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"What a pretty face, you wouldn't mind sharing it would you?"

0 · 379 views · located in Crown City

a character in “Welcome To Crown City”, as played by Bartholomew Finch


Lonely little love dog that
No one knows the name of
I know why you cry out
Desperate and devout
Timid little tether
Your eyes set on the ether
Your moon in a bella luna and
Howling hallelujah
Nameless you above me
Come lay me low and love me
This lonely little love dog
That no one knows the name of
Curse me out in free verse
Wrap me up and reverse this
Patience is a virtue
Until it's silence burns you


And something slow
Has started in me as
Shameless as an ocean
Mirrored in devotion
Something slow
Has sparked up in me
As dog cries for a master
Sparks are whirling faster
Lonely little love dog
That no one knows the ways of
Where the land is low is
Where the bones'll show through
Lonely little love dog
That no one knows the days of
Where the land is low is
Where the water flows to
And holds you

You were never alone...

He was always lost in the sound. The thumping footsteps, screaming children, music that bumped its way through the hallways. His sisters chattering away in the kitchen, their children playing in the backyard. His parents in the sitting room with nana and papa yelling answers to the wheel of fortune as his mother bickered over the phone with his aunt. Even his brother was a tangible presence, the lingering ghost that watched over them from the photos that lined the walls. Unblinking eyes they could never escape.

There was never a quiet moment, even in the dead of night. Maybe that's why he didn't notice it. The silence as it fell, a heavy blanket over him. Unusual in the way it persisted, long into the moment he felt the presence in his room. The dark shadows as they broke through the thickness of sleep - "Don't scream." Said the voice, and he could only listen. Paralyzed by the sharp press of a silver blade against his neck. Heart thumping out a beat of terror.

He was thankful for the dark.

They couldn't see it when the tears began to slide down his cheeks.

A History Of Death

The thing about dying is that Blue has never known how to do it the right way. The first time had been when he was six months old. Aunt Margaret had been babysitting him and his sisters while his parents were out christmas shopping. Blue doesn't remember this event, but he remembers the way his sister Cat told the story, the way she laughed to cover the shine of fear in her eyes. Cat had always blamed herself for taking Aunt Margarets attention away from him - "It had only been for a moment, there was someone at the door." But that moment had been long enough for a six month old to flail wildly in his bathing seat and slip under the warm bathwater. By the time Margaret had come back he had gone still. As Cat told it she had wailed for hours after, and it was years before his parents felt comfortable leaving any of them with a babysitter again. Even if only moments after being brought out of the water his little lungs filled again. It was as if it had never happened at all.

The second time he had been alone, ten years old, and fully aware of how stupid he was being. Out after dark, his parents unaware as they slept soundly at home. He hadn't told them he was going anywhere. But he'd gotten a text from a friend to come over and his friends house was just a short walk. A few streets over. It wasn't that big of a deal, he'd done it a thousand times before. It wasn't the drivers fault. Really. He was a small kid, and it was dark. Though leaving his broken body on the side of the road was sort of a dick move - and okay, he was older now, and this time he knew what had happened.

It wasn't how media described it. He didn't project out of his body or anything like that. There was no bright light, no beckoning warmth trying to bring him to the other side. He had really thought he was just shocked at first. That the paralysis would go away. He felt no pain, but he couldn't move, couldn't blink, breathe, or talk. He was a motionless body, stuck - until everything seemed to snap back into place and suddenly he was able to move again. It was like nothing had happened at all. Not a single scratch on him.

Maybe that event should have scared him.

Instead curiosity overtook him. Was it a fluke? Was he invincible? Immortal? What exactly would it take to damage him enough for a true death...

Over the next few years he recklessly flung himself into ever increasingly dangerous situations. He must have died over a thousand times, both on purpose and accidentally. None of it stuck. Though he did learn two things - every death increased the time he spent locked in his body, paralyzed, and each death seemed to mark him in a way that wasn't always entirely visible to him, but seemed to be visible to others. Like a dark cloud that followed his every step.

