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TheInnerScience
TheInnerScience
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Grunge Fiction Mar. 4th, 2013 @ 10:33 PM Reply

Episode 00: Pilot

Part One

The Gravekeeper
Night hugged the graveyard like a winter blanket. Though it was nearing midnight, that didnt mean that the night brought total darkness. A couple miles away, neon lights shown dimly like a fading memory while casting small shadows over weathered headstones. The City always slept with its eyes open.
The graveyard was voided of life, save for a sliver of light that seemed molecular next to the City. It scanned across the surface of each gravesite, searching along every inch of grass. With the lights from the City, the flashlight was probably not even needed. There were no trees, bushes, or even a fence, so hiding would be difficult. The only place would be the shack that sat on the edge of the property like a sore thumb. But that would be a stupid place to use.
The lanky figure brandishing the light crept along a little further. Never pausing to look, but pivoted in all directions.
Finally as the light reached the other end of the graveyard, it stopped. And as it paused, we can see the features of the man holding the flashlight. He is the Gravekeeper. Long black hair hung down to his shoulders in dreadlocks. His face was haggard from many sleepless nights, and his clothes seemed a little loose on him. Bleak eyes rotated in their sockets as he gritted his teeth, revealing a pair of pearly yellows. After two minutes of looking around in a fixed position, he spoke. His voice was gravelly, and his words came out in the rhythm that almost matched the beating of wings from a raven that was passing above:
"A silent chill crawls up my spine,
I am told that this is a supposed sign.
Maybe I can feel you, a ghost of vengeance,
Here searching for blood and penitence.
Maybe you are stalking me like the prey
You stalked so well in the old days.
Oh, the old days were your love was still alive.
Horrible pain like that must be so hard to survive.
I cannot even imagine, nor do I want to.
Still silent? I have to be getting to you!"
The last word lingered in the surroundings as an echo until it faded away completely. He perked up his ears and looked side to side, as if to receive some kind of response to his taunts. But there was none. Of course.
"The dead are dead," he said at last, as if to reassure himself. "I of all people should know this." He paused again before rearing around.
"That bastard is gone!" The raven above head squawked loudly, as if offended by his sudden outburst. Gravekeeper looked up sharply with just enough time to see the raven heading for the abyssal horizon that faced the City.
"The fuck you know?!" He yelled after the bird.
The inside of the shack was actually very well kept. Of course that is always the case when you have as little belongings as the Gravekeeper. All that was in there was a stiff bed, rusty fridge, rickety dinner table, and an umbrella rack filled with shovels. And one umbrella.
The door slammed as the Gravekeeper entered but he could not sum up the effort to care. He went straight for the fridge door. Glasses clinked as he rummaged around inside.
"Got lunch meat, but no bread. That cup of yogurt has gone bad. Damn, no more string cheese." Suddenly he froze.
"WHO ATE MY STRING CHEESE!" He roared as he spun around. Directly in front of him now was the northwest corner of the shack. Every bit of the shack was well let. Every bit but that corner. A shadow covered the corner. A shadow so deep that the wall was not even visible.
A deep, rich voice flowed from the darkness:
"The enemy slumped into his cave,
Unaware that no one can save
Him from his long forgotten foe.
And yes, the years have been hard and slow.
Penitence is not what I have come for,
But I will take all blood you have to offer.
Now behold your soon coming death.
I will not blame you to use your last breath
To scream once the pain begins."
The Gravekeeper remained stupefied until, with the last word, the visitor came forth from the darkness. The man was dressed in a three piece suit that was a deep, dark color of purple. His hair was as black and long as the Gravekeeper, except his appeared clean and neatly flowed behind him.
The young man had a sinister beauty about him. Like looking at a demon brought forward to deceive and mislead you. A demon in a purple suit, and a pair of shades that hid his eyes from the world. A handsome devil of chaos.
Gravekeeper was flabbergasted. His mouth hung ajar while the rest of his face had a vacant expression.
"Y-you cant be alive... Angelo destroyed you!"
"No," the stranger interjected, "Angelo tore my soul apart, but didnt destroy me." Gravekeeper still seemed confused. Then he lifter an accusing finger to the man.
"It was Weaver! That treacherous bastard brought you back!" The visitor gave a condescending smile.
"The Weaver has nothing to do with my sudden return, Gravekeeper. As I said, what I want is blood. That "want" in itself is enough to defy the laws of the grave once in a while."
Now it was the Gravekeeper who smiled. He always had a trick or two. And know was not the time him to lose his cool.
"You always thought you were so great, didnt you? You sadistic bastard. Well Mr. Spook, You are gonna have to work for this piece of ass because I aint a cheap broad!"
As the Spook stepped forward, there was flurry of movement as Gravekeeper brought out his ace in hole. Inches from the face of the Spook was a shovel. Not just any shovel. The shovel was five feet of blessed steel, forged from Chinese Hell fire and had old scriptures in angelic script etched along the shaft. A weapon of sure death to any demon. And also cut through soil like butter.
The Spook winced as his skin started to sting where the tip of the shovel had barely nicked his cheek. This gave the Gravekeeper much pleasure indeed. He was going to enjoy the next part. But maybe it was not the killing he was looking forward to. Maybe it was that he would be able to say that he finally put on end to the Spook! Something the great Angelo Cherry Popper has had much trouble with for a long time.
"Not such a badass now, staring down the end of my spade!" Though the Spook seemingly remained calm, there was indeed anger and impatience beginning to boil and bubble beneath the still surface.
"Rest assured, I willfinish what Angelo could not!"


