He comes from the grave, his body a home of worms and filth. No life in his eyes, no warmth of his skin, no beating of his breast. His soul, as empty and dark as the night sky. He He laughs at the blade, spits at the arrow for they will not harm his flesh. For eternity, he will walk the earth, smelling the sweet blood of the living, feasting upon the bones of the damned. Beware, for he is the living dead. -Obscure Hindu TEXT, CIRCA 1000 B.C.E. A solitary grave with a tombstone so defiled and broken that nothing engraved in its surface is still legible. The moon hangs high in the ar illuminating the area that had once been a landfill, the area served as the final resting place for Phil L----. So much hatred was present for the deceased to have been buried in such a place and although the time had been taken to create a tombstone it was clearly destroyed intentionally. Thunder booms from overhead and lightening cracks down like a whip from on high as dark clouds of ill omen begins to gather over the field of buried trash and garbage. There comes a slight tremble of the earth on the ground begins to swell, soil shifting as something stirs beneath it. A low guttural sound like the growl of a wolf is heard and finally a hand emerges. The tips of its fingers rotted away exposing dirt stained bones. Another hand emerges and slowly the rest of the departed slowly begins to pull itself free of its shallow grave, for not even death can stop such a spirit and the earth cannot hold that which darkness controls. It takes but a few minutes for the re-animate corpse to pull itself free of the dirt and stand once again on its own two feet. He shakes his head back and forth, a large ‘fro’ of curled, matted black hair shakes a majority of the dirt and garbage free from its tangles. He shakes his slim but still muscular torso free of dirt as well before brushing himself off with hands that are barely more than dead skin stretched over bone. He wears a black shirt, emblazoned with an inverted white cross on its front with a pair of black loose fitting jeans, long faded and soiled with the dregs he had been buried with. Although he wears a black belt with a ‘Jolly Roger’ belt buckle, his jeans hang just low enough to be deemed inappropriate by the moral standards of any normal person. His shoes matching the previous color scheme is a simple pair of solid black Vans with white trim. Embedded into the center of his chest and heart is a large hunting knife, although it doesn’t seem to be of any importance or disruption the man. He coughs once; dirt and dead insects escape his mouth. The taste lingers on a dead tongue but as of the moment those are the least of his thoughts. His skin having been tanned in life is now a sickly decayed variation of its former tone. His teeth, jagged and stained yellow are exposed as his dark lips pull up in a rather wicked smile while the empty sockets that had once held his eyes stare off over the distance. He has risen as non-life, immotal as undeath. Filth has arrived. About the typist: Let’s see, as much as I love talking about myself I’ll try to keep this short. I’m from Phoenix, AZ but currently stationed in Norfolk, VA serving in the United States Navy onboard the USS George Washington (currently out in the middle of the ocean). For the most part any writing I did was for Role-play forums (hence the first bit of my introduction) which was a nice way to exercise my creativity creating worlds, characters and posting with others. Recently, I grew bored with it and decided that any writing I find myself doing would be for working towards re-writing a novel I wrote a long time ago. Something I’ve been telling myself I was going to do for the last four years. Thus is how I find myself here, hoping to get as much criticism of my works as possible, return the favor to others, get suggestions for what books to pick up neck and just make general conversation about writing etc. See you people around the boards. -Filth (PL), the coolest person I know. I believe there is some good in all people. Those are the parts I eat.