He shouldn't have been surprised then, when those men broke in that night. After the sizeable family fortune that had never really been something Blue thought of at all. They were well off, his parents flaunted it sometimes, big spenders that also invested in their own community. Kids don't often think about things like that - but Blue was aware that he and his sisters always got what they wanted to the point of spoiling. It wasn't surprising that someone eventually figured that out. Could see how easy of a target they were and took advantage.

Blue often marks this as his true death. The day that blade sent him into oblivion. He hadn't seen the faces of the men, but he knew there was more than one. They had murdered everyone that had been in the house, his parents, grandparents, his oldest sister and her children - Blue knew that at least, he had seen them. He couldn't help but wonder how his other sister would cope. His little nephew, who had just turned three wouldn't understand, but his older niece would. Aunt Margaret would be there for them at least.

The men had dragged each of them to the woods at the edge of their property, laying them out one by one. All he could do was watch as the men dug a pit in the earth. He had died so many times now that he knew there was no chance of getting up anytime soon. True fear settled over him as he realized that this was probably it - the final time he would walk away from deaths embrace.

Being buried alive is unimaginable. It took ages to to move again, and each time he did the first breath of air would be just as quickly choked from his dirt filled lungs. The darkness was endless and overwhelming. Even as he continued to live and die, his family lay with him in their coffin of earth, decaying. Skin to bone to dust. Until he was alone. So alone. In the dark, full of dirt, mouth agape as he screamed. Time stopped existing altogether. The world had bled away into nothing - he knew nothing. No one. Why was he even here? Where was here? Meaning was lost to the passage of time. Decades of dying, over and over, beneath the earth.

Darkness was all he knew.

Until the burning light flooded in.

Years of shifting terrain, rain, and the miniscule movements of is re-birth beneath the earth had revealed his gravesite. He pulled himself, half alive, always dead, out of the dark and into the sun for the first time in many years.

"I was wondering when you would emerge," were the first words he heard. A pair of scuffed up black converse flooding his vision, morphing into tattered jeans, a black hoodie, and finally an extraordinarily ordinary teenagers face. Soft blonde curls spilling around a pale skinned face, eyes so blue they rivaled his own name.

"You Zombies are always so lousy at conversation." The boy said, reaching out to haul Blue up with a strength that didn't match such a skinny frame. "Now then, my name is Charles Tennyson." Now that Blue could properly look at the teen he could see that he was older than first thought. There was something sharp behind his gaze, a predatory stillness that seemed utterly unnatural in contrast to the way he dressed. Even his speech was a tad wrong, carefully composed and lilting. He spoke with a constant amusement that the situation did not garner.

"This is normally where you introduce yourself kid." Blue blinked in alarm, jerking away as Charles tapped him on the nose. "I suppose it can't be helped, you've been down there for quite some time - I was almost afraid the curse would have worn off by now. Witches are so pesky with their contracts after all."

"Listen, usually I'd ease you into this a bit better, but there isn't much time for that these days. Wars a brewing, and its all hands on deck as far as I'm concerned. So here's how this is going to work kid. I've bought your contract, the life or rather un-life you live is now bound to my blood. So long as I exist so too will you, which makes you a perfect candidate for a bodyguard."

"w-why..." Blue struggled to find his words, but Charles understood.

"Why you? Because it's exceptionally hard to find a truly invincible Zombie these days - do you know how powerful the Necromancer that made you must have been? Exceptionally, and your contract happened to have passed into my companions hands. You were cheap, friends and family discount cheap. Thats why." Charles smiled at him, speaking slowly as if talking to a child. Blue didn't know what to do with all of this information. Contracts? Necromancy? Zombie? How could he ever hope to understand.

"Don't try to think too hard on it," Charles told him, "Come along now, we've got places to be."

Blue considered protesting, watching as Charles turned and walked away. Strolling along casually, as if he hadn't just bombarded Blue with so many strange words. But what else was Blue supposed to do? He was helpless.

"W-wait." He willed his legs to propel him along after Charles.


So begins...

Zephyr's Story