"Zombie of the mind, craves food for thought."

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TheInnerScience
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Response to Grunge Fiction Mar. 4th, 2013 @ 10:36 PM Reply

This is a series of short stories I working on. They are supposed to have a lot of defferent dark elements that I have taken from comics, anime, and movies. Hope it turns out well.


"Zombie of the mind, craves food for thought."

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Spedmallet
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Response to Grunge Fiction Mar. 5th, 2013 @ 12:51 AM Reply

I'm not crazy about the composition of it honestly:

I am told that this is a supposed sign.
Maybe I can feel you, a ghost of vengeance,
Here searching for blood and penitence.
ETC

The way you deliver all of that is somewhat distracting. I don't want to critique the entire thing because I feel as though it needs to be entirely revamped, but here's my take on the first paragraph.

At 3/4/13 10:33 PM, TheInnerScience wrote: The Gravekeeper
Night hugged the graveyard like a winter blanket. Though it was nearing midnight, that didnt mean that the night brought total darkness. A couple miles away, neon lights shown dimly like a fading memory while casting small shadows over weathered headstones. The City always slept with its eyes open.
Night hugged the graveyard like a winter blanket.

Consider describing winter things before a winter metaphor.

Snow fell dimly from the sky, blanketing the graveyard in a thin sheet of white.
Though it was nearing midnight, that didnt mean that the night brought total darkness.

"That didn't mean that" stuck out like a sore thumb.

Though it was nearing midnight, the night sky remained illuminated by distant lights that shone brightly in the horizon.
A couple miles away, neon lights shown dimly like a fading memory while casting small shadows over weathered headstones.

Minus the metaphor this is pretty solid. Going to rewrite it to fit my example though.

Though several miles away, the neon lights of the city were bright enough to cast shadows over the weathered headstones from the distance.

(You need more stuff before or after this point)

The City always slept with its eyes open.

Could make a decent one-line after the paragraph.

On a side note watch your metaphor use; you need to know when it's right to use it or not.


Dr. Spedmund McMallet

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TheInnerScience
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Response to Grunge Fiction Mar. 5th, 2013 @ 07:30 AM Reply

Thanks for the review and tips:)


"Zombie of the mind, craves food for thought."

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