|Third Eye Open is my newest piece. Straying away from Zombie Science Fiction, this piece delves into our lives as a whole on this Earth. Someday I truly believe everyone will find peace and happiness within themselves and with each other...|
Third Eye OpenWe are constantly driving and striving to be set free, but we can all agree, as we have seen, praying from our knees, we libel the bible and pay communion fees, just to please a god with empty pleas, and the powers that be, control our needs, our wants, our deeds, our fronts, our pleads and funds. Freedom isn't free, but it appears to me, that what we need just can't be seen. If we open our third eye, we can spread our wings, like a bird and fly away to a place, clear in our minds, a show of new face, pure and divine. This is not out of reach, it just takes a breach of social protocol, to learn and to teach, how to treat ourselves and how to treat others, all living souls are our sisters and brothers. Every day we receive, give thanks to our Mother, Earth, but since birth, we've been cursed with the burden of serving "Big Brother" with no choice but to force a smile kindly and to live blindly, cut off from ourselves and each other. But, finally the time has come for us to open our eyesThird Eye Open by ReqiuemCatharsis
Keep Calm and Carry OnHere's a new piece, brand new, just for you, written quickly, written swiftly, not a clue, what to do, what it's about, or what's coming out of my mind, when? where? and what kind? I lost all my works, except for a few, so I'm starting over anew, slightly askew, and if my words are true, I'll deliver to you a brand new piece, right on cue.Keep Calm and Carry On by ReqiuemCatharsis
I write because it comes naturally to me, so factually, I'm accurately describing how I lost my ambition, but came back and realized my new mission... I'll continue writing what I love, Zombie Science Fiction, fits me like a glove. But at the same time, I can spit out a rhyme, suddenly stop, turn on a dime, and come back to writing whats always been mine.
I had to write this piece, to prove to myself, that through heaven and hell, i can still find peace, and I can still write swell. I thought I had lost it, I thought it was gone, then I realized I was wrong, of course, I still had it all along. Thanks to all of you. Now go, Keep Calm and Carry on.
Back With A Vengence.I AM BACK!Back With A Vengence. by ReqiuemCatharsis
If anyone should find themselves reading this, let it be known that I have finally renewed my DA Membership (for what its worth) and I plan to start writing science fiction short stories again. I am always understanding to criticism and look forward to hearing what people think about my work, both positive and negative. I am also looking to collaborate with new people to create imaginative and ingenious new ways to captivate readers, and truly paint a picture with words. If you have not read any of my short stories, please visit my page and do so. I will gladly oblige and do the same for you. You will find that I specialize in the macabre and darker genres. But i am always looking for new and exciting ways to express myself and help bring ideas to life. Thank you.
Apocalypse Island/Excerpt IIIThe man quickly reached for his hunting knife in the sheath on his belt. Luckily, he hadn't lost it in the fall. He quickly unsheathed it and found his footing beneath him. The undead was swiftly barrelling towards him now, fiercely screaming at a deafening tone. Its mouth hung awkwardly low as if it had a broken jaw. Its eyes bugged out of its head with frightening rage and intensity. The undead's army fatigues were soiled and bloody, but not old. This being had not been undead long. The man readied himself as the undead drew closer. Just as it was about to engulf him, the man quickly juked to one side and swept the undead's legs out from beneath him. The undead flipped end over end and violently smacked the ground. The man quickly took advantage of his opportunity and lunged toward the undead and buried his knife into the back of its head.Apocalypse Island/Excerpt III by ReqiuemCatharsis
Apocalypse Island/Excerpt IIThe man suddenly heard slow, lumbering footsteps approaching his vicinity. He laid down his pack and shouldered his crossbow. The man carefully scanned the jungle for any signs of the undead. He could smell a mixture of decaying flesh and feces in the air. He then spotted an undead male, no more than 18 years old, shuffling towards him. He had numerous bullet wounds scattered over his torso, and a shotgun wound revealed his insides. Blood stained his face and neck and tainted his already soiled clothing. The man carefully advanced for a better shot. The undead's eyes were sunken in and glazed over with a blue-moon hue. His lips snarled as he drew closer, revealing pieces of rotted meat stuck in his teeth. The man got within 20 feet of his target and steadied his crossbow, aiming directly at the forehead of the undead. He pulled the trigger, releasing the bolt and this tortured soul from his nightmare of gluttonous hunger.Apocalypse Island/Excerpt II by ReqiuemCatharsis
Apocalypse Island/ExcerptThe moon lit up the camp as the man slept lightly, always remaining vigil. He had chosen to remain on his own, ever since the beginning of the undead apocalypse. He had always been somewhat of a loner. He had no wife, no family to speak of on the island. He thought to himself, amidst the chaos of the unravelling of society that he ought to remain alone, and out of sight of the military. For the military, during this time, was acting on its own behalf. No orders from Washington, no higher ups, no red tape, no morals to distract them from their task at hand. The military's only perspective was to eliminate the threat of the undead and other survivors alike. Mass murders occurred at the points of their weapons. Selfishly hoarding any and all supplies they could find, to ensure their own survival they pried weapons, food, water and ammo out of their victim's lifeless hands. The light from the small camp fire slowly faded as the fire dwindled and fell to ashes.Apocalypse Island/Excerpt by ReqiuemCatharsis
