Aj bez komentíků k prologu tu máme pokráčko... Ehm, dobře, tohohle už nechám. Docela nevím co si od další "kapitoly" slibovat, ale prostě se mi zalíbilo jak z poměrně necíleně zvoleného jména psa vznikl podnět pro celkem funny nedorozumění. Miluju nedorozumění, je to můj živel, dalo by se říct.
Um... části budou takto krátké, protože delší by četlo ještě míň lidí než čte teď, což by byl průšvih, páč to číslo by muselo být záporné a kdyby nějaký takový čtenář-antičlověk potkal svojí "normální" polovičku, byl by to docela poprask (při vzájemné anihilaci čtenáře a antičtenáře, z nichž každý má hmotnost 50 kg, by se uvolnila stomilionkrát větší energie než při výbuchu bomby Fat Man shozené na Nagasaki.)
A teď už bez dalšího zdržování:
It’s been a week since I engaged in my biggest necromantic affair yet, but my new involuntary friend, while not showing any signs of decay, hasn’t done anything lifelike, or even undead-like, yet.
The corpse’s mysterious disappearance has caused a lot of wrinkles to appear on father’s brow. Good thing he’s a plastic surgeon. Good thing he doesn’t acknowledge my existence.
Day after day, I spent all my free time looming over the makeshift coffin, unsure what would happen if I dared to touch the ruff, yet peaceful face. It was nothing but a mask and I knew it. Through an inexplicable link I established while pulling him back “up,” I felt an immense hunger churning inside even as the body was slowly consuming its own innards.
“What do I do with him, Lord?” I ask, not really expecting the dog to answer as he is busy chewing an old squeaky toy. “I’m starting to fear we can’t have him up here. There’s too much malevolence in his heart.”
The two of us exchange expectant glances. I want to find a way out of this turmoil. He wants to play fetch.
As I’m sitting atop the now open freezer, something tugs at my shirt. Surprised, I turn my head to look inside to meet the gaze of a single eye, tired and wary.
The undead takes a deep, raspy breath.
“Let me stay, please,” he says in a whisper.
“Well...” Words seem to have abandoned me at the most crucial of moments. His plea is an honest one. I seem to be the only one realizing that his coming back to life is significantly fueled by revenge.
“Merciful angel,” he presses, “beg the Lord to let me stay.”
Wait, what?
“You aren’t dead... anymore,” I tell him after a brief pause to gather some thoughts, “and the Lord I’m speaking to is my dog.”
He eyes me for a moment, the surprise in his expression quickly fading. Slowly he sits up, never looking away or even blinking, and then says with all earnestness: “But you are an angel, right?”
There is something about him that makes me smile. Of course, it may just be his own mood pretending to be mine: our lives have been closely connected by the contract calling him back to this world. Is it possible, though, that there was something else that made me take the risk besides the body being so readily available?
“Maybe.” Maybe it’s good to leave him wondering. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to bring this one back after all.
“And what is the name of my angel, if I may know?”
By all hells, even with his throat dry, this guy’s as slick as dog drool. Speaking of which... Once again I look over to Lord who doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about his recent coffin-mate getting close to his master. That calms me down a little, although this dog is of the sort that would not only invite a burglar into the house, but also help him drag the loot.
“Dominic.”
“Tom. Nice to meet you,” he reaches out to shake my hand. When I don’t respond to the formal gesture, he stands up and pats me on the shoulder instead. “You know,” he continues suddenly in a much grimmer voice than before, “I’d been wanting to die. Regretted it the moment I did.”
There it is again: a desire of violence so great and dark it’s a mystery how he managed to suppress and hide it for a whole five minutes. It’s not directed towards me, but still sends shivers down my spine.
Besides that, there are many more questions standing in line for answers, some more important than others and none easy to ask. Guess for the time being I’ll have to contend with having... someone by my side: a figure shrouded in mystery and clothes still reeking of cheap tobacco and alcohol. A person whose murderous intents have been brought forward by their own death.
But does either one of us have anything to lose?
Zobrazují se příspěvky se štítkemDeathday. Zobrazit všechny příspěvky
Zobrazují se příspěvky se štítkemDeathday. Zobrazit všechny příspěvky
neděle 8. května 2011
úterý 3. května 2011
Deathday: Intro
Tak. Protože se nemůžu proklikat do soutěže (a vyhrát taky ne, v Anglii už jsem s nima byl), můžu postnout povídku v originále a hned. Překlad možná přibyde, ale spíš ne. Pokračování by se objevit mělo, ale nějak mi nejde stvořit, takže... Meh.
That evening, father arrived early. I was far from believing his doing so had anything to do with that day being my birthday, but curiosity led me to at least lay down the violin and listen. A few moments later I’d heard all I needed to figure out where to look for whatever caused his mysterious appearance.
From my window I climbed down onto the garage roof and from there through the skylight into a large room filled with muffled sounds of the radio. My father’s car was as white as his doctor’s coat and he kept it just as clean and tidy. Knowing this, I found the dark blotch just near the upper edge of the windshield quite suspicious... not to mention exciting.
I opened the trunk with a spare key and revealed something just a bit beyond my wildest imagination: inside, upon a plastic sheet, rested the neatly folded body of a man in his early twenties, still warm and the crack in his skull still bleeding. He couldn’t have been dead for more than half an hour.
This was going to be the best birthday ever.
