I Am Zee
08-27-08, 04:34 AM
Name: Zee
Age: Aproximately 19
Race: Undead
Gender: Male
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 143 lbs
Hair Color: A faded, greenish blonde.
Eye Color: Milky White
Appearance: As far as rotting corpses go, Zee isn't that hard on the eyes. He has a womanizer's face and the physique of a swimmer. Once you get past the grey skin, the messy, off-colored hair, the scars on his wrists, the white washed eyes and the stench of formaldehyde, he's quite a looker.
Personality: Zee is humorous and sarcastic. He's one to hide his pain behind laughter. Given his state of being, he's always a bit down, but that won't stop him from dishing out a snappy zinger at just the right moment.
Clothes:
Head - Covered at all times by a rudimentary hood, stitched to his over shirt.
Torso - A tight fitting white shirt is covered by a dark grey, loose fitting over shirt (much like a thin sweater), adorned with several mismatched patches.
Legs - Simple, loose-boot pants. Brown in color.
Feet - A pair of black working boots. Tailored to stand up to the elements.
Items:
Preservative - A small, shot-sized bottle containing an unknown blend of preservatives. Used to prevent Zee's body from deteriorating. (Amount: 7)
Weapon:
Grim - A sturdy shovel, specially crafted to be used as a weapon. The wooden shaft is made of oak, and the blade made of steel.
Skills/Abilities:
Deadened Nerves - A product of Zee's zombification, he is less sensitive to touch. He is less effected by things like heat, cold and pain. Unfortunately this also effects his ability to feel many physical pleasures as well.
You Smell That? - A product of Zee's zombification, his sense of smell has become exponentially more keen. On par with the healthiest of bloodhounds. (Above average)
Swordplay - Zee is awkwardly skilled with his shovel. He is better defensively than offensively with this weapon. It will take time before he can use it to it's full potential. (Average)
Infection - A product of Zee's zombification, his saliva, when mixed with blood, produces several types of infectious bacteria. Anyone bitten by him is likely to develop a hell of an infection. In rare, worst case scenarios, people will lose limbs, or even their lives.
Budding Thief - In order to aquire both luxuries and necessities, Zee has turned to a life of crime. He has only the most basic skills in such things as stealth and lockpicking. (Below Average)
History:
" Before anything else, I could taste dirt. I could feel it in my lungs, but for some reason I didn't choke. I couldn't see anything at all. To be honest I wasn't sure when my eyes were open and when they were closed. At first I tried sitting up. My head managed to push through the dirt okay, but it met with something solid that stopped me dead in my tracks, so to speak. My arms were resting on my chest and I could move them pretty easily. I pressed my hands against my obstacle and pushed, but it didn't give. It creaked and moaned. At the time I could only assume it was wood.
I kept pushing. For hours, days it seemed, I pushed, pounded and slammed my palms into the unfinished wood. I must've had a thousand splinters. Finally, after what seemed like a decade, I heard a snap, and the wood gave. I got anxious and pushed as hard as I could. I could feel more dirt tumbling onto my head, filling my nose, my mouth, even my eyes, but I kept on pushing. Pushing became clawing, which became digging, which became climbing. And at long last, I was free.
The sound of thunder roared in my ears. Flashes of lightning lit up the wet grass and dirt like a candy wrapper. Rain fell hard and washed most of the dirt off my body. I took a moment to look around and was, to say the least, confused to find myself in a graveyard. I looked over to my former prison of earth and wood and realized I had been buried alive! But wait, that couldn't be right. I quickly rolled my sleeves to my elbows and saw the marks, the deep cuts in my wrists. I should've been dead. Twice over in fact. I was confused as hell, but couldn't help but laugh. Somehow I had managed to screw up my suicide along with everything else in my life. Then I heard a voice.
" I was wondering when you'd manage to wriggle your way free. You look like a fuckin' earth worm! BAH-HAHAHA! "
Now, I'll be honest with you. I had no idea who this man was. He was a portly sort, covered in white body hair. Most of his face was hidden behind a wildly bushy beard. His hair was dreaded and matty. He looked like he didn't bath much. He carried with him a torch and a shovel, which he rested over his shoulder. I was a little put off by his chipper attitude, especially towards someone who just crawled out of their own grave, but I went along with it.
