Snow Fortress "dream sequence"

Are dream sequences still popular? You know, the ones where people have dreams that are somehow related to the story. Well, I have them, because no matter how hard you want to believe otherwise, this might be <spoler alert> REAL.</spoiler alert>

A single toll woke Kitten up. He instinctively knew it was midnight. He was in his bed in the Capitol, dressed in fresh clothes that smelled of soap with a hint of perfume about it. And tobacco smoke.

He sat up. He was certain it was dark, yet he could see every minute detail of the room and the paintings within. Across the room, he could read the titles of the books. His throat felt raw for some reason. There was a dull pain in his spine, the same one he’d felt that time he reawakened after his near-death experience.

Or had he come closer than expected?

There was a knock on the window.

He got up and opened. Somehow it didn’t surprise him the least to see The Mayor clinging to a rusted downpipe.

“Thank you,” The Mayor said once safely inside. He didn’t look like he was about to comment on his unusual choice of entrance any more, so Kitten asked. “Oh,” The Mayor waved his hand in response, “there’s a burglar in my office at the moment. Didn’t want to disturb him.”

Kitten shook his head and ran his right hand through his hand. It felt strangely numb. “You’re a strange man,” he told The Mayor.

“I get told that a lot,” the man shrugged and produced his pipe. “I get asked a lot of questions, too,” he added in a suggestive voice.

Kitten gauged the bait tossed to him. “I fainted at the mine today,” he mused out loud.

“You did.”

“There was a hand in the Ice. A human hand.”

“There was.” A puff of smoke rose from The Mayor’s mouth as he spoke, in spite of the pipe not being lit.

“Did they excavate it?”

The Mayor pondered a bit. “Do you feel well enough for a short walk?”

“I do.”

The two looked at each other. Then The Mayor nodded and threw the window open again.

Kitten scowled. “You said walk, not jump or climb.”

The Mayor smiled mysteriously. “And here I was starting to think you might be on to me,” he said with unusual softness. He reached out to take Kitten by the hand. His palm was hot like an oven plate and the touch made Kitten flinch at first. But the fingers held him fast.

Before Kitten could say anything, a chill wind assaulted him. They were standing at the entrance to the Mouth shaft, all dark and deserted at the time. Being up and about at the hour was looked down upon by most people. Of course some workers had to maintain the fires at the Smelter, but they were a special sort of people shrouded in myth and legend.

He looked around. Everything seemed very real, if somewhat haunting. If it was a dream, it was the most vivid one he had ever experienced.

The Mayor let him go, thrust both hands into the pockets of his coat and started walking along the damaged rails.

Kitten followed after a short pause. “What are you?” he demanded once he caught up and matched his pace to The Mayor’s.

“Who knows,” The Mayor smirked. “I was cast out by my kind to live among humans. I am not one of you either.” His expression grew cold in an instant. “You might call me a cuckoo, but then again, I’m not a bird either.” He stopped suddenly and cocked his head at a disturbing angle. “Although I think I used to know how to fly.”

Kitten glared at him. It was definitely a dream. No use getting excited about it.

He wondered whether he was able to will himself to wake up.

“What’s the point of us being here?” he asked.

“Your discovery, isn’t it?” The Mayor’s eyes were fixed at him, while the rest of him seemed to slowly fade away in a direction that wasn’t really there. “I want to see that hand. That person. Those people in there.”

He said “see,” but a feeling that he’d meant a slightly different sensual verb reared its abhorrent head in Kitten’s mind. In his dream, he was annoyingly paranoid.

“Alas,” The Mayor went on, suddenly becoming very focused again, “I mustn’t be greedy.” He looked at his hand and clenched it. “Especially here,” he muttered to himself, so Kitten could barely hear.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Kitten said pointedly. He really wanted to wake up, have breakfast and go to work. Without waiting for a sign of approval, he stalked down the shaft.

It was dark. The shadows gobbled him up and he knew it, yet he could easily recognize the glowing rails in front of him. Who needed torches in a dream, anyway. Then the whispering started. Fading among the echoes at first, the voices were steadily becoming louder and clearer, telling him to turn back. To stop. To not doom them all.

