Some zombie movie was playing on the television, causing noises of blood splattering and bones crunching to reverberate off of the cold concrete walls surrounding the meticulously cleaned out home. Except for a sewing kit that was strewn across the small coffee table, there was absolutely nothing out of order – no picture frame that was not straightened, no chair out of place, nothing. Screams filled the otherwise silent room, its inhabitants long since paying attention to the sounds of the televised film. One inhabitant sat on the cushy window seat, staring with blind eyes at the window that was covered with decaying newspapers as if he could really see something outside. The other laid behind the taller man, snuggled up close in a mocking attempt to share body heat that neither of them had.
The smaller, Villisca, sighed and lazily traced a bitten fingernail down the spine of his companion. “Why do zombie films upset you so, Bordello? They’re just movies to keep us from getting bored in here.”
“Because they make me feel wretched. Those zombies run around, looking for brains to eat in place of their missing ones. It is because of that, that people make a joke out of killing them; whether out of survival instinct or a fun game, who cares.” Bordello paused to wipe his weeping, bloodied eye sockets with a handkerchief that he kept on him at all times. “Because of these movies, we cannot go out without being in fear of being some horror fan’s torture experiment.
“You cannot go out without being fear,” Villisca corrected as he shifted his back in an attempt to become more comfortable against his friend’s sitting body, “A zombie living in fear,” he chuckled, “I do love irony.”
A scowl that had formed at the comment softened at the sound of the idiotic women bickering with each other as the channel had been changed to a much more relaxing trashy reality television show. As serious as he seemed, Bordello could not help but enjoy this sort of programming. “Thank you,” he muttered, turning his gouged out eyes to look back out the window. His stomach growled with a soft roar, hungry for the food that the two were waiting to receive. Personally, Bordello did not care much for what his body now needed and craved. Nothing but meat. He hated the idea of eating the raw flesh – the texture often sent chills up his spine. Living in their home that was basically a walk-in freezer to help prevent their flesh from rotting away did not help the shivers. Some patches of their sewn on skin, much to their attempts to stop it, slowly rotted in parallel to the old newspapers that were glued to the wall which Villisca decorated their home with. Bordello was told that they were old ones that he’d been given by their creator from the 40s, the 50s, and other sorts of old decades that neither had been present for. The newspaper clippings were read to him by Villisca, ranging from brutal murders to planes that had crashed, to worldwide achievements. “Might as well live like we’re in a horror film,” Villisca would shrug, referencing films where the murderer’s lair was found, because there always seemed to be newspaper clippings all over the place. A shiver presented itself to him as a draft floated by in the air. Bordello was always freezing.
The taller zombie would often cook his meat unless his animalistic cravings were uncontrollably screaming, and he’d often find himself missing the taste and the satisfaction that came with eating fruit. This, by no means, stopped him from popping a few of the delicious and sweet goodness into his mouth in which he’d savor the flavor for as long as he could. He didn’t care that this act resulted in his poor body having to heave the unneeded food back out after a short period of time, leaving a very disgruntled zombie.
Another gurgle from his stomach and Bordello swore that he could hear Villisca thinking, “Your stomach eating itself?” along with the chuckle that would go along after the intended zombie pun. Though nothing was said, the smaller opted to close his eyes and doze rather than sit there watching the other stare at the blocked off window or standup to go clean some area that was already spotless with a washcloth or a broom. Villisca would always nitpick over things like strands of hair, dust that would collect, or bits of skin that would peel off while an intense scratching session.
Bordello listened to the steady drip that was coming from the old kitchen sink, which was near in tune to the gentle stroking of tree branches at the window. The aging stairs that led to their bedroom (which was more of a hole in the wall covered by an iron door and filled to the brim with plush pillows and blankets – a nest, really) groaned in agony over their years of use before the zombies had moved in. The brown-haired zombie turned his head to the side to listen more closely to the television, a recently sewn on hand landing to rest behind him onto Villisca’s raised ribcage which strained against skin pulled taut against the group of bones. A moment he stayed like that before giving in to running his other hand through his own curly mess of hair that stretched down to his shoulders.
He reminisced about what his past life was like in order to take the focus away from his unhappy stomach as he waited. What was he like before he died? Was he kind, or a criminal with a horrible history? All he knew from his past life was that he’d been beheaded in a car crash. His fingers traced the stitches that kept his head onto his body that somehow allowed his living-dead brain to function. The fingers went down to feel along the beginnings of his autopsy scars, a habit he had while deep in thought. Did he have a family? What about friends? Villisca, at that time, mumbled something in his sleep and brought Bordello back to reality. None of those things really mattered, anyway. He couldn’t miss what he didn’t remember. It was not his choice to die so suddenly, only to be brought back as some crazy scientist’s horrifying experiment. Bordello at least wished that he’d have been able to keep his sight. What he’d do to see his reflection, to actually be able to read a book rather than run his numb fingers over raised bumps – to be able to look Villisca in the eyes and to gaze at his face.
There was a loud knock on the door that caused the zombie’s thoughts to be disrupted and scatter, along with jarring Villisca out of his dreary afternoon nap. Bordello remained where he was, not having to say a thing as Villisca got up to investigate, knowing it was easier for him than for the blind zombie. His ears strained as he heard a “Thank you”, along with a few short replies to asked questions that he assumed was by their creator before the door closed. They were enclosed again, thank goodness, from the outside world in their meat-cooler of a home.
“I’m so hungry that I could eat a spleen!” Villisca called from the kitchen unpacking the meat that had been delivered into the large fridge, save for a few pieces. Bordello’s hyper-sensitive nose crinkled at the smell of the raw packaged beef, even though his mouth was salivating, which inked into the air that had previously smelled of the lingering aroma of incense. The mix was unpleasant to him, but his stomach lurched in desperation at the scent of the promised meal.
With a groan and the creaking of his joints being forced out of nearly going into rigor mortis ( a joke in which Villisca liked to say when their muscles became stiff from sitting still for too long), Bordello blindly padded towards the kitchen where his companion was waiting to help him.
So, I bought this adoptable called a Spiderp for $3, because I could imagine what it would look like in my world. This is the original that I bought at http://www.furaffinity.net/view/6895411/#cid:51522813
Mine is the drawing of this in my style, after changing the markings and hair color to fit my tastes. He’s like a spider/tentacle thing, though I sort of made him into a boogeyman character. He doesn’t have a name yet.
Sketch for my next piece, a character that I bought for $3. They’re called Spiderps and they’re like. Spider, bee, octopus…things. Anyway, I thought it’d be hella awesome as one of my boogeyman characters.
My character, Suen-Mi. He doesn’t actually have wings, just tattoos of them, but I think he looks good with a pair.
bastard needs a name
I’m going to turn this into an art blog, as well as the occasional writing when I get around to it.