My name is Callum McDonald, and I don’t know who I am.
I get flashes sometimes, pictures that dance through my mind, but as soon as I reach for them they vanish into a whisper. It’s been happening for almost a week now. I have to guess, because the only way to track time anymore is the rising and falling of the sun, and my almost-memories have kept me preoccupied. They demand my attention, forming faces and shapes that tease; their way of tormenting me for forgetting them. I try to put them into words, to speak them back into existence, but each time I reach for the right description, they disappear, no more than an empty wisp.
It’s been a few days since we passed the Marked man under the tree. Not much has happened—shocker—and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get his figure out of my head.
He looked just like I did the day I died.
I walk on broken glass, can’t you hear my laughter? A scream inside a gasp. Alone is my ever after …
I smile, pleased I’ve finally figured out the bridge to my newest song, Undone. Golem’s been shambling around for the better part of the day, giving me lots of time to work on it. It’s pretty good so far. Too bad no one’s ever going to hear it.
A sudden movement draws me from my thoughts. I’ve been trailing behind from a distance today. I needed some space. I mean, I know Golem doesn’t talk, but sometimes a guy can only handle so much mindless groaning.
“Callum, I need you to take out the trash before you leave.”
I can hear my mother’s voice, but her face is gone. Like someone spilled water on a photo and distorted the image, leaving only a blur with running, inky colors.
At least I still have her voice. For now. Continue reading
Everyone fears the undead. It used to be dying was the worst thing that could happen to someone. Falling to the great beyond. But death has been dethroned. Now mankind’s biggest threat is to be caught in-between. To lose your soul and be forced to roam the earth, murdering and feeding on others just to survive.
To be marked by Cain. Continue reading