Chapter 1 - Trindelle the Criminally Insane

Chapter 1 - Trindelle the Criminally Insane

A Chapter by Steve the Unwashed
"

The demonic little princess suckles on the devil's sweet t***y, metaphorically speaking. I really like this character.

"
Their hands came up through the damp earth, one finger peeking through the loamy soil followed by the other four. A second hand widening the growing pit laboriously, like mother earth giving birth to something as beautiful as death.
A preternatural fog crept across the dissheveled cemetery field, giving the world a rust-colored tint due to the setting sun behind the mountain range to the West. Gravemarkers leaned on one another, plotted closely enough to one another that one would presume their occupants to have been buried standing in order to conserve space. As such, their burials were obviously not overseen by a proper priest, and this was exactly what Trindelle had been looking for.
She ran to the nearest opening grave and grabbed onto an emerging, cautious hand, pulling upward. The body was still sunk too deeply in the soil for her to make headway. Her palms still ached terribly from the ritual and had only just begun healing, so she dug with her fingernails, dragging the loose sod out of the growing hole and clearing way for the shoulders. This was going to be a big one, a real dandy fellow.
"I have you. Trindelle is here, my darling." she gasped raggedly as she finally freed the shoulders from the cold ground.
She reached down and grabbed the flailing body by the armpits, finding it surprisingly light due to the earthworms enjoying their just desserts. With a heave, the body lifted, kicking violently at it's former prison and throwing dirt everywhere.
Trindelle collapsed backward, the mud-streaked body landing across her lap. She cradled his back and held his screaming face against her bossom as he pawed in agony at her shoulder. There were no eyes or eyelids left in this rotting face, but he looked up into her eyes anyway and brushed his partially unfleshed hand across her long, dark locks. The head rolled back and sobbed up at the night sky. He rolled over and spat out the remnants of his tongue.
"You're okay. I'm here." She said, kneeling beside the freshly-risen body as he absently sobbed and thudded his heavy, bony fist into the ground with very little conviction. "You're fine now, I promise."
After several minutes had passed, the poor thing had stripped off his own rotting ears and thrown them across the field. More of the others were emerging now, and she watched in amazement as her progeny began helping the others. Trindelle couldn't help but become fascinated.
She motioned to a nearby tree, her hand meandering back and forth making forbidden motions, and several birds fell to the ground, stunned but still alive. She brought them to her perch on the cornerpost of the cobblestone fence and began stripping the feathers from their chests. With the breast meat exposed, she gripped tightly and pulled. Off came the meat in short order and she began happily munching as she watched her children multiply.
"I shall call you Boros" she said while chewing thoughtfully, watching her first-born from afar as he dug with his hands and pulled others from the ground, "Boros. And you shall be my right hand."
She popped the last of the bird bits into her mouth and licked her lips with a playful smack at the end. The night was still young and she'd be God-damned if this town wasn't in running shape by daybreak.

--

Two figures sprinted through the vacated town, wearing buckskin and horrified expressions on their young faces. They had been spying on the girl who had been squatting in the old, ruined village near their camp. She was pleasing to the eye with her long dark hair and lithe curves hidden only by her flowing robes which were often hanging partially open.
Her strangenes stopped them from approaching her, however. She didn't sleep, but would instead open her enormous book in the empty room she had claimed as her quarters and stare blankly into it's pages which were only marked with strange, rippling lines like the prints on their fingertips. She would gaze endlessly into the whorls and curves, breathing heavily as they watched from outside her window. She would stare until her candle burned out, and even in the dark she continued to stare.
Their original sexual compulsion to observe her had become morbid curiosity. The two boys made camp on the outside of town where they knew she wouldn't find them. They had left small tracks throughout town to test her wilderness survival skill, and found that even their most blatant and obvious markings went completely unnoticed. The fact that she wouldn't be able to detect them easily was their only comfort during those few days.
She collected piles of animal parts over the course of a pair of sleepless days. She had managed to recruit a raccoon to help her in this task, sending him out and watching him return with mice and fish. The animal was perfectly obedient, but the boys noted the raccoon's terrified demeanor.
Gradually, she had built up a pile of small, rotting carcasses that she bled herself onto by repeatedly pricking her palm with the jagged edge of a broken sickle. The blood-soaked bits of small animals were then buried just beneath the surface of each grave in the old cemetery, and the boys looked on in terror, knowing that they would be leaving soon.
When the first pair of hands broke through the surface of the soil, they began running for the camp. There was no way that they were going to remain nearby and watch the entire town crawl back out of the earth they had been laid to rest in. The elders needed to hear about this and a raiding party needed to be dispatched to take care of the problem immediately. They just hoped that they wouldn't be called upon quite yet to enter battle and prove their manhood.


© 2011 Steve the Unwashed


My Review

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Featured Review

Holy crap Belinda! This is some kinda somethin' else! Wow. Seriously. Wow. Your attention to detail is beyond words impressive. And the story is so goddamn compelling, I would rather stab myself in the chest with a fork than have it end. Friggin' Froto who??? Twilight Schmilight....;) You need to get crackin' and bring that s**t downtown....seriously, Steve. Its truly brilliant perfection.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

OMG!!! I actually am diggin, no pun there, this chick. (or there either) She has a modern feel to her, but then the boys have that old native primal pull as well. Have to say that this is the first of your works I've read. Dam!!!! I read paranormal novels, (yes, they have a romance somewhere in them) but what I was getting at is that you should stick with this because you have a gift. "Watched her children multiply". Love the whole thing. :) Flipping cool.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

At first I was laughing my a*s off... then I was just plain (o_o) Seriously. F'ing A! Moar plz! :D

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Holy crap Belinda! This is some kinda somethin' else! Wow. Seriously. Wow. Your attention to detail is beyond words impressive. And the story is so goddamn compelling, I would rather stab myself in the chest with a fork than have it end. Friggin' Froto who??? Twilight Schmilight....;) You need to get crackin' and bring that s**t downtown....seriously, Steve. Its truly brilliant perfection.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I gotta tell ya, this is awesome work man. I'm already hooked.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on May 9, 2011
Last Updated on May 18, 2011
Tags: necromancy, crazy, zombies, skeleton, savage, death
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Author

Steve the Unwashed
Steve the Unwashed

Addison, TX



About
Just another person coping with a complicated world. Always looking for friends. I enjoy talking to anybody. People are endlessly fascinating. I cook a lot. If you need to know how to make homemade.. more..

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