Thursday, August 25, 2011

Day Nineteen: Management, beheaded

Libby made a rather outrageous demand of me today, diary, and I don’t think I can follow through on it. I know she’s unreasonable because she’s pregnant, and because she’s a douche like that, but... the head of Captain Cedric?

It was really weird. I was asleep beside her, dreaming about being a rich, successful writer with a huge house and my OWN guards, when something stung my cheek. In the dream, one of my fans had just thrown a fried turkey at me.

Then I was throttled awake by Libby, who, with the most frightening eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman, said: “Bring me the head of your captain. It’s all his fault that we live in such shitty quarters, Dragomir. It’s all his fault, and I want his eyeballs staring vacantly at the room from my shelf. My. Only. Shelf.”

(Veeeeery small apartment.)

I tried to argue that he’s already lost a head on account of the prince’s kangaroo, and that it’s only fair that he gets to keep the one he has left, but Libby wouldn’t listen. She told me it was his head or mine, because I was the next person in line to blame for us not having a better apartment. She kicked me out of bed, and off I went, to... kill the captain, I guess?

I should probably tell you a little about the captain, diary, aside from what you already know. Captain Cedric is a jerk. He’s the head of the guard, which makes him my boss. He’s always bullying me, telling me I’m worthless, but he won’t let me quit and he won’t fire me. When I ask why he gives me this weird look and says “Because you’re Dragomir the Guard. What th'hell else would you be but a guard? Get to your damned post or I’ll make you walk 'cross the Neck 'til it activates!”

Bleh. I hate being a guard.

Anyway, that’s Captain Cedric for you. And I have to collect his head. Harsh, diary.

I tried. Honestly, I tried. Every time I came up with a scheme to kill him, though, I chickened out. I’m not smart enough for evil plans, and even though I don’t like Captain Cedric I don’t wanna kill him. What am I supposed to do?

For starters, I’m sleeping in the rat farms tonight. I don’t care if they do watch me, or if that yellow dust stuff makes me cough all night. I’m hoping Libby will be back to, uh, normal, by tomorrow. For now I guess you’re my cuddle buddy, diary.

Have a nice sleep,

Dragomir the Guard

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