, so take this rating accordingly.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/5481026

My arms are folded to make space.

I was told this was the end of my life.

But as I open my casket, it looks like my life has just begun.

While this impromptu off my head (poetry?) you may assume it's about a vampire. Don't limit yourself. It can be about all sorts of undead creature.

Vampires, zombies, magicians, mummies, liches, etc.