Corpses in the Recycle Bin !sZOMBIEjcg 2012/10/27 (Sat) 02:32 No. 162455 ▼
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Hi there guys, you may remember me by my other tripcode, [REDACTED], or by my other writings such as [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], or [REDACTED]. I've decided to get a few ideas out of my head, and since I missed the write-a-thon last week, I must do it the old-fashioned way. The following stories are short, and based off of ideas that turned out to be no good for long haul CYOAs. As usual, you the readers have the Conn. Write-ins are accepted, though not mandatory as is seen in [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Starting off with this one because title puns.
"You live by the sword, and you are therefore deigned to die by it. Am I not correct to assume that this is a principle upon which your honor is based?"
He nods. I know him not; I merely chanced upon the fallen figure of a dying warrior during one of my mid-evening strolls. Fate is not to blame for our meeting, only my curiosity led me to appear before him and speak. Even my words are a peculiarity; I wish only to know why one would wade out into clear and present danger only to be struck down for his trouble and, that knowing that this outcome is nigh assured, is still not dissuaded. This one should consider himself lucky. Dying humans do not often come face-to-face with their ultimate end while it waits to stake its claim. Fewer still have questions posed to them as they lay dying. Death often greets them first, and death is far more greedy than I.
"I find myself in a quandary," I say, anticipating the moment he draws his last breath. I do not wish to ease his passing with kind words, nor will I tell him that his ultimate fate lies upon my whim, "As humans seem to do, should I commend you for your bravery? Or shall I tell you exactly what that honor of yours has bought you?"
He seeks to reply, yet falls dead before the words can be said. Unfortunate for me, for I would have liked to hear his answer. A bit of insight into the 'human condition' for one who does not hold the necessary 'human qualification. Lucky for me in another way, because I was getting ready to progress his croaking via a decidedly artificial means. A quick knife to the throat is a preferable death to succumbing to a slow bleeding stab wound in the gut, most should agree. Yet I'm continually chided by my employer for taking them 'before their time'. Not that I can help but be caught, there are no secrets to be kept from that one's prying eye. Still, a shame I didn't get to have my question answered. I had a whole speech prepared and everything.
I wait while death takes its proverbial two pieces of gold, and I take the leftovers. One dead body, more fuel for the fire. Ironic perhaps, that his body will be used to fuel the fires in which he may eventually spend a considerable amount of time. Honor or no, a warrior such as this has certainly ended the lives of others. The lords on the other side look none too kindly upon that sort of mischief. Humans may believe they do right by living according to their own standards of honor, but their morals and the regulations set in place by those who judge them are utterly incompatible. I harbor no ill will towards the former human, but he should consider himself lucky I do not let the worms have him first. They'd probably make him burn better. Without necessitating further eloquence, this is the fate his 'honor' has bought him.
I find myself thankful to see that death was rather generous today. This makes the fifth whole one I've stumbled upon today, which places me well over the expected quota if I include parts and non-human collections. Usually I happen upon one or two whole humans a week, and never in so great a shape as this. I heft the body over my shoulders, and not minding the blood seeping from old wounds I take it home with me. I look forward to the praise and much-deserved relaxation in store for me when I get back.
Funny how that works, though. The words I receive upon my return are less than what I expected.
"Rin, these ones have bled out," my employer and caretaker tells me, "We can't use them."
"I thought the dried up ones were better?" I reply in a bit of a bewilderment.
"The aged ones are better. If there are no fluids left in them, they won't burn long or hot enough."
Ah, yes. Simply marvelous. My sarcasm does not fall on deaf ears, as the woman in front of me is somewhat of a telepath. Her penchant for semantics notwithstanding, she 'sees' what I think clear as day as if I were speaking aloud to her. This bodes poorly for me in no small number of ways, as I am somewhat secretive by nature. It doesn't make the fact that my work has been for naught any less depressing to me. Rather, it serves to amplify my misery, as I know she knows that I am feeling disheartened as well as the exact nature and depth of it all, yet she still speaks to me so coldly.
"So all this work..."
For nothing, yes," she sighs, "I'm sorry Rin, but this is why I said no soldiers. I can make these ones work for now, but we'll need at least six more."
Six? She does realize how hard I have to work even for one, yes?
"I do," she says, indulging in her usual custom of responding to what I think as opposed to what I say.
[ ] Tell her off.
[ ] Get back to work.
[ ] Make someone else do it.