hello all
here is my entry...it is a little story and a roughly assembled comic page
thanks!
In the summer of 1978 the dead rattled, groaned, and burst forth from their collective graves and began devouring every man, woman, and child in sight. In this instance it may be considered a good thing that most of organized society does not consider the Hewitt family, man, woman, nor child especially their youngest. As this newly risen zombie horde grazes across the lone star state: law, order, and the rules of polite society degrade much like the soiled, rotted, flesh, of the recently revived. This growling, staggering, mass of decay and teeth ranges from house to house street to street until the only areas left are the outskirts both geographically and socially.
A lone figure in a sparse open field engages in an odd routine of maintenance and passion. File, Oil, Wipe, Rotate, Repeat…repetition…a careful repetition employing all of the figure’s concentration…was this madness ..?…someone trapped in a catatonic state doomed to this routine ..? No this was something solemn this was religion this was purpose. The way he cradled the saw was warm and yet sensual. The two ceased to be separate entities and became one as they sharpened and oiled blade after blade. This was an ageless love between man and machine, almost sexual maintenance if you will. To say the least this was a private moment, not to be shared with any, be they living or recently otherwise but as fate would have it a staggering mob of disjointed gore was making its way to the great creature and his long time love.
The hulking fly covered beast slowly raises its massive head, dull lifeless eyes peer through skin not his own yet as well worn and familiar as his own. With a single smooth motion the cord zips and the saw whines to life. The orchestra of popping and purring emitted by the saw brings electricity to the great beast’s body, he feels alive and filled with purpose. Smoke and oil fill the air as the dance begins and the leather faced one removes limb after limb from the staggering mass. The blackest of blood slings high in the air across an evil dark sky. The horizontal, the vertical, all of the beast’s movements seem choreographed as the cannibalistic lurch performs his moonlit ballet. Heads, hands, feet…. All reduced to glistening stumps with a flash of chrome. From the sea of expressionless zombified life a stink began to arise, you could almost swear that fear was now present. As the Moses of the two cycle engine parted the sea of sickness and decay from his sacred place of worship and debauchery a single thought occurs to him…. wherever shall I put all of this meat.
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