" Do I now? Any idea how I managed to get buried alive? "
The moment I opened my mouth, I could see both fear and confusion painted on the man's face, though that quickly changed. A smiled crept across the man's face which grew into a rather incomplete grin. By incomplete, I mean he had about three teeth in his mouth. The fat man roared again in laughter. It was somewhat astonishing how his laughter seemed to drown out the rain and thunder.
" Alive!? Boy you got no idea what your into. Come on. I'll fill ya' in on your new uh...' life '. "
I wasn't sure what he meant, but hell, I didn't really have any other options. He seemed to know what happened to me and...well let's just say this cat was killed...heh.
I followed him into a real crap hole shanty. I gathered he must've been the cemetery's caretaker. Who else would live in a graveyard? Besides vampires or zo-...let's just move on with the story.
So we make our way inside and he motions for me to sit him at his dinner table, which would probably be more aptly named a bed side table. I sat down in front of him and we locked eyes. He stared at me with this intense glare. He must've been contemplating something major. I swear he didn't even take a breath in all that time. I had just started zoning out when he broke the silence...abruptly.
" ...You're a zombie. "
Now, it's not every day you hear someone say that. In fact, I think it's safe to say most people never hear someone say that. Ofcourse I was a little put off by what he had said.
" Excuse me? "
" You're fuckin' zombie kid! The living dead! Flesh eater! An abomination of the holy earth in which we sit! "
That last one forced me to take a few glances at my current surroundings. The rotting wood, the leaking roof, the pile of empty mead bottles in the corner.
" The holy earth in which we sit? "
" You know what I mean damn it all! You are a fuckin' undead man! "
I struggled to keep a chuckle from escaping my mouth. This old guy was off his rocker.
" Hah. I think you've had a little too much of that brew old man. "
As I laughed quietly to myself, the old man just shook his head. He got up from the table and moved to the only dresser in his tiny home. He started fumbling through it, tossing clothes and other random things out as he did. I could've sworn I saw him pull a turkey leg outta there. Anyway, he walked over and handed me a small mirror. He spoke loudly and to the point.
" Look! "
" What, is my hair bad? "
" Just fucking look pretty boy! "
I sighed in slight annoyance and indulged him. My first thought was that I looked a little pale. Then I noticed my hair was a little...discolored. And then the big one. My eyes...my eyes were completed whited over. Like I had gone to sleep and woke up blind. At that point I'm sure I would've lost the color in my face, if I had any. I raised a hand to touch my face, still gazing into the mirror. I was...so cold. I never felt such cold. Without moving an inch I spoke to the caretaker.
" Wh-...what happened to me? "
" Undertaker said you were a suicide. "
" No no, I already know that...I mean... "
" You mean how'd you end up a zombie? "
" ...Don't say that. "
" Fuck if I know kid. Somethin' about this yard. It's like clockwork. People go down dead and come back up undead. "
I didn't have any words. I didn't have any thoughts. I felt like I was crying, but there were no tears. Just the pain.
" The part that's got me scratchin' my head is how you can talk. Er hell, how you're even self aware! I ain't never heard of nothin' like this before. Trust me, I been bashin' in skulls since I took this job near forty years ago and I ain't never heard a one of you types mumble anything more than a groan or a snarl. "
So great. I was a zombie. How did this even happen? I couldn't even remember why I killed myself in the first place. I...had no idea what to do, what to say, what to think. I was really only sure of one thing...
" I'm hungry. "
" Woah hey! Easy now! Don't get all bitey on me. I'll getcha somethin'. Be right back. "
The caretaker hustled outside and slammed the door behind him. I was still clenching the mirror, staring at this...creature who had replaced my reflection. It was around that point I realized I wasn't breathing. I wonder how long I had gone without taking a breath. Why did I need to eat but not breath? Which reminded me of something else. Slowly, I raised my hand to my chest. I pressed it gently onto my heart. Nothing. Not even the slightest flutter of a heart beat. He was right. I was...I really was a monster.
The door slammed open and the care taker plopped a barely dead chicken onto the table. It's nerves were still active. It's legs jerked sporadically, like it was trying to get up and run away.
" Sorry I didn't defeather it for ya'! You types tend to get a lil' rough when you haven't eaten so I tried to hurry. Hahaha! "
I shot a glare at the old man and his laughter faded quicker than it had started. I stared at the chicken for a moment, and in a way I was jealous. When she died, she stayed dead. I scrunched my face and grabbed the bird hastily. Without so much as a second thought I sank my teeth into it's feathered flesh. I felt the skin rip and the veins break as I tore away a sizable amount. I chewed quickly. I didn't want to taste it. I didn't want to think about it. I just wanted it over with.