There was a chamber in the basement of our magnificent mansion where nobody but me ever went. Inside, one could stumble upon some old furniture, bottles of stale chemicals and a broken freezer, my treasure chest. It was locked and only I had the key – for a good reason, too. Once the lid was lifted, a ball of golden fur leapt out of its dark prison and greeted it’s master with as much noise only a dog can make, second only to an elephant in a china shop.
Despite having died about three years ago, Lord was as lively as ever, perhaps even more so. There’s an art to rebuilding the body of an aged golden retriever into a furnace capable of burning every bit of organic material, from meat to petrol, with unmatched efficiency. And the secret to this art is my greatest treasure, written in a book I bought with my very first allowance. A book that took ages to decipher, as both the language and script were foreign to me: A beginner’s guide to necromancy – bringing creatures back from the dead in 10 easy steps.
Thanks to this book, my dearest pet wouldn’t ever leave my side again.
Thanks to this book, my greatest desire could finally become fulfilled.
I dragged the corpse from father’s trunk all the way to the basement. By the state of the dead man’s looks and clothes, he wasn’t anyone to be missed anytime soon. I used father’s “misplaced” medical tools to patch up the wound on his head and then quickly checked the body for other fractures. Surprisingly enough, there were none.
The ritual could begin.
To restore life to a dead body, one must offer a sliver of his own life in return. It’s a sort of bait to lure the desired soul out of the bleak depths. And once it bites, speed is key. Pull it back to life before others have the chance to latch on.
I reached out with my hand, which was nothing but a gesture. What I was about to meddle with was safely out of physical reach.
The boundary between life and death feels much like a water surface. From the living point of view, down there it’s dark, cold and distorted. You can easily reach for a gold coin and end up with a handful of muck. Unless you’re clever.
A soft groan escaped the former corpse’s throat, the last one for quite a while. First he would need to learn to breathe consciously. Most of his body was different now, a husk dependant on his own will, which was, in turn, absolutely subject to mine.
The first friend I had ever made.
Quite literally.
---
Pár poznámek: Ne, nebudou tam upíři. Ano, bude tam nějaká ta slashovitá interakce. Pokud vůbec něco bude. Hmm. Že bych dal limit 4 komentíky? 8D
Pokračování: http://awlker.blogspot.com/2011/05/deathday-part-1.html
That evening, father arrived early. I was far from believing his doing so had anything to do with that day being my birthday, but curiosity led me to at least lay down the violin and listen. A few moments later I’d heard all I needed to figure out where to look for whatever caused his mysterious appearance.
From my window I climbed down onto the garage roof and from there through the skylight into a large room filled with muffled sounds of the radio. My father’s car was as white as his doctor’s coat and he kept it just as clean and tidy. Knowing this, I found the dark blotch just near the upper edge of the windshield quite suspicious... not to mention exciting.
I opened the trunk with a spare key and revealed something just a bit beyond my wildest imagination: inside, upon a plastic sheet, rested the neatly folded body of a man in his early twenties, still warm and the crack in his skull still bleeding. He couldn’t have been dead for more than half an hour.
This was going to be the best birthday ever.
There was a chamber in the basement of our magnificent mansion where nobody but me ever went. Inside, one could stumble upon some old furniture, bottles of stale chemicals and a broken freezer, my treasure chest. It was locked and only I had the key – for a good reason, too. Once the lid was lifted, a ball of golden fur leapt out of its dark prison and greeted it’s master with as much noise only a dog can make, second only to an elephant in a china shop.
Despite having died about three years ago, Lord was as lively as ever, perhaps even more so. There’s an art to rebuilding the body of an aged golden retriever into a furnace capable of burning every bit of organic material, from meat to petrol, with unmatched efficiency. And the secret to this art is my greatest treasure, written in a book I bought with my very first allowance. A book that took ages to decipher, as both the language and script were foreign to me: A beginner’s guide to necromancy – bringing creatures back from the dead in 10 easy steps.
Thanks to this book, my dearest pet wouldn’t ever leave my side again.
Thanks to this book, my greatest desire could finally become fulfilled.
I dragged the corpse from father’s trunk all the way to the basement. By the state of the dead man’s looks and clothes, he wasn’t anyone to be missed anytime soon. I used father’s “misplaced” medical tools to patch up the wound on his head and then quickly checked the body for other fractures. Surprisingly enough, there were none.
The ritual could begin.
To restore life to a dead body, one must offer a sliver of his own life in return. It’s a sort of bait to lure the desired soul out of the bleak depths. And once it bites, speed is key. Pull it back to life before others have the chance to latch on.
I reached out with my hand, which was nothing but a gesture. What I was about to meddle with was safely out of physical reach.
The boundary between life and death feels much like a water surface. From the living point of view, down there it’s dark, cold and distorted. You can easily reach for a gold coin and end up with a handful of muck. Unless you’re clever.
A soft groan escaped the former corpse’s throat, the last one for quite a while. First he would need to learn to breathe consciously. Most of his body was different now, a husk dependant on his own will, which was, in turn, absolutely subject to mine.
The first friend I had ever made.
Quite literally.
---
Pár poznámek: Ne, nebudou tam upíři. Ano, bude tam nějaká ta slashovitá interakce. Pokud vůbec něco bude. Hmm. Že bych dal limit 4 komentíky? 8D
Pokračování: http://awlker.blogspot.com/2011/05/deathday-part-1.html
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