Kitten hesitated for a moment. He turned his head to look at The Mayor behind him. The man was literally glowing. Pale white flames licked the backs of his hands and slithered up his coat. Some even cared to caress his face from time to time. As dreams went, this one was extraordinarily exotic.

“Is it here?” The Mayor asked calmly, and Kitten realised that yes, it was there. He looked at the dazzling white wall with the black shape of a human hand in the middle of it. He reached out to touch it as he had the day before, but The Mayor’s hand gently brushed his aside before his fingers touched the Ice.

“Allow me,” The Mayor hummed. He rested his flaming palm against the dark spot.

A high-pitched shriek pierced Kitten’s head. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the voice only grew louder. He tried screaming as well, but that too only seemed to empower the horrible sound.

A horrid smell assaulted his nostrils a moment later. Just after that, the wall in front of him exploded into pieces.

The cave grew dark. White Ice turned dark grey, the flames engulfing The Mayor were gone. Only his coat remained bright. His hand was resting against another. Kitten held his breath as he looked at the person previously encased in ice: she was beautiful, or perhaps more than that, far beyond mere words. A wet, light colored dress clung to a frail, motionless girl’s body hovering in midair, reaching out as if trying to grab a life that had undoubtedly been lost to her ages ago. Long hair clung to her pale skin. The empty gaze of her eyes clenched his heart and threatened to crush it.

“A real beauty, aren’t you?” The Mayor murmured, unbuttoning his coat. “Such vitality, even in death. The living here can barely compare.”

The voices stopped suddenly.

“What are you going to do with her?” Kitten asked, mostly to fill the silence which horrified him even more than the upcoming answer.

The Mayor turned to him. There was a wicked smile on his face, growing ever wider. In fact, no normal person’s mouth should have ever grown that wide. Or had that many teeth in it. “What am I going to do to her?” he asked, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

A wave of sickness crashed over Kitten. The horrible thing he had imagined turned paled in comparison to what he saw underneath the washed-out fabric: a vertical maw stretched all the way from The Mayor’s throat to his abdomen. Rows upon rows of sharp fangs glistened with saliva that trickled down the thin lips.

“I am going to make her mine.”

Brain Dump 2: Snow Fortress

After a lifetime in darkness, he emerged into the light. Above an endless windswept, snowy plain, the sun was setting. It was cold and there wasn’t a single soul in sight.

It was cold.

It was lonely.

Dying.

“Hang in there.”

The fading sunlight was cold. It passed through him unhindered.

“You’re still -”

Something searing burst through his chest. He looked down in horror.

“- owing me a favor!”

Gentle light was warming his skin. He could immediately tell it wasn’t sunlight, though. It was just another sun lamp. Who was wasting valuable electricity on him, though? He tried to shield his eyes with his right arm, but it wouldn’t move. At least his left did. Before he fully opened his eyes though, the sound of a chair creaking nearby made him freeze. Slow, heavy footsteps plodded away from his bedside. A door was opened and clicked shut again. Silence resumed.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes again so he could use his remaining functional arm to lever himself up. His head bumped into the sun lamp, but he barely felt it. His torso and back throbbed with dull pain.

He squinted and looked around. He was in a room crammed with old junk cleared from offices - desks, filing cabinets and such. His bed was actually another desk with an old mattress laid on it. Compared to what most people had, though, it was unimaginable luxury. He most certainly wasn’t in the hospital.

Wait, why would he be in the hospital?

He racked his brain for some details of what had happened before he’d ended up here, but it replied with a simple. “You don’t want to know. Trust me.” So he did.

Just as he was about to check the rest of his body, the door opened again. Two people stepped in, both tall men. The first wore a stained white coat and glasses that reflected the light. His rectangular face, permanently fixed in an amused grin and framed by unmaintained dark, if slightly grizzled, hair and stubble was well known to every Citizen: he was The Mayor. The slightly shorter, completely dark-clad figure behind him was bound to be Dog, then. The Mayor and his bodyguard were supposedly inseparable for reasons that were the main source of gossip in the CIty.

“What a swift recovery!” The Mayor exclaimed as he sat next to him. “I wish I were this young and full of life again. But alas -”

The Mayor’s voice was strangely familiar. He had met The Mayor before, back when the man was known as Medic. A lot of time had passed since then, but there was barely any change to The Mayor’s exterior or behavior.