I downed the entire thing, bones, feet, feathers and all in less than ten minutes. I wiped my mouth clean of the blood and feathers. I don't really recall the details. I sort of shut off my head and let instinct take over. I felt horrid...but I wasn't hungry anymore. I looked up to the caretaker with eyes of longing.
" What do I do now? "
He took a breath and scratched his matted beard. He looked me over and made judgements.
" Well you look alot nicer than most of your kind. If weren't for them eyes you'd look almost like a pale dark elf. That hood you're wearin' does good to hide them eyes. I figure you oughta' be alright. People won't kill ya on sight. Less of course they know what they're lookin' for! Hahaha! "
Another look of contempt changed the caretaker's mood once again.
" Uh..anyway. Uh...here! "
He stood to his feet and reached for the shovel he'd leaned against the wall. He dropped it onto the table and spoke again.
" You can take ol' Grim with ya! "
" You're giving me your shovel? "
" Don't take me for an idget boy! Take a closer look at it! "
There were some oddities with the shovel. It wasn't as long as a shovel should be, and the blade was flat, not curved. Also, the hilt was wrapped with leather.
" What did you say you used this for again? "
" Well...I used it on you. Er, you types, I mean. When yall crawled outta your dirt holes. "
" Could you stop saying ' you types '? "
" Uh, sure. Sorry boy. Meant no offense. "
" It's fine. "
I stared for a moment at the shovel. What was it that made me different? Why didn't I get this thing lodged in my skull like the rest of the...risers? I had to find out.
" Thanks for your help. "
" Uh, wait! Take these too. "
The old man opened one of the cubboards in his kitchen, if it could be called such, and filled a sack with tiny bottles of some clear liquid. He walked back over to me and handed me the sack.
" This here's the preservatives we use on the dead. You already got a big dose when you went down the other day, so you should be good for a while. One of these lil' things'll do ya' good for about a month. You notice a smell, or if any toes pop off, you down one of these and you'll be good to go. "
"...Thanks. "
I bid farewell to the care taker and left his home. As I treaded through the mud, my new shovel strewn across my shoulder, I thought deeply. I thought about my last moments in life. I was trying to remember why I did it; Why I had killed myself..."
Age: Aproximately 19
Race: Undead
Gender: Male
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 143 lbs
Hair Color: A faded, greenish blonde.
Eye Color: Milky White
Appearance: As far as rotting corpses go, Zee isn't that hard on the eyes. He has a womanizer's face and the physique of a swimmer. Once you get past the grey skin, the messy, off-colored hair, the scars on his wrists, the white washed eyes and the stench of formaldehyde, he's quite a looker.
Personality: Zee is humorous and sarcastic. He's one to hide his pain behind laughter. Given his state of being, he's always a bit down, but that won't stop him from dishing out a snappy zinger at just the right moment.
Clothes:
Head - Covered at all times by a rudimentary hood, stitched to his over shirt.
Torso - A tight fitting white shirt is covered by a dark grey, loose fitting over shirt (much like a thin sweater), adorned with several mismatched patches.
Legs - Simple, loose-boot pants. Brown in color.
Feet - A pair of black working boots. Tailored to stand up to the elements.
Items:
Preservative - A small, shot-sized bottle containing an unknown blend of preservatives. Used to prevent Zee's body from deteriorating. (Amount: 7)
Weapon:
Grim - A sturdy shovel, specially crafted to be used as a weapon. The wooden shaft is made of oak, and the blade made of steel.
Skills/Abilities:
Deadened Nerves - A product of Zee's zombification, he is less sensitive to touch. He is less effected by things like heat, cold and pain. Unfortunately this also effects his ability to feel many physical pleasures as well.
You Smell That? - A product of Zee's zombification, his sense of smell has become exponentially more keen. On par with the healthiest of bloodhounds. (Above average)
Swordplay - Zee is awkwardly skilled with his shovel. He is better defensively than offensively with this weapon. It will take time before he can use it to it's full potential. (Average)
Infection - A product of Zee's zombification, his saliva, when mixed with blood, produces several types of infectious bacteria. Anyone bitten by him is likely to develop a hell of an infection. In rare, worst case scenarios, people will lose limbs, or even their lives.
