The Living Dead

When we first roll out of the earth, as newborns, some believe we are alive. That we have beating hearts. Others believe, we are born dead, and need a jump start even in our infancy. I don't really care to debate that nonsense anymore. I exist now only by what can be observed, and when I was young I observed that I had a beating heart. I don't know when it first stopped beating. I don't know if it was something that I did or something someone did to me, but one day, in my youth, it stopped. Once it stopped beating, I became a good deal smellier, and my skin began to peel. I felt so grotesque. It was during this time that I met the Crew.

The Crew are clean cut Zombies. They believe in a man that was born alive and stayed alive until he was murdered, out of vain jealousy, and turned to dust, but it doesn't end there. This man was more than a man, and he proved it by coming back from dust. When he came back from dust; it was more true life than even babies are said to have. Then he left this world telling others how they too can obtain true life. So they can avoid turning into dust that does not rise.

I was very curious about this crew. I wanted to know how they stayed so clean. I learned that they believed that it was important to live as though you are alive. Just as alive as their leader was. I decided to join them. I took off my old clothes and was given new, but before I wore them I was to wash. This wash was suppose to be the entry way to life. There are so many stories about what the wash actually does or doesn't do for you. In fact, there are some members of the crew that do not wash at all. I wasn't apart of that crowd. I washed, and I felt new. Now I didn't actually become new, but my figurative heart felt like it did when I was as a happy child. Every week I'd rejoin with the crew. Together we'd patch up our broken flesh, and renew are blood. I often felt like a weekly patch up was unnecessary. Especially, since we didn't even use real flesh and blood to fix ourselves. It was just symbolic. We'd actually use substitutes. (Although, there are some members of the Crew that believe differently.)

Oh the different beliefs! There are so many! So much arguing and bickering! All the while if you don't believe or practice the right thing you won't receive true life! I confess, I took quite heatedly to the heart of this debate. Could I become undead again? Or once I accepted the promise of life would I keep it no matter what I did? Oh how this used to trouble me! Had I lost my ticket to true life by eating that squirrel brain? Could I never be free of the shackles of life, even if I wanted to be? Does my choice mean nothing? Was I destined to join the Crew? Honestly, sometimes I just wanted to eat a squirrel brain and not worry about losing my life. Not only that, but I began to resent the Crew members. So many of them would close their eyes to others sufferings. Or to the natural order of this world. After all, it is only natural for zombies to eat brains! It was at that thought that it struck me; I was never brought to life. Everything had been symbolism. The washing didn't make my heart beat again. It just made me imagine it. The patch-ups, while they do help to keep my rotting body together. It does not prevent the rot. While I do feel less like a zombie when I abstain from brains. I still want them. My desire has not been taken away. This troubled me greatly.

One day, while stomping through my graveyard, I spotted a tombstone I'd never seen before. It was a stone skeleton with wings like an angel. I presumed it was meant to be the angel of death. In its boney hand it held a knife. It was a real knife made of metal and not stone like that statue. I suppose some teenage zombies put it there for a laugh. It took time, but I managed to pry it from the statues grasp. I asked myself if I was ever alive? When I turn to dust, as all zombies do, will I rise into a living body? No one has ever seen that happen save once, and he is no longer here. Was he ever here to start? Or was he just a myth to comfort us poor walking dead? I took the knife in my hands and cut off all of my patches. The blood was quite messy. I had spoiled my Crew clothes, but I didn't care. If I had ever been alive, then I could die, but I discovered that I was just the same as I ever was. I am and always was a zombie. I felt a mixture of grief and relief. Sad because I spent so many years as a trusting idiot. Relieved because now I don't have to live as something I naturally am not. I'm not alive. I am undead.

Years went by and I spent less time eating brains and more time just lying in my grave. Dust was going to come to everyone. I might as well be ready for it. It was then I heard a knock at my coffin door. It was a member of the Crew. When she saw me she gasped.

“I didn't know. I didn't know you gave up on true life. I am sorry for sounding rude. I was just surprised to see you without your patches.”

“Yeah, look at me without my patches and I've never been better!”

