Lol. Two journals in one week! Shocking!

Anyway, so, for the past four (4) days, me and my friend Marcus have spent our time working on two things: music for the Rock Opera/Metal Epic I've started writing, and the story we're collaborating on, currently under the working title of "Zombie Apocalypse". As of right now, the title of my epic metal rock opera is "Ragnarok: Children of the Dragon's Wrath", and, as of right now, I have 2 full sets of lyrics written for it, though they are in need of a little editing (yeah, "a little". What an understatement!). I'm stuck on the third "chapter", or really, the second "scene" of the story, and we only have music written for the Intro.

As of right now, this is what the layout looks like:
Ragnarok: Children of the Dragon's Wrath
-Intro
*Overture
-Scene 1: The First March of the Dragon
-Scene 2: The Death of the King

And I make myself laugh when I say we have music "written" for the Intro. Seriously, all that we have "written" are a couple notes scribbled on a sheet of paper with the key the piece is in and the chords for both keyboard and acoustic guitar. Neither Marcus or I know how to write sheet music, though I probably could if I struggled at it... maybe I should take Music Theory this year! Anyway, here's an excerpt, or really, here's the Intro:

For a thousand years
one king has reigned
and the kingdom long has prospered.
But one day, a shadow fell
casting a grim pallor across the land.
And when the king died
and the castle crumbled
they knew the end was nigh!

Little did they know of the prophecy
that long foretold the coming of this,
for a full millenia of peace in exchange for
a single child.
And the king agreed
trading his own son
who was infused with the seed of a dragon.
But the child was a selfish beast
of dragon mind and human body
who could not see beyond his father's betrayal
and so he dwelt within a darker realm
gathering power and growing strong
summoning hordes of the darkest minions
taming the fell beasts to his beck and call
And when those thousand years had passed
he opened the mighty gates from that realm to this
and he marched his army through,
darkness falling wherever their evil boots fell
If only he had known that his father's greatest regret
was the sacrifice of his only son
and he'd take it all back if it weren't too late
But it was too late,
and now that regret was naught but ashes
spread upon the ashes of all the kings before him
And now not all the regret in the world can not stop
the oncoming darkness, unless the Chosen are found
Seven boys,
barely more than children,
each with their own important role
and five young girls
who shall serve as Valkyries
and shepherd the slain warriors onto Valhalla
And if these children are not found, are not trained, are not taught
and the world can not fight off these mighty hordes
the world shall be faced with the end of all
the world shall be faced with
RAGNAROK!

"Zombie Apocalypse" so far is going pretty good, though it has literally taken us seven (7) days to write 4 whole pages. Then again, we've been sentence crafting the story almost literally word by word. Particularly for the prologue of the story, which we found to be very very important to get as close to perfect on the first try. However, now that that's done, we can really pick up the pace and start getting things done! We have nearly the entire thing planned out, and know almost every character in it intimately with the exception of the main character. The MAIN character! Literally, it was just today that we even figured out what his name would be! At least once we figured that out we were finally able to start the damn thing!

So, anyway, here's a couple excerpts from "Zombie Apocalypse":

*From the Prologue
Desolate: that was one way to describe it. It was a seemingly never-ending stretch of desert, dry, hard-packed dust covered in a layer of sand stretching on for miles and miles. The horizon was clear of any landmark, any undulation or sign of elevation change in the monotonous stretch of sandy desert. No dunes, no shadows cast by the sun floating high in the sky, not even a single cactus or rock to bring some color to the tawny wasteland. It was a strange place.

And Richard Freeman thought the same thing, staring at the flat, unchanging sands. He had memories of a place somewhat like this, but it had been almost colorful, with red rock ridges rising up here and there and a forest of cacti that stood taller than him by at least a full arm's length. He couldn't quite remember where it had been, or why he had been there, but it didn't have such a feeling of... desolation. He liked this place better.