Dead HorizonsDeep in a nightmare of sleep, his boney finger twitched rapidly and grazed over the trigger of his double barrelled shotgun. He was suddenly ripped out of sleep as the deafening shotgun round was discharged, narrowly missing his head. As he gathered his thoughts, he realized he had fallen asleep on the rooftop balcony. With hunger biting at his stomach, he gradually brought himself to his feet and scanned the morning horizon, as he had done countless times before. The pounding on the rooftop door began almost immediately, and quickly grew unnerving. His body turned cold, and felt as if it were shutting down. He then retreated into his den and collapsed near the threshold. Unknown to him, this particular sunrise would be his last.Dead Horizons by ReqiuemCatharsis
He was awoken by a sharp, thumping pain in his stomach. He slowly reached for a bottle of what was left of his murky rain water. He took the last sip of the life giving substance and wet his dry, chapped lips. All the joints in his body cracked and popped as h
Our Dire FateA world condemned to a dire fateOur Dire Fate by ReqiuemCatharsis
Putrid corpses, forgotten forces of death and destruction, risen to destroy.
Ripping away, and tearing decay, from what is left, of humanity.
Spreading forward to consume it all, foundations destined to fall, upon us all.
Ripping away, and tearing decay from what is left of humanity.
No way, to delay, this decay, no replay.
OathI declare an oath for this imprudence,Oath by Scaretted
seal the pact with the purest blood,
or let it be the impurest blood,
which release this flood,
From the holy promise,
the imprudence and silent with the dead arise,
let all this tombs to liberate their occupants,
so this mercy shed for the adamants
For the sacred profanity,
and the imprudence of humanity,
let another day to delay,
and the impurest damned with mercy stay,
shed the blood of a innocent,
the presence of the faith which is absent,
The soul of the tyrant which has been suppressant,
A night for punishment with a moon yet to be crescent,
The taste of the glory bitter like death,
the presence of the fallen deadly like dead faith,
the lie of the one that love healed with hate,
the power of hope and the light turns pale,
Is yet to be send a punishment for a promise that is late
The desecrated woods with the sing of crows,
the wave of sorrow damned between crowds,
The flesh of the sick proving to be raw,
Impurest of blood, ending generations
My main focus with writing now is epic/zombie/science fiction/short stories. I look forward to sharing my literature with anyone who has interest in the macabre, and/or dark and sometimes disturbing apocalyptic literature. I also find extra terrestrial, paranormal, and human origins stories very interesting. I look forward to sharing works, critiques, ideas and learning as much as i can to better myself as a person and a writer. Please check out my gallery and share what you enjoy, and i will be sure to do the same for you.
Witcher Pitch black. That was all he could see. Darkness flooded his mind, which felt strangely light. He could feel his eyes glued closed from sleep. He could hear whispering voices around him, but didn't have any idea who they were.
"How long has he been in this coma?" a chiming, feminine and authoritative voice asked.
"A-about five months. And...and who are you? M-ma'am?" asked another voice.
"I am none of your business. I need to take him back with me."
The other voice suddenly stopped quavering, and took on a more serious and angry tone. "On whose authority?!"
The man's voice instantly cracked and shot down in volume. "O-oh...Al-alright then...Umm, he needs to stay here for at least three more days, to see if the medicine will actually wake him up."
"Fine. But ONLY three days, no more!" The woman's voice faded as she walked out of the room, her heels clicking on the hard floor.
The Dead HouseAt first glance, the mansion seems perfectly ordinary, blending in with all the other old homes that make up the neighbourhood. But if one observes the mansion for a while, they begin to notice oddities. People walking down the street subconsciously move away from the mansion, and those that stay and observe it for too long report strange sensations, of pressure above their eyes, of feeling like something is crawling up their spine and below their flesh. The locals say that it is unhealthy to stay too long near that abandoned mansion, and the ruined hut and dead garden behind it. And though this unhealthy influence cannot be identified, those that study the mansion's history will find undeniable proof of its existence.
The land was first settled in the early 1600s by a young man named Jeremiah Pines, and his new bride Sarah. Jeremiah loved the land for its fertile soil and lush vegetation, while his bride, who would often spend hours staring up at the stars, loved the uninterrupted vie
The Village in the CliffsI leave this note for those that come to find what has become of us.
I assume that all readers of this note will be familiar with the events leading up to expedition, but just in case, I shall recount the basic premise that lead us here.
