I read a writing prompt online at www.writingexcuses.com and since it was a short scene, I thought I’d share it. It’s fairly unedited, so don’t expect too much.
The Front Line
by Adam Huddleston
So I’m standing here, right smack-dab in the middle of the front line. Joe is to my left. You can tell he’s nervous ‘cause his teeth are clacking like a castanet. Oswald is to my right. He thinks he’s gonna be a hero. He keeps hopping up and down in excitement. And guess what. He stinks. Well, to be fair, we all stink.
We’re the army of the undead. There’s a long line of “good guys” across from us and man do they look intense. They’re all screamin’, and jumpin’ around; not unlike my buddy Oswald here.
I mean, I know we’re undead and all, and if one of those block-headed morons from across the battlefield “slays” us, we’ll just pop back up in a moment or two, but still, killin’ hurts! I mean, how would you like to keep dying over and over again? I know, right?
Well, the other army has begun their assault. They’re pouring down the hill on the other side of the river between us. I love this river; use to fish in it when I was a kid. My Pa and I did. That was ages ago. Long before that sorry excuse for a necromancer raised us all from the dead.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a second chance at life, such as it is. I just hate the way he’s always ordering us around.
“Chop down that tree! Forge this axe! Pick up that arm bone that just fell off!”
Humph. Prima donna.
Wow, the other army is making their way across the river now. Wonder when Mr. “Hey, ya’ll all follow me” is gonna give us the go ahead to charge. Not sure it will do much good. We’ll all go running into their front lines and they’ll scatter our bones all over the place. We’ll spend the next six hours trying to find ourselves, and I don’t mean in a psychological sense.
“Joe, don’t dry heave on me, man. You don’t even have a stomach!”
Ok, so they’re almost to us. Maybe a hundred yards away. And there’s our great and glorious leader, sitting atop his dreadsteed. Might as well be picking his…
Wait! What’s this? He’s giving us the choppy hand sign. I’m pretty sure that means “charge.” Alright, here goes!