Wake the Dead
By: K.L. Miller
13 February 2010
The Dead do not like being roused from their eternal slumber...
Those called Restless Spirits, must always be Known for one thing:
THEY HUNGER...
{{from: The Rise of the Fallen}}
* * * *
She has not had many restful Nights, so the cold morning air having a refreshing effect upon her is... rare. She smiles as she looks out of her living room window, watching the snow slice through the air, carried by wicked winds. She watched as the neighbor across the street spit defiance at nature, using the snow blower to clear his driveway with an almost casual Saturday Afternoon mow-the-grass puff-puff from his frozen breath.
Then... everything stopped; as she turned her head to the left, a very familiar Presence warmed her, though this was not quite a Good Thing; this Presence protects her... As she Thought to examine... something, she caught sight of the Living Shadow... a memory; suddenly... White Winter was washed away by Big Sleazy Autumn... and a duster clad Warrior walking by her side.
Fury; she was angry at someone. As usual, the Form turned to violence...
Suddenly... something flashed; she heard a sound... a sword coming free from sheathed slumber. Righteous Fury washed over her, obliterating every other possible...
And then... darkness; beyond Death, beyond infinitely Cold, this Place held... and she Knew where she was... and called out to him...
* * * *
Warmth; rising up to greet the day in her beloved's tender embrace always gave her a moment of Happy-Pause.
Today, however, her husband sat in a chair across from her, his features flitting between Thought, wonder and Emotions so rapidly that it took her several moment to understand that something had happened.
"Someone was here... standing over there."
She turned to where her husband pointed... right next to her!!!
"I tried to say something... but...
"He..."
Now she was frightened...
"He whispered... I think it was his name... then... disappeared... can you still smell it?"
She sniffed the air, and the fear evaporated... as marijuana touched/tickled not only this Memory... but a familiar face...
"He wore a cloak... didn't he." There was no Fear in her Tone... indeed... she knew only Warmth... and a different Embrace...
* * * *
How could he explain? He wasn't even sure himself...
Surrounded by zombies straight from that video game he'd been spending way too much time at, he knew he was bout hit Game Over...
Then... all of the undead simply stopped, turned around and quickly scurried away, franctically searching for shelter... and one screamed/howled to God... right before something Unholy burned through it, black/green and utterly sulfur-horrid.
"Keep going!!! She's up ahead!!!"
So he ran ahead, searching for his Wife. Though... sparing a glance back at his partner who joined in the online Dream... what he saw forced him to draw up. Though his eyes saw the Hellish nightmares, they were drawn to the lone figure standing there in a black cloak that blew in some awkward breeze. The figure raised its right hand, and wonder... the Nightmares cowered!!!!!
There are some things even Demons Fear...
* * * *
Snow begins to fall in Necropolis; come tomorrow the Return of Winter will once more hold the City. Being a Friday, the restaurants are busy; the so-called promise never stops a good Beer-Run or Social gathering in the Genteel South. Out of one such place steps a solitary figure dressed in black, gray and just a few streaks of white, strategically place to catch headlights. The Head is covered by a snow-camouflaged hood; the bulging backpack matches the color scheme, adding yellow dashes where stitching glows in whatever light happens to grace the form... which seems to seek the deepest shadows to travel within.
And those who work with the Lone Traveler will remark about the white sneakers he wore, a clear signal that he would walk home. Fear with grown another inch within them, as they also know that each walk Home adds to his growing... displeasure, to be very Polite. If you happen to know where to Listen you might here a Joke based on his Faith: Voudoun; don't be surprised if those are NOT African-American lips however; they are terrified of the enigmatic Black Man who just stepped into the Necropolis Night.
However... it will be within the Dreamscape that his Essence will reveal itself to a few... and they are nowhere near Chosen...
One will find him lurking behind that dark form she Feels... not stare as one does some oddity... no; he would MARVEL at her as she strokes her mound with her vibrator. She can almost FEEL his hands... no... his THOUGHTS...
Another will fall fast asleep... and bring with them Anger; they will meet a dark, foreboding figure and FEEL Threatened... though it will never attack. Patient... it will watch him with the Traveler's Face... and they will call the Figure... Death. And in that moment, the Traveler will calmly reply, "How may I assist you, Sir?"
Still a third will simply see him, one Face of Many in a patchwork of Chaos that she chuckles quietly about, wondering WHY in the WORLD?!?!? And she will ask this... because he is smiling... and it does not frighten her.
Yet it is this Female... the one with the Open Eyes; she'll miss his Appearance, though she is the only one to bear Witness to something... Unique. For her... it will be a Memory akin to the odd Human Habit of asking WHAT IF...?... over and over and over again, enjoying the mini-movie.
* * * *
Only one of the Clan Cursed dare see this as an Option: the Dead must remain there...
Unfortunately... when discussing a part of the Human Soul... Death gets even more iffy; and considering it is Foundation...
He will always strive to be a Do-Gooder; he cannot be anything other than Samurai. Being told that your Friends are against you, that you are in effect, isolated within the Workplace... is nothing new to him. In fact... it is the Norm for one of the Quick Bloodline...
And one un-related(slightly) off-branch... and his Name...
Nero Alexander.
He died in New Orleans(a minor technicality I assure you); in his place... Raymond Burns took the Stage... and that Man held Power and Knowledge in his hands like one does Chinese exercise balls. Perhaps one who Understand will ask... why not raise him? Ember Ascended as all Psions do, becoming Pure Thought.
And then... there is the Plea of his Angel, the ONLY thing that could stir his Spirit from Beyond; it is no coincidence that Silas bears the Ears that listen, for his Blood is Quick. It is no small thing that Nero looked upon Silas... and saw himself... older, Worn. Nor is it chance that the powerful Voudoun simply cast a Thought... and sought the youthful Spirits Counsel...
So... maybe it's Appropriate that Winter kisses Angel Tears this Night, and that a different Spirit walks through Necropolis mere nights before St. Valentine's Day, Blessed by those daring, blessed, thoughtful Prayers...
They are the only things powerful enough to bear the tough of the Walking Dead...
Save the Brave Angel who dares touch....
fin