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A stone pickaxe and gold ore,
Steve questioned how many strikes more.
Again and again with weary arms he tried,
Frustration making his senses fried.
Unbeknownst to him he was not alone,
He was among the zombies in their lair like home.
Where venomous spiders were pets,
Venturing close meant his life was up for bets.
More frustration and a simple slip,
To his head pierced the malevolent pick.
Blood gushed out in a screaming river,
His draining out life gave a final shiver.
Clammy hands pushed his body into a plummeting void,
Where dreams of horror murmured him destroyed.
Into the stomach of nothingness his body fell,
Memories got eaten away and were no longer a story to tell.
Blanketed by a shrouding of eerie black gloom,
Peaceful silence was starting to bloom.
Distantly where dim torches shone,
Whispering voices breathed it was time to roam.
Feeling dazed, Steve awakened in bed,
An oozing gash was etched on his head.
He had not just dreamed,
Things were not how they seemed.
In the dark where zombies lurk,
One on its bloody face a frothing smirk.
With a simple stone pickaxe clenched in its fist,
It schemes and awaits you in the ominous mist.
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added pixel art : by Purrfectionist 10/04/2015 11:04:10 amOctober 4, 2015 @ 3:04 pm UTC
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