He felt a weight in his arms, which was strange. He hadn't been carrying anything a moment ago. When he looked down, however, the sight of the mummified corpse in his arms – a dry husk of the person it had once been – brought memories rushing back. Memories of the vibrant Arizona desert, memories of this strange place, and memories of the corpse he was carrying. Along with those memories came a familiar compulsion to walk forward, but for how long he couldn't tell. The distance never seemed to be the same length twice.

Walking for what might have been hours, seconds, minutes, days he reached a point where the compelling march stopped, and he stood still. After a moment, the ground shook, and the sand in front of him began to ripple; cracks split the ground, and the sand and dust poured in as they continued to widen. Black spikes grew out of the wastes, the grinding of stone on stone grating against his nerves. He never liked this part. Then, as the sand drained away, it revealed a large circle of stone that reached out to touch each spire around it. The spikes stopped their grinding ascent, and those nerve-wracking sounds with them.

Standing in the center of the stone circle, it reminded him of something else. He wasn't sure if it had any relevance or anything, but the place kinda looked like an eviler version of... whatever that stone circle in Britain was. There was a new spike in the circle now, darker and more iridescent than the other, older spires. What was there, nineteen of them now? He laid the husk gently at the base of the spire, arranging it in a sitting position, brittle tendons snapping as he folded the hands so they lay properly on its lap. He could never figure out why he did this every time, but not doing it just left things feeling unfinished.

“So, good fuck?”

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*From Chapter 1
Marketing wasn't a very exciting job. At least, not to Zachary Anderson's experience. Then again, marketing wouldn't be a very exciting job to anyone when the company you worked for was a D-rate excuse for an off-brand cereal company.

He had spent the last few minutes doodling on the meeting agenda. It had been three hours already, and it just kept on dragging on and on!

“Rooooar! Rooooar!” he whispered under his breath as he wiggled the paper, making his dinosaur doodle 'move' across the table. Those cavemen villagers better watch out! Oh no, there go the wives! Ha! Archers to rescue! Patwang! Patwang! Oh no, what's that? Aliens! Zhoozhoozhoo! Pew! Pew! A hand slapped down on top of his doodle battle.

“Mr. Anderson! Care to share your thoughts? Or do you feel compelled to rescue the villagers from the vicious monster?” Zach looked up, startled out of his little prehistoric world. Every person at the table, suits and interns alike, was staring at him.

“Well, you know what? You can just...”

* * *

“Shove this meeting up your ass. At least, that's what I wish I told him. Instead, I just picked up the village and had them migrate into the recycle-bin. Along with the rest of the crap on my desk.” Zach sighed, shaking his head. “I haven't even told my wife yet! Ah, fuck, what should I do?” He looked expectantly over at the scruffy man laying down on the bus stop bench next to him. The bum was staring at the blue plastic roof above them.

“I like cake. With frosting. It makes me feel happy inside. Like I did when I was a boy.” His eyes never wavered from the little bus station logo plastered to the roof. Zach stared at him, all hope for survival lost. Sarah was going to be pissed.

“Thanks for the input.” The city bus hissed to a stop in front of the benches. With a sigh, Zach stood up and walked towards the bus as the doors opened. He had to wait for the flood of people leaving the bus to rush out before he could finally get in the damn thing. He hated being in crowds. Too many people in too small of a space generating too much heat. He tossed a coin at the fare box, and watched it bounce off the rim and clink into the bus driver's glove box. The driver glared at him and Zach gave a sheepish smile in return as he reached into the glove box and grabbed the offending coin. He dropped the coin gently into the fare box, and continued towards the back of the bus. Damn it was going to suck when he got home.

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Ragnarok: Children of the Dragon's Wrath and "Zombie Apocalypse" (working title) are the intellectual property of Ted Rosenberg and Marcus Eckhoff. If you want to use excerpts or parts of these works, be nice and get permission first, okay?

Thanks, guys!