RE: TERRARIUM - Round 1: Apocalypse
08-09-2017, 07:07 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-09-2017, 07:11 PM by One.)
Zakam observed the sudden change of scenery without interest, because it was uninteresting. Zakam’s interests were very few and very narrow.
It had been in the middle of a hymn before being transported. It didn’t even miss a beat --
“And Ydan, who saw that we were hungry,
He plucked ten hairs from his head
And set them in the earth to grow.”
Zakam liked to sing. It attracted customers who would buy its corn. Zakam had little understanding of money or payment, but corn made its mad little brain happy. Its voice rolled across the narrow streets in a remarkably sonorous baritone:
“So they grew indeed, eating sun and drinking rain
Till they grew taller than a man
And each bore upon their stalks a fruit of corn.”
Zakam piloted its food cart beneath the shadow of a shattered glass tower. It paused at an intersection, observed the traffic light for several seconds, concluded that it was broken, looked both ways, and carefully crossed the street.
Dozens of undead figures lurched out of Zakam’s path as it crossed, shambling away from the red-shawled thing and its humming cart as fast as their rotten legs would carry them. It is difficult to gauge the emotions of mindless zombies at the best of times, but someone sufficiently skilled in the practice might have called them panicked. Zakam took little notice. Customers came to it, not the other way around.
Zakam’s haemo-engine gurgled at one-third capacity. Zakam was growing thirsty.
It had been in the middle of a hymn before being transported. It didn’t even miss a beat --
“And Ydan, who saw that we were hungry,
He plucked ten hairs from his head
And set them in the earth to grow.”
Zakam liked to sing. It attracted customers who would buy its corn. Zakam had little understanding of money or payment, but corn made its mad little brain happy. Its voice rolled across the narrow streets in a remarkably sonorous baritone:
“So they grew indeed, eating sun and drinking rain
Till they grew taller than a man
And each bore upon their stalks a fruit of corn.”
Zakam piloted its food cart beneath the shadow of a shattered glass tower. It paused at an intersection, observed the traffic light for several seconds, concluded that it was broken, looked both ways, and carefully crossed the street.
Dozens of undead figures lurched out of Zakam’s path as it crossed, shambling away from the red-shawled thing and its humming cart as fast as their rotten legs would carry them. It is difficult to gauge the emotions of mindless zombies at the best of times, but someone sufficiently skilled in the practice might have called them panicked. Zakam took little notice. Customers came to it, not the other way around.
Zakam’s haemo-engine gurgled at one-third capacity. Zakam was growing thirsty.