Hello there! For those of you who know me, I guess its kinda random for me to write this. I've been in a stump for these last few months, so every any fic, no matter how small, is an accomplishment for me.

Having just moved in with my cousin, he let me play on his Minecraft account and I quickly became addicted to it. I searched for a nice Minecraft fanfiction to read and stumbled upon a pretty good one: Block, by Cheesus333. It's about a block of dirt, and the randomness of it made me read and enjoy it. So, this one-shot idea instantly popped into my head, and I decided to seize the moment before I lost my muse.

This story is a little random, and a bit gory, but not by much. It's kind of what I think the zombies of the game might be thinking while groaning and moaning and walking and jumping and killing and stuff. So here you are!

I don't own Minecraft; animals, monsters or blocks.

Please read and enjoy~

The Death Circle

The round painted sphere of day and night slowly rotated, and as the pinkness of sunset dissolved over the horizon, a vibrant, square moon began its reign. The silvery glow began misting over the far distance, causing the mysterious fog to close in, and a kind of feeling materialized and settled itself into a form. It wasn't life, but it wasn't death either; maybe something in the middle.

A single zombie stood, silhouetted against the backdrop of the rising moon. The image seemed almost too noble for a creature as hideous and misshapen as this. Its clothes were discolored and mangy, with scorch marks and blood stains crusting the edges. The skin was green, cracked and peeling; drool slipped through the gaps of its teeth. The zombie's black eye sockets stared out at the mountains and trees before him.

The zombie briefly wondered why he was standing here, having picked himself up from the ground. There was some kind of object lying beside him, a slab of wood with something grey at the end, but the interest it held was short lived and the zombie redirected his attention.

There were slim, white objects walking around. The zombie watched as they moved, spindly white hands clenched tightly around curved wooden object. The zombie saw them walk, their joints moving smoothly, and tried to imitate their movement. Slowly, he learned to walk.

In the distance, the zombie also saw another creature. It had pinkish skin and clothes like his, only clean. They were carrying something like what was lying beside him. He grew curious… There was a kind of yearning to go to that creature, to touch it. The yearning drove the zombie forward, stumbling down the hill as it maneuvered shakily around trees.

The pink creature was using the object in its hands to attack a mountain. It kept raising its arms above its head and then smashing the tip of the weapon down into the dirt, chipping away at the mountain's surface. Behind the creature, a skeleton caught sight of it. Raising its own weapon, the bony creature tugged a pointed stick from between its ribs and pulled it against a string attached to the ends of the stick. Soon, the pointed stick flew across the earth and landed in the ground just beside the pink creature's shoulder.

Further away, the zombie watched curiously, his pace increasing. As the pink creature turned to defend itself, the zombie couldn't help but feel a tug; something had affected its heart, which was no longer beating.

Soon the zombie made it, and as the creature swung its weapon to defeat the skeleton archer, the zombie reached out a hand, letting an eager, curious groan pass his rotting lips. As his jagged, overgrown fingernails dug into the firm shoulder of this pink creature, the zombie moaned again as he felt the lost connection between them.

The pink creature shouted in pain. Then, tearing itself away from the zombie, it hit it hard with its weapon – a… pickax. The blunt edge hit the zombie in the cheek and it stumbled, grunting. Soft flesh splattered across the pickax and a tooth flung itself from the zombie's mouth. Already a pool of blood was forming, with droplets escaping down the gums.

As the zombie turned to stare at the pink creature again, it held out its hand. The creature pulled the pickax high above its head and then drove the tip through the zombie's skull. The zombie could feel the dome of its head being pulverized, as well as the dull steel driving itself into the grey, soupy matter that had once been a fully functional brain. The zombie stared at its mirror self, and then felt a boot kick it hard in the chest. As ribs cracked, the zombie groaned again before falling backwards into a pit.

It wasn't dead. Indeed, the zombie did not feel any pain at all. It simply lay there, motionless, stunned. When the green-skinned creature finally did pick itself up, it paused. Brain matter was dripping through his eyelids now, his nose bloody. The side of his cheek had the impression of a crescent curving around his shattered cheekbone. The zombie moaned, turned and began its slow assent over the lip of the pit.

But driving its fingers into the warming grass, the zombie was faced with only a hot cube of fire. The sun had returned. Light crested the far off ocean, and as it lit up the scape about, the zombie let out a horrified screech. The sun, which had once been its protector, now set the zombie aflame.

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