She had real tears in her eyes. This is something not easily done. I had ran into other Crew members before this, but few had shown the level of grief of this girl. They were too busy being angry or indifferent. This Crew member ardently tried to persuade me to return. It was sweet. Pointless, but sweet. I had studied far more thoroughly than her about Zombie anatomy, about history, and the natural order of things. She could only offer me what was in her undead heart. I was kind to her, after all I'm not a monster. The conversation drew to a close when she offered me one last thing.

“I'd like to offer you a patch. I know you don't believe that it'll do you any good, but since you don't believe it won't do you any harm either.”

I felt very agitated at this request. A prerequisite for using a patch is believing in it! I was repelled by the notion of it. I argued with her how it was fundamentally impossible for me to take a patch! Not only that, but she only had a patch and not the fake blood that goes with it. She countered the patch doesn't do anyone any harm, and if I truly didn't believe in the symbol of it. I wouldn't be afraid of it. I scoffed. This was a stupid dare, but I had grown tired of her, and I wanted her to leave. I reached out for the patch only to have her keep it from me.

“I'd like to be the one that patches you, please.”

I rolled my eyes and consented. Moments later, I felt soft little hands on my neck. I once had a large patch there. When I removed it, all those years ago, it gushed quite profusely. The patch latched onto my rotted flesh. I admit that I was moved, but it was a feeling nothing more. At last the Crew member was ready to leave me, but I had one last question for her.

“Why did you pick my neck to patch?”

“Wasn't it obvious?”

I shake my head.

“You were bleeding.”

Dead people don't bleed.

More Princess Adelide

Being a Princess had its days of dull freedom. Days where there were no obligations but also nothing to do. Today was such a day for Adelide. She was free to wander the castle grounds. Halfway down the eastern stair Adelide stopped to listen to the chatter of the gentle ladies. They all wore lurid colors and a large feather in their hair.
"If only I could be a Princess again!" To be provided and cared for, with no work on my part. All play. Sleeping all day..."
"My nanny never let me sleep in late. But is was still nice."
"There are those that stay forever Princesses."
"There are those that become Queen. That would've been nice wouldn't it?"
"Oh it depends on the King."
"What if there is no King?"
"What about your own personal Prince?"
"Oh my. Ha ha"
"Or a stable boy?"
At that thought the whole flock of them burst into riotous laughter and giggles. Adelide lost all interest in them. The ladies of the court always spouted nonsense. Instead Adelide drifted down the great stone corridor. She watched the dance of light and shadow as she passed the empty windows that looked out to the glass roofed hall. Soon the light became more appealing then the shadows, and she made her way into the brightly lit hall.
There she found Patrick playing the onyx baby grand piano. He played a soft gentle tune, accompanied nicely by the sound of the hall's center water fountain. Adeide smiled. Patrick picked up the pace of his song at the sight of it. He thought she was a sweet child, and every musician likes an appriciative audience.
"Won't the water from the fountain hurt the piano?" Asked Adelide.
"I don't think so. I hope not. It was the King's idea that it be placed here." Commented Patrick.
"Yes, this whole hall is new. It used to be an open courtyard." She added.
"Well, new to here. This little baby grand has been in the castle for ages." Patrick said with a glint in his eye.
"Where has it been all of this time? Surely, I never saw her in the concert hall or music room." She wondered.
"Oh, there was a special place for her up in the north tower." Patrick explained.
These words stung at Adelide. Everyone knows that proper castles have towers. And everyone knows that this Castle was not a proper one.
"This castle has no tower." She snapped.
"Oh, are you sure about that?" Asked Patrick with a wry smile.
"It is perfectly obvious this Castle has no tower. I would have found it by now." She asserted.
Patrick moved to the higher keys and attempted to hide his growing delight at Adelide's irritation.
"I am certain of it Patrick! There is no place it could possibly be." She said with obvious strain in her voice.
Patrick moved on to play te lower keys, and had finally managed to suppress his smile and said,
"I don't know, little highness. I was told the tower existed, but I have never been there myself, but I still believe in it."
Adelide was made silent by this. Patrick wasn't and augmentative fellow, nor had she known him to be a liar. She supposed he was trying to tell her some kind of joke. A joke she did not like. Her castle was a low class castle, and no amount of money King Zigfried poured into it would make in a highbrow one. A castle is either built with a tower or not. No amount of wishing can make one appear. Maybe Patrick was trying to teach me a lesson on appreciation. After all the glass hall was beautiful, and Patrick was ever kind. Whatever his reason, the soothing music made Adelide content. She laid her arm down as a pillow for her head and listened until she fell asleep.

