Write a story or a poem about the painting above.
Remember, if you write a poem please make it at least three stanzas and at least a half page for stories.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Prompt 2
1. A father struggles to stay on good terms with his neighbors once his son turns into a zombie. Tell his story or write a poem from the father, son's, or neighbor's POV.
2. http://i.telegraph.co.uk/
Write a story or a poem about the painting above.
Remember, if you write a poem please make it at least three stanzas and at least a half page for stories.
Write a story or a poem about the painting above.
Remember, if you write a poem please make it at least three stanzas and at least a half page for stories.
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They called it a
ReplyDeleteSecond chance.
When I got back it
Was more like a
Relapse.
Going outside is
Like running a
Gauntlet.
You see me as a
Monster.
I can’t help how
You feel about me,
Or how my stomach
Feels about your
Brains.
Next door, you lock
Your windows at night.
You must not know that
I’ve learned how
To slither down chimneys
And beneath doors.
Dad locks me in the
Basement at night.
His eyes glaze over
With the lost hope.
Soon they’ll put me
Down.
You see my verde skin
And sagging eyes. You
Think I must be rapid,
No coming back from this.
They called it a
Second chance,
Like I chose to
Lose the first.
i really love this. i especially like how the kid still has a rebellious kind of attitude although he is dead. i really love this prompt.
DeleteI thought you would really like this one.
DeleteI actually just realized that I meant to put "You/Think I must be rabid" not rapid.
I laid there in my bed feeling the need to eat something, but what? I feel so different after my sickness. I just want to eat something all the time. I can hear the slightest noise and freak out to attack. I seem to not care of those who are around me except for myself.
ReplyDeleteMy so called father has locked me up in the basement where him and I had fun. So why put me here just because my skin changed colors..
The only thing he does is throws raw meat and I devour every bite of it to fill myself. This does not do anything because I am always hungry for more.
I feel alone in the dark when he turns off that light. Stuck in the black hollow room. As though you are just sitting in a room just floating there without a care.
The hair on my head is dark and oily from the many days I have not had a shower. I can't smell, but dad says I am a mess in so many ways.
I feel anger towards him for not treating me the way he use to treat me. Being locked up for weeks is restless. I don't understand why dad is doing this to me.
I thought of crying, maybe luring him into the basement. Something that will get his attention to meet me again. My selfish needs needed to be met.
One day he turned on the basement light, and came in slowly asking how I was. I kept whimpering for him to come closer and closer. Just as he was in range for me to grab him, it was then that I knew I was different. A monster. One to kill all who was in my way.
I like that it's kind of a diary entry, that's a good way to take it. I like the part about the hair on his head, that was a really nice description to add in there. It's cool that you described the transition to zombie the way some people would describe the transition to vampire. I like this Alaine. Good job.
DeleteI'm writing mine from the Father's POV but it is still going to be a story cause I kinda had an idea for it so.
ReplyDeleteI no longer know what to do. As if this life wasn't hell enough with my wife dead and gone, now my son, the only thing left for me here in this pitiful world is a zombie.
I try my hardest to do my best for him. He's all I have left, and I try not to look at him in disgust but I can not help it at times. His hair that was once the same color brown as my own, now matted and stained with the blood of his victims. His lovely blue eyes, always full of life, now glazed over and the life: gone. The color of his skin is pale, while it would be olive around this time of year from baseball. And the terrible stench of decomposition.
I didn't think I was doing anything completely awful when I attempted to provide for him. I picked up criminals from off the streets to allow him to feed. I didn't let the boy leave the house, I didn't want anyone to see my pride and joy in this state. A part of me still expects to wake up with a cool morning breeze coming in from the window, and to see him sleeping in his room peacefully and okay instead of locked inside the basement. Caged like an animal.
The first few weeks were okay. Very difficult but okay. I got through them. Then the decomposition began to take place though. Although I kept him out of the sun to preserve his withering body for longer the stench became unbearable, and the neighbors soon found out one day while I had left for work.Their own son around my pride and joys age had snuck in, found his way into the basement, and became devoured by my son.
That seems like it was forever ago as I tell this, yet it was only yesterday. I can not live knowing that it is my fault an innocent person has died.
I have just shot my pride and joy, and though the tears are stinging my eyes with fear of what I am about to do, my own blood will soon join with my tears and undead sons on this paper. I can not go on alone and along with this regret that now plagues my heart, I have nothing more to lose.
*undead sons darkened blood
DeleteThis is nice. I don't know if I really understand why he keeps repeating "my pride and joy" but I guess it's endearing and shows just how far gone he is. I am really glad that you wrote anything at all. Just keep writing!
DeleteAlso, I like that in the end he is going to kill himself.
thats his son and i didn't feel like making up a name :P all he has left is his son on this earth so that is his pride and joy, it is the only thing he has left to live for and he has trouble coping with the fact that it really is no longer the same boy as before. /its deep.
Delete