Monday, October 10, 2011

Day Fifty-One: Invited to dinner

Hi, diary. Yeah, I'm still alive. No, I didn't let myself fall out of the tree. I just... fell out of the tree. See the difference? One's voluntary, one ain't.

Point being, I'm not dead. Surprise!

I woke up this morning sitting in a chair. According to the zombies I'd swung around the tree branch I was clinging to like a sloth, in my sleep, hanging just within reach of their hands. They pulled me down...

... and then set me at a big, beat-up table. Now I have really gross-looking food in front of me. I don't think they like that I'm writing at the table, because they keep whispering about "atrocious manners", but... well, whatever. They kept talking about eating me, so I'll write wherever I want. Nuts to table manners.

Why am I not dead? I have no idea, diary. They said something about 'The First Ones' wanting me alive. Who the First Ones are, I have no idea. The zombies are tight-lipped, which is impressive considering most