The Mayor proceeded in what felt like a routine check up.

He relaxed. He trusted the man. The entire city did. If he told them all to hurl themselves down a mining shaft for the common good, they probably would. The Mayor’s bodyguard was a different matter altogether, though. The short man’s deep-sunken eyes were barely visible, but still peering at him with palpable contempt.

“What’s going on?” he brought himself to ask.

“You’ve had quite a blast last night, haven’t you?” The Mayor laughed and patted his right shoulder heartily. He couldn’t feel anything aside from the slight force it exert on the rest of his body. “It’s time you begin a new life young man.” The Mayor stopped laughing, though his ice-gray eyes did not. “And a new life means a new name.”

A new name? He had a name. It was just that he couldn’t recall it at the time. A blast it must had been.

“You’ve got eight lives left I bet. So much like a cat,” The Mayor went on, ruffling his hair. That he could feel. It creeped him out a little. “Or rather a kitten.” For the briefest moment, The Mayor’s smile seemed as icy and distant as the snow field from before. “Yes, why not,” The Mayor muttered as if to himself, “Kitten seems appropriate.”

“What?” Kitten bristled.

The Mayor put a finger on Kitten’s lips. “Shush,” he said softly. “Save your strength, little cat. When the anesthetic wears off, you will find yourself needing all seven lives to cling to your last one.” He stood up and nodded to Dog. The man took a couple of wobbly steps and collapsed into a nearby chair. “He will watch after you. I need to get back to the office now.”

Kitten contemplated calling after him as he walked away, but found it too embarrassing. After the door closed, he was left with the morose Dog and an uncaring sun lamp. There were no other exits in sight. The only window in the room was blinded.

Kitten lied back down. He tried to imagine lying in the sun, but a dark fear of immense pain-to-come was lurking in the back of his head. What had happened? He still couldn’t recall any of it. Or much of what had been before. He squinted into the light. A sun lamp was usually to be found in greenhouses where meager vegetables were grown to feed a meticulously culled crowd of hungry mouths. The Mayor had almost all electricity redirected to those “life factories.” Wasting the precious resource on anything besides vital supplies was bordering on criminal activity.

Such was the world.

Humanity had returned to living in a cave. A cave of Ice engulfing the City - a few hundred ruined buildings huddled around the central Capitol building where The Mayor resided. They were a completely isolated society. Most of the men were diggers, mining the Ice for water, scouring the debris for resources left behind by a long-forgotten civilization. Women tended to families and chores, with a few exceptions who worked in administration. Crime rate was practically zero. Convicts worked in the Ice Smelter, a nasty job if there ever was one. The capital punishment was to be exiled - taken to the surface where there was virtually no atmosphere and people burned in the blistering heat of the sun or froze to death at night before they could asphyxiate.

Kitten had been convicted once. His punishment was to clear snow off the solar panels on the surface in the early morning and late evening before temperatures had become lethal. He could remember how the sun up there felt. The lamp was nothing like it. Its warmth was gentle and soothing.

Kitten stirred. The pain he’d felt when getting up returned.

He had no family to wish to be by his side at that moment. He’d lost his parents before he even really got to knew them. His grandmother who raised him since always changed the subject when he asked. Only once did she tell him they had done something the old government hadn’t agreed with. After that they had sent her to a hospice, while he went to some boarding school. Reunited after a year, instead of the kind, cheerful person, he met the husk of an old woman, babbling incoherent nonsense to herself. The only phrase that he’d been able to make out was “release me,” so he did.

He’d had her put down by the Medic.

That had been his crime.

He grit his teeth as the pain grew stronger.

Had he gotten hurt up there? Or was what he recalled some distant past? He couldn’t know. He couldn’t concentrate.

Dog moved. He got up from his chair and walked slowly over to the makeshift bed. Kitten watched with growing discomfort as the pale face came close. He still couldn’t see his eyes, and then he realized the man had been wearing a clay mask all along. The lips didn’t move, but a hoarse whisper poured out nonetheless: “Don’t worry.” A raspy breath. “This room is soundproofed.”

The face drew away and was replaced with a black-gloved hand. Another appeared to take the glove off. It revealed a mess of desiccated flesh and jutting bone.