Bedtime Story

Since my son was 15 months old I have had a routine for him. It has always helped him get to sleep. I have updated a few times over the years. just recently I let go of the Tickle Story. It used to work like a charm to get him to sleep. but now he is bored of it. So for the parents of the world who have kids that liked to be tickled. Here is a story to help those kids go to sleep at night.

Once upon a time...

there was as a GREAT BIG Castle.

It had turrets and towers, and little flags that would go swoosh in the wind.

Inside the Castle was a teeny weeny Prince and an itty bitty Princess.

The Prince and the Princess loved to be tickled!

So one day the Tickler came, and tickled the Prince and Princess so much that they said "No more tickles! W want to go to bed!

So the teeny weeny Prince and the itty bitty Princess went to their beds and fell fast asleep.

Goodnight.

In case you didn't know. I tickle my kids or kid, depending on who is present, during the story. Oh how they would laugh. My son loved it so much. It was his favorite part of the routine. There was also a story about a not-so-scary monster that accompanied it. Now he likes to talk before bed. It is so amazing to see one's child grow up.

Flower Fairy

I thought of this story when I was a little girl. I used to think fairies slept in flowers. Eventually, I placed my hands on the keyboard and wrote around that thought, and this is that.



Today, I walked in my garden the day after my Father's funeral. I beheld the roses that he had loved so much. I wondered to myself why would such a proud mighty man spend so much time caring for flowers?
Then, a particularly large warm rose caught my eye. It seemed to be in full bloom, and yet to my astonishment it bloomed further! Behold, what did I see inside? Why a yawning female! She stretched out her tiny limbs and yawned with her bright mouth. She had golden eyes and living hair upon her head. I was so shocked, I nearly lost my footing! Convinced that I was over stressed by my Father's demise I retired to my chamber. However, the next day I had to investigate the garden. Lo! Again, I found the tiny female this time slumbering just beneath the petals. Day after day, I returned to her just to catch a glimpse at the lovely lady. How I yearned to be a tiny man so I could take her home as my wife. We would live in a tree, and oh how happy we would be.

Earth and Air

I wrote this little bit of words, because I was frustrated with a friend of mine. I really just missed her. All well.... There is a time.




I am earthy and you are glam. How can we be friends? I admire the flowers as they grow, while you wear a fake one in your hair. You want to look stylish, and I only want to be covered.

Oh little air fairy flying through the sky why do you not stop and get to know people you pass by?
An earth fairy holds still, unless there is work to do, and makes friends through consistent care.

Princess Adelide

I wrote my first novel when Iwas 14. I finished my sixth draft of that novel when I was 19. Since then I have tried to get it published. However, after re-reading for who knows how many times, I decided it really wasn't that good. I could write it again, but I just don't want to do that. Instead, I am writing a totally different book. I have a really good feeling about this one.
Meanwhile, would you like to read a different story I started on when I was 14? To say, YES, read on. To say, NO, oh wait if the answer is "no" you probably already stopped reading.

If every girl got the chance to be a Princesses what would happen? Would every girl marry a prince? Would every girl live in a castle? I propose to you that there is such a place. A place where every girl gets to be a Princess at some point in her life, and for Adelide Spooner that point in her life was her tenth Birthday.

At first she was thrilled beyond belief, she was to be sent to a castle on an island off the southern coast. There she was to be trained to have, beauty,brains, and blue blood. It was going to be magical. Everything she ever wanted to be was at her fingertips.