Budding Thief - In order to aquire both luxuries and necessities, Zee has turned to a life of crime. He has only the most basic skills in such things as stealth and lockpicking. (Below Average)
History:
" Before anything else, I could taste dirt. I could feel it in my lungs, but for some reason I didn't choke. I couldn't see anything at all. To be honest I wasn't sure when my eyes were open and when they were closed. At first I tried sitting up. My head managed to push through the dirt okay, but it met with something solid that stopped me dead in my tracks, so to speak. My arms were resting on my chest and I could move them pretty easily. I pressed my hands against my obstacle and pushed, but it didn't give. It creaked and moaned. At the time I could only assume it was wood.
I kept pushing. For hours, days it seemed, I pushed, pounded and slammed my palms into the unfinished wood. I must've had a thousand splinters. Finally, after what seemed like a decade, I heard a snap, and the wood gave. I got anxious and pushed as hard as I could. I could feel more dirt tumbling onto my head, filling my nose, my mouth, even my eyes, but I kept on pushing. Pushing became clawing, which became digging, which became climbing. And at long last, I was free.
The sound of thunder roared in my ears. Flashes of lightning lit up the wet grass and dirt like a candy wrapper. Rain fell hard and washed most of the dirt off my body. I took a moment to look around and was, to say the least, confused to find myself in a graveyard. I looked over to my former prison of earth and wood and realized I had been buried alive! But wait, that couldn't be right. I quickly rolled my sleeves to my elbows and saw the marks, the deep cuts in my wrists. I should've been dead. Twice over in fact. I was confused as hell, but couldn't help but laugh. Somehow I had managed to screw up my suicide along with everything else in my life. Then I heard a voice.
" I was wondering when you'd manage to wriggle your way free. You look like a fuckin' earth worm! BAH-HAHAHA! "
Now, I'll be honest with you. I had no idea who this man was. He was a portly sort, covered in white body hair. Most of his face was hidden behind a wildly bushy beard. His hair was dreaded and matty. He looked like he didn't bath much. He carried with him a torch and a shovel, which he rested over his shoulder. I was a little put off by his chipper attitude, especially towards someone who just crawled out of their own grave, but I went along with it.
" Do I now? Any idea how I managed to get buried alive? "
The moment I opened my mouth, I could see both fear and confusion painted on the man's face, though that quickly changed. A smiled crept across the man's face which grew into a rather incomplete grin. By incomplete, I mean he had about three teeth in his mouth. The fat man roared again in laughter. It was somewhat astonishing how his laughter seemed to drown out the rain and thunder.
" Alive!? Boy you got no idea what your into. Come on. I'll fill ya' in on your new uh...' life '. "
I wasn't sure what he meant, but hell, I didn't really have any other options. He seemed to know what happened to me and...well let's just say this cat was killed...heh.
I followed him into a real crap hole shanty. I gathered he must've been the cemetery's caretaker. Who else would live in a graveyard? Besides vampires or zo-...let's just move on with the story.
So we make our way inside and he motions for me to sit him at his dinner table, which would probably be more aptly named a bed side table. I sat down in front of him and we locked eyes. He stared at me with this intense glare. He must've been contemplating something major. I swear he didn't even take a breath in all that time. I had just started zoning out when he broke the silence...abruptly.
" ...You're a zombie. "
Now, it's not every day you hear someone say that. In fact, I think it's safe to say most people never hear someone say that. Ofcourse I was a little put off by what he had said.
" Excuse me? "
" You're fuckin' zombie kid! The living dead! Flesh eater! An abomination of the holy earth in which we sit! "
That last one forced me to take a few glances at my current surroundings. The rotting wood, the leaking roof, the pile of empty mead bottles in the corner.
" The holy earth in which we sit? "
" You know what I mean damn it all! You are a fuckin' undead man! "
I struggled to keep a chuckle from escaping my mouth. This old guy was off his rocker.
" Hah. I think you've had a little too much of that brew old man. "
As I laughed quietly to myself, the old man just shook his head. He got up from the table and moved to the only dresser in his tiny home. He started fumbling through it, tossing clothes and other random things out as he did. I could've sworn I saw him pull a turkey leg outta there. Anyway, he walked over and handed me a small mirror. He spoke loudly and to the point.
" Look! "
" What, is my hair bad? "
" Just fucking look pretty boy! "
I sighed in slight annoyance and indulged him. My first thought was that I looked a little pale. Then I noticed my hair was a little...discolored. And then the big one. My eyes...my eyes were completed whited over. Like I had gone to sleep and woke up blind. At that point I'm sure I would've lost the color in my face, if I had any. I raised a hand to touch my face, still gazing into the mirror. I was...so cold. I never felt such cold. Without moving an inch I spoke to the caretaker.