“One hundred years,” Dog said. His voice was weak, but the silence carried it solemnly. “I have reached my limit. I have passed it.” He removed his mask as well. Underneath it was a mostly bare skull with empty eye sockets. “I am handing it to you: my quest.” he leaned forward again, staggering slightly. “Find her.” He dropped to his knees and fell silent.

Kitten screamed.

Spisy wlkeRovy, část 2

Tak jsem se konečně dobral nějaké akce v oddělení svých anglicky psaných výtvorů. Předem ale jeden objev, co se tam válel neoprávněně: moje nejstarší přeživší povídka. Stáhnul jsem jí před pár lety z projektu rozjetého kdysi dávnodávnodávno "yaoistkami" z pikachu.cz... A zrovna teď anglickou verzi z starého DevArtu. Já věděl, že mám obě!

Navíc jsem tedy zjistil, že přeložená (anglická) verze je z roku 2005, což z této povídky s přehledem dělá vskutku mé ... druhé dokončené literární dílo. Tady je jeho začátek:


"The day was not special at all for this time of year. A hot summer Saturday was slowly turning into a cold Saturday evening, but the streets of the periphery of the city I was returning from my work to were deserted, and the walls of the low-rised buildings lining the streets only silently echoed my footsteps heading slowly, but steadily towards their destination. A loud noise sounded from a nearby alleyway and a black cat flashed through right next to me, followed by a bunch of blustering kids. I glanced at them with a smile and a memory of my own childhood spent so far away to the west of this alien countryside my work had dragged me to. I turned to the alley the hoard stormed out of and was suddenly captivated by a very unusual image." - Dog Brotherhood

Jak vidíte, můj sloh v té době byl šílený. Česká verze na tom není o nic líp.

Další věc co přežila je moje fanfikce ke hře Gothic. Nemám k ní žádný větší vztah, je spíš takovou kuriozitou. Jejíž datování jsem si bohužel rozhodil minule při přejmenování souboru. Nu, škoda.

"My story begun even before the barrier was erected. I was nothing but a simple digger haunted by his past too much to really care whether escape was possible at all or not. I used to spend all of my time in the Pass mine and when it collapsed during the barrier’s creation, I just transferred to the Old mine. Only in the hungry darkness did I feel at peace. Not once did I feel the desire to see the world above. The quarrels between magicians of fire and water, Gomez taking over the Old camp and Lee founding the New one along with the Free mine, the worship of a god called Sleeper by some folks in the swamp, those things came past my ears sooner or later, but I never felt any compulsion to take part in them." -Gothic FF

Pokud vím, tak jsem se nikdy nepustil otevřeně na půdu sci-fi, byť žánr urban fantasy se stal mým nejoblíbenějším, protože lidi jsou daleko zajímavější protivníci než draci a armády orků. Dokladem toho je moje Snow-trilogie Snowglobe, Snowman a Snowfall, která volá po pokračování, ale bohužel. První díl byl sepsaný volně, další měly být v soutěži pořádané každoročně společností SPUSA, ale nikdy jsem je neodeslal. Na každý pád jsou kratší než první část:

"Once upon a time, there was a small kingdom. There was a great castle with proud and mighty walls, small idyllic villages among the vast fields and forests. Was it spring, summer, fall or winter, everything was always covered with glistening white snow that made the lush plains and hills look even more peaceful than they were. The snow was all the realm ever had and ever needed. There was no need for farmers, as the glaze itself could sustain life. No need for craftsmen as everything underneath the eternal rime was ageless. No need for an army, as the horizon and sky itself were impenetrable. And no need for a king, as the laws couldn’t be broken.

"Ages and gods came and passed, nothing ever stirring save the snow, until one fateful day when the sky came crashing down on the slumbering land. Its falling shards crushed buildings underneath and ripped the very ground apart. The air came gushing out of the crack like blood from a mortal wound. The snow became dry and lifeless and so did the ruined earth underneath.

"The gods have lost interest in it. The plaything was broken and the spell of life, of the future, with it.

"Or was it?

"Carefully, I reach into the box overflowing with children’s drawings and toy parts, and take out the cracked snow globe, as lifeless as before in my hand. A single small snowflake drifts from the sky and rests in its place, followed by another and then many more.

