Free Writing: Ryan West Monologue

The following deserves an explanation, I suppose.  A few years back, I'd been experimenting with a few different ideas for an urban fantasy hero.  This is before I created Jaden and the book I'm writing about him now (that was a shameless plug for Lost Lamb--buy it, own it, collect them all, etc.)  But before Jaden, was a guy name Christian--a shaman/investigator who was working out of San Fransisco.  I ultimately chucked out Christian and his world but there were a few dangling threads that didn't get torn out all the way.  This character, is one of them.  The following is a short monologue from a hero who never was, a sort of spinoff from Christian's world, I guess you could say.  Now, with a dark magic I call boredom, he lives again.

The hardest thing about being dead isn't the dying part.  That part's easy.  I did it on accident when I stepped in front of the south bound L train on Thursday night at 8:14 with half a bottle of Jack Daniels in my bloodstream.  Didn't feel a thing and haven't ever since.  The hard part is coming back.  When some bald-headed circus freak covered in tattoos and rosary beads knelt over my body and whispered a blessing to tie my spirit to it, I had little choice but to come back.  I had just discovered the joy of flying across the Border of life and death when a set of ghostly chains snared me and dragged me back into my body.  After that, he took me to a basement and tattooed some Sanskrit on my forehead.  Then he just cut me loose.  No explanation or reason.

I miss food.  Especially pizza.  Goddamn I miss pizza.  Deep dish crust.  Five different kinds of cheese guaranteed to plug your arteries like plumbing snakes.  Layers of thick pepperoni and crumbled sausage.  Chicago's best.  Growing food, as my mom used to call it.  I don't do much growing now, and everything I put in my mouth tastes the same.  Like grave dirt.

There are some perks though.  I got stabbed through the heart by a longsword and didn't so much as sneeze at it.  I've been hit by a couple more cars too, it's a little like skydiving from a low altitude if do it on the freeway.  If I break a bone I can usually set it and it heals again.  Same isn't true for limbs, I found out.  I don't have a left pinky finger any more because I lost a bet.  Figured it was a safe one since I don't bleed.  My bad.  Now there's a hell hound running around in the fifth circle of hell with my finger in its stomach.  Imagine the egg on my face.  I do still have a face--gotta have something for the ladies to look at.

Mostly I pull odd jobs now, the dangerous stuff, since I still haven't figured out how to die.  People pay a lot of money for nigh invulnerability and I'm happy to oblige.  Usually.  Of course, I find that I don't need that much money these days--no shopping bills or rent to pay, since I don't sleep--but it's still fun to collect the stuff.  Way cooler than stamps.

My name's Ryan West--and I'm a zombie.  If you come to town and need a walking pile of bricks to do something for you, look me up.  I've got a lot of time to kill.