Then life hit her. Yes, she was picked up from her Father's house by a horse drawn carriage, but it wasn't a comfortable gliding ride. It was rough and bumpy going down unpaved country roads. Not to mention the smells that came from the unmentionable end of the horse. Then the terrifying ferry ride to the island during the midst of a typhoon! At the shore the wheels of the carriage got stuck in the mud, and she was rather rudely told she either had to walk in the rain back to the ferry or on to the castle.

The mud squished beneath her leather shoes. She recalled as a child how she used to like to walk in mud with her bare feet after a summer rain, but now it brought her nothing but disgust. Her wet clothes stuck to her cold skin. The water was weighing her down, and slowing her progress. The darkness was so strong she wasn't even sure she was going the right way. Then lightning...

The light filled the whole sky and for a brief moment it became as bright no brighter than day. A day with pure white light, and against that pure white sky stood, towering before Adelide, a limestone castle, with long narrow windows of stained blue glass.

Adelide exhaled, and as her breath hung in the air before her darkness consumed the image of the castle. She now knew which way to go. She mustered the strength to arrive at the castle's door.

Hero: A short Story

I wrote this story a few years ago for fun. I almost used it for my Intro to the Arts class project. When I opted for a different story, this story remained unread. I feel bad that it has remained alone for so long . So today I will post it, without further ado. The Hero.
I found her on the side of the road. The rain had nearly pulled her limp body down into the rank sewer. The layers of muck and mildew seemed to coat all of her skin. I knew I could lose my station for carrying her home to my master's house, but I could not leave her out there to die. I thought maybe I could treat her in my quarters, but she needed a healer’s skill. With all the courage I could muster I brought her before my master to beg him to save her. My master asked me how I knew the thing in my arms was a woman. I told him that I could tell by the softness still in her face. My master asked me why someone washed away by the gutter deserves to live. I replied because we do not have the right to deal out death to such an innocent. My master praised my words and ordered his maidservants to take the woman from my arms. It was only then that I felt discomfort in the dampness that was residing in my clothes.

It has been three weeks now and only now have I been given permission to see her. I march up the marble stairs to the second floor. I pass by many single doors leading to small bedchambers reserved for the servants of visiting guests. However, at the end of the hallway stood double doors, suddenly a fear grips me. I know not why. I reach my hand out to pull open the door only to have it burst forth on its own. Light floods the floor before me. I strain my eyes to see. The window behind a large oak bed is wide open, and its white cotton curtains blow wistfully in the breeze, as well as an enchanting lock of warm brown curls across a pale face. She smiles as a person does when new life is brought into this glum world, I wonder how such a thing is possible. She is so lovely, as lovely as the women of the courts of Florence. If not more so.

It has been yet another three weeks and the lady I found has yet to be discharged from my master’s care. I see her rarely. She smiles at me closed mouthed with healthy pink lips. I remember that when I found her they were a bluish white. It may seem odd but I find myself embarrassed to think of the day I found her. To think I had carried such a lady? I wonder why my master has not released her. If she has no place to go why has he not employed her among his servants? I asked if it had been discovered that she was a lady of good blood. My fellow keeper scoffed at me and made a crude comment referring to our master's blood. It has been hours now since he said those words to me and they still irk me! Surely, Master will release her soon.

The battle has reached the western front. Our fair city is now being filled not only with refugees, but wounded soldiers as well. There is fear that diseases will start to spread. The Master has taken care that his household has limited contact with the city. I, for one am totally forbidden from entering. Since rescuing the fair lady I am known mockingly as “hero."

Six months from the day when I found my fair lady a great banquet was held. It was supposedly in honor of the end of the war. I was pleased to have an evening off, and I was not going to trouble myself with the festivities, until I was told by a kitchen maid that my fair lady was to be attending. I had scarcely seen her in months. I had to attend. Surely she would be seated with the household women. It would not be terribly against decorum to speak to her in passing if she sat there. When I arrived at the banquet she was nowhere to be seen. I felt pain. I was startled at this. Then I remembered the moment when I carried her life in my hands. I was afraid she would die before I could get her home. I could hear my own heart beating loudly in my head. I remembered how I had hoped that her heart was still beating. I even had the idiotic notion that maybe by virtue of the fact that my heart was beating hers would too. Oh look, my Master has made his grand entrance. It cannot be...