"I look up to the grey sky, still and flawless as it has been since before I came to this world, as it will remain after I take my leave. Yet should it break, should it crumble – would there be anyone out there to weep for us?" -Snowglobe

Testing the Boundaries bylo přímo napsáno pro další ze zmíněných soutěží, ale zas se nedočkalo odeslání, protože webová stránka soutěže zkolabovala... Existuje v krátké verzi, která je výborná, ale krátká, pročež jí prezentuji celou:


"Under the scorching desert sun, the dreaded emperor’s fortress was ablaze itself. Whatever the flames touched they devoured – precious tapestries, furniture and the bodies of slain guards and slaves littering marble floors. Even the massive stone walls were starting to give in to the heat. With their master dead at the hands of his own heir, there was no reason for them to exist any more. Somehow they knew they could no longer contain what he had become.

"As drama demanded it, the moment the only survivor leapt out of a second-story window, the enormous structure collapsed, with a wave of heat razing all that stood in its path. From the dust and ashes in its wake, however, the last of the emperor’s sons rose slowly to his feet. Hell itself feared his father and, from what he gathered, he was destined take that legacy to an entirely new level.

"Right then, however, he lifted his eyes skyward. For the first time in his life, he was a free man. For the first time in his life, he smiled." -Testing the Boundaries

Následuje Deathday, moje nejnovější anglicky psaná povídka. Námět je zajímavý a výchovný, takže přemýšlím, že se k ní vrátím, byť nějaké drobné změny budou nezbytné.

"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." -Deathday

Nakonec návrat k fanfikcím a - Pokémon! Ruined je příběh poké-archeologa prokazující, že ještě roku 2010 (!!) jsem smýšlel jako každá druhá fangirl, jen naštěstí pro všechny se můj anglický sloh už drobet uklidnil.

“Say, doc,” Shiro interrupted, “are these pokémon you speak of capable of mating?”
Lime’s eyes squinted at the last word. “Yes. Why?”
The poké...man smiled innocently as he took his trainer’s hand by the wrist and brought it to his lips. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
-Ruinded

Hormony jsou pěkný potvory. ^^;

Wicked Gentlemen: A review

I'll say it up front: Wicked Gentlemen, a book by Ginn Hale, is wickedly awesome!

Now I have little or no experience with books of this sort. I tried reading the Cat's Meow once (mostly 'cause Ayuku had it at hand and its title matched a character title in the Aion MMORPG - so yeah, characters named after a gay pron novel? Cool.) but left it, deeply disgusted, just a few pages in.

This one was different. I spotted it in a comment at Taylor's, read the synopsis and was allured by the promise of a dark urban fantasy mystery in a Victorian fantasy setting. Just to make sure, I cracked open a review... and was bought. Several minutes later, I was immersed.

The promises I mentioned were true to an extreme. At first, I wasn't so hot over the simple, sometimes raw language, but a few pages later it proved an essential part of setting the mood. And the mood is DARK.

The first of the two stories comprising the book is the mystery tale I've been hooked for. While it's not the sort of detective novel, where you can make what you will of the clues, it does a great job in having you wonder what's going on... And what happens next! The pace is swift and the narrative very interesting (but I won't spoil that, go read the book already!) The conclusion is so peaked that I just went on reading the second part just to see how it all impacts the story going on.

The second story, going on but a while after the first, or so I guess, is more of an action thing. I don't usually flail around and bite my nails over the heroes making a daring move, but as I said, this world is dark and I really wasn't sure whether they'd make it out of there in one piece. In some places, this part felt slightly more clichéd than the first one, and yeah, I could totally do without the page of XXX (but hey, there are far worse things I've seen; moving along), but then again, it does contain some nail-bitingly, blood-pumping action! Of ... the dramatic sort. You know.

But the dialogues! By the hells, when I wasn't writhing in my seat with unease, I was laughing my head off at all those witty remarks embedded especially by the end of the second part (though yeah, it was running kinda late...)

To sum it up: if you're looking for an awesomely wicked action/mystery steampunk short novel and don't mind that most of the romance revolves around two male heroes, hook onto Google or Amazon and get this book now!

However, I'd like to warn the would-be-tragic people among you: drugs are bad, not cool. So is alcohol and, as far as I'm concerned, tobacco. Have a nice day!

Deathday: part 1

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?

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.

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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