In the early morning of June 12th, 1961, a sudden earthquake revealed a small village, nestled deep in the mountains. No record had ever been found of humans living there, and scientists estimated that the village had been buried easily a million years, causing speculation that some other beings had lived there in the early days of earth.
Professor Farnsworth of the Miskatonic University was elected to lead the expedition to explore that ancient village. I was simply one of his many students, but my knowledge of ancient cultures, and myths of beings from before the time of Man, impressed him enough that I was allowed to come with him.
Our party consisted of a total of twelve people: Myself, Professor Farnsworth, Matthew Winters, a fellow scholar of anc
The SicknessIt has been a while since I’ve told this story to anyone…of course, it has been almost as long since I have had contact with the outside world. You have doubtless seen how passers-by seek to avoid this house, and heard the rumours about me. What are they saying now? Do they think me a murderer? An evil wizard? A ghost? Time so distorts the stories, that by now…I am likely the only one who knows the true horror in this house. I am, I suppose, the last keeper of this secret. But you…you have sought me out, and so I will respect your request, and share my tale with you.
Do you know the worst part of what it is that happened here? The worst part is this: it was random. We did nothing to deserve it. We committed no crime, enacted no dark rituals. We were an ordinary family, and all that happened to us was nothing more than the cruel whims of fate.
I was born thirty-five years ago, in the summer of 1943. My darling sister, Lisa, was born ten years later. Tragically
The WellA note from the author: The following is a transcript of a recording I made of my interview with Mr. Andrew White late last year. As Mr. White has since passed away, I felt that there could be no harm in revealing his story to the public. I at first planned to simply release the tapes, but upon listening to them found that my recording were almost unintelligible, drowned out by a static that resembled distorted screams. As the tapes were still in prime condition, I can only suppose that my recorder picked up and amplified some minor background noise. Thus, I have carefully transcribed what dialog I can, filling in the gaps by memory. I hope my efforts are adequate.
Interviewer: Thanks again. I know this must be a hassle for you.
White: Oh no, not at all. I’m eighty-seven years old, young man. I don’t exactly have a busy schedule. *laughs*
Interviewer: Right. Well, as I mentioned, I’m assembling material for my research into supposed paranormal experiences, and
The SurgeonParanormal encounters? I’m afraid I’m not a believer in ghosts and the like. If you just want an abnormal story, though, I think I can oblige.
You see, two years ago I was working the night shift at a local bar, and was preparing to close when the final customer of my career arrived.
It was around three in the morning when she entered. Tall, with short red hair and bright green eyes behind fogged lab goggles. She wore a dirty lab coat, covered with red blotches I preferred not to contemplate. She walked with an odd gait, like her legs bent somewhere above her knees, and as she got closer I heard an odd thumping noise that seemed to emanate from her.
She sat down at the bar and nodded at me. I felt a strange sensation of fear as I approached her, but tried my best to ignore it. The late hours attracted all sorts of eccentrics and criminals – if she was a drug dealer or organ thief, it was not my problem (this sounds harsh, I know, but the bar was in a bad part of a cit
The Doctor's CallTonight is the night
It has to be
The dark clouds are alive
Thunderous rage echoes in the distance
Indeed, I can see the force of Azathoth flowing through their veins
My darling, at long last our destiny lay ahead
I stand above you peering into your soul
The scars of your salvation glisten in the sunlight
Your final stitch drawn tight
The secrets you hold are a mystery to man; a reality to me
The transfusion nears an end
Placenta filled vats swirl awaiting their call
Waiting for the sanguine river to again flow within your ragged flesh
Mighty Azathoth, I call to thee
My masterpiece is finished; my companion waits silently for your touch
Come to me, show me your power
Answer my prayers
Breathe life into the undead
For on this night, my genius will reign
My epitaph finally etched into stone
Cthulhu will be proud
Tonight, answer my pleas
Tonight, let my monster rise
Slaps my face
As I run
Through the forest,
And mud seeping
Through my shoes.
I am lost,
But not scared,
I should be.
I hear the growls,
To any animal.
He is wild,
A feral beast
Of a man,
Hunting his prey.
But I am
And this thrill
Just out of
But I am
CreepyPasta: The WebThe problem with the internet is that you never know what you’re going to get into.
Let me elaborate. Let’s say, for example, that you decide to click on a link, sent to you by a friend, let’s say. Now, that link could go to multiple things. It could go to a funny image, or maybe it’s a interesting news article. But nonetheless, if you receive a link from someone you know, you’re most likely going to click on it, right? After all, you trust them, they won’t send you anything bad, they’re your friend, they know you, and likewise you know them, right?
But, like all things with the internet, it’s never that simple, especially nowadays. After all, we live in an age of cloak-and-dagger, of the knife in the back. We expect and are fully aware of the attacks against us, of the thieves lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. Yet, for all of our knowledge of botnets, of viruses and e-scams, we still can’t resist that little URL lin