A wedding is considered a joy. The city is rejoicing and relishing the gossip over the identity of the bride. I loathe their prattle. You should hear the things they say! They claim that my Master found her half-drowned in a brothel. They call her whore and harlot. Even those that defend her do not do her justice. They claim she comes from an ancient royal family, and that she has a secret map tattooed on her to untold treasures. They are disgraceful! Vile! Evil! Oh how could she be any of those things? She cannot be, can she?

It is odd. Today is my Masters wedding day. I should be happy to have a new... Well when the last mistress died things were never as nice around here. So this is a good thing. However, he could have asked me. After all I am the one that brought her to him. She has no Father to ask. He ought to have asked me! Me? A common man, that has nothing to offer a bride? Did I say bride? I meant, well, it does not matter what I meant.

The hour draws near and I have been sent to tend to the garden terrace. I guess today everyone has forgotten that I am not the gardener. I arrive, clippers in hand ready to trim the massive amount of vines that twist and creep around the terrace. To my astonishment I see my gentle fair lady sitting alone. I drop my clippers. She laughs lightly, and proceeds to my horror to stand up and then bend down to reach for the clippers! I quickly snatch them up. "After all mi lady it is not your place to be touching grimy things like me. I mean like these. Those have been touched by me and that made them grimy to begin with because they were clean because they had not been used today and..." I stopped talking. Her eyes look sad. Not like they did the day I saw her first well. That day they were radiant.
"I want to thank you again for rescuing me."
Air swirled in my wind pipe causing a guttural wheezing noise to exit my mouth. Yet she continues.
"I was ready to die that day. Years before my parents had left me in the care of one of our vanquished enemy households. Not a household like this but an ordinary family. I lived with them until the grain rationing. They required me to work very hard to obtain my share of bread. I have never been very strong. I could not work hard enough to earn bread. So I ran away to the woods hoping maybe I could live off of wild berries I used to find as a child. That was fine for a few nights. Then the rains came, and the only warm dry places were in the bandit camps. So I chose to die that day rather than to be taken in as a woman for the bandits. At first I thought I would freeze to death, but then the stream flooded. Its current took me away. That is when I thought that I would drown. Little did I know that I had been taken into the city? The first thing I remember after that is the feel of your breath. It was first warmth that I had felt in a long time. Do you remember what you said to me?"
I shake my head as though I was trying to rattle out the memory. "I did not know I said anything."
Her eyes lost their sadness as she said "You said 'God please save her. I want her to live.' You said it over and over again." The sadness in her eyes return."Moments from now I wed. After the celebration the master and I are going to live in the west."
I wonder at this. It will be dangerous to live in reclaimed territory. Why would the master want to risk her life?
"I chose what household I desired to become mistress over. I chose it in the hopes of finding my family. I have no ties here."
A bubbly lump of blue poison stirred up at these words, but as though her mouth dripped magic she banished that grief with these words.
"My only tie is to you. You renewed my faith in God and people. I am most honored to have been in your presence, and though I will receive a high status in this world upon my marriage to the master of this land that status is nothing next to a heroic heart."
These words are too much to bear, and if we were to be seen alone together what then?
"I see that I have upset you. I am sure it is because of your humility, and sense of propriety. Please remember I am just a common girl that does not know her place."
At this I gained my words. I told that she spoke the truth in part. She was right when she said that she did not know her place. I told her she did not belong next to our noble master, but next to great Kings. I told her how her graceful gentleness to household servants had raised the moral of everyone during her months with us. I told her that it was an honor for me to have carried her.

She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Did I offend? I hope not. No wait she has taken my hands in hers. How are they still soft after so many struggles? Perhaps she really is a princess. Is she speaking again? What did she say? Or is God showing me mercy by making me deaf?

I did not tend to the terraces. I did not attend the wedding.

It has been years now. I have not seen her since that day on the terrace. However, I have received letters telling me of her. They are from her children. Every few years I receive a letter from one of them in honor of their birthdays. The letters thank me for being a hero.