" Wh-...what happened to me? "
" Undertaker said you were a suicide. "
" No no, I already know that...I mean... "
" You mean how'd you end up a zombie? "
" ...Don't say that. "
" Fuck if I know kid. Somethin' about this yard. It's like clockwork. People go down dead and come back up undead. "
I didn't have any words. I didn't have any thoughts. I felt like I was crying, but there were no tears. Just the pain.
" The part that's got me scratchin' my head is how you can talk. Er hell, how you're even self aware! I ain't never heard of nothin' like this before. Trust me, I been bashin' in skulls since I took this job near forty years ago and I ain't never heard a one of you types mumble anything more than a groan or a snarl. "
So great. I was a zombie. How did this even happen? I couldn't even remember why I killed myself in the first place. I...had no idea what to do, what to say, what to think. I was really only sure of one thing...
" I'm hungry. "
" Woah hey! Easy now! Don't get all bitey on me. I'll getcha somethin'. Be right back. "
The caretaker hustled outside and slammed the door behind him. I was still clenching the mirror, staring at this...creature who had replaced my reflection. It was around that point I realized I wasn't breathing. I wonder how long I had gone without taking a breath. Why did I need to eat but not breath? Which reminded me of something else. Slowly, I raised my hand to my chest. I pressed it gently onto my heart. Nothing. Not even the slightest flutter of a heart beat. He was right. I was...I really was a monster.
The door slammed open and the care taker plopped a barely dead chicken onto the table. It's nerves were still active. It's legs jerked sporadically, like it was trying to get up and run away.
" Sorry I didn't defeather it for ya'! You types tend to get a lil' rough when you haven't eaten so I tried to hurry. Hahaha! "
I shot a glare at the old man and his laughter faded quicker than it had started. I stared at the chicken for a moment, and in a way I was jealous. When she died, she stayed dead. I scrunched my face and grabbed the bird hastily. Without so much as a second thought I sank my teeth into it's feathered flesh. I felt the skin rip and the veins break as I tore away a sizable amount. I chewed quickly. I didn't want to taste it. I didn't want to think about it. I just wanted it over with.
I downed the entire thing, bones, feet, feathers and all in less than ten minutes. I wiped my mouth clean of the blood and feathers. I don't really recall the details. I sort of shut off my head and let instinct take over. I felt horrid...but I wasn't hungry anymore. I looked up to the caretaker with eyes of longing.
" What do I do now? "
He took a breath and scratched his matted beard. He looked me over and made judgements.
" Well you look alot nicer than most of your kind. If weren't for them eyes you'd look almost like a pale dark elf. That hood you're wearin' does good to hide them eyes. I figure you oughta' be alright. People won't kill ya on sight. Less of course they know what they're lookin' for! Hahaha! "
Another look of contempt changed the caretaker's mood once again.
" Uh..anyway. Uh...here! "
He stood to his feet and reached for the shovel he'd leaned against the wall. He dropped it onto the table and spoke again.
" You can take ol' Grim with ya! "
" You're giving me your shovel? "
" Don't take me for an idget boy! Take a closer look at it! "
There were some oddities with the shovel. It wasn't as long as a shovel should be, and the blade was flat, not curved. Also, the hilt was wrapped with leather.
" What did you say you used this for again? "
" Well...I used it on you. Er, you types, I mean. When yall crawled outta your dirt holes. "
" Could you stop saying ' you types '? "
" Uh, sure. Sorry boy. Meant no offense. "
" It's fine. "
I stared for a moment at the shovel. What was it that made me different? Why didn't I get this thing lodged in my skull like the rest of the...risers? I had to find out.
" Thanks for your help. "
" Uh, wait! Take these too. "
The old man opened one of the cubboards in his kitchen, if it could be called such, and filled a sack with tiny bottles of some clear liquid. He walked back over to me and handed me the sack.
" This here's the preservatives we use on the dead. You already got a big dose when you went down the other day, so you should be good for a while. One of these lil' things'll do ya' good for about a month. You notice a smell, or if any toes pop off, you down one of these and you'll be good to go. "
"...Thanks. "
I bid farewell to the care taker and left his home. As I treaded through the mud, my new shovel strewn across my shoulder, I thought deeply. I thought about my last moments in life. I was trying to remember why I did it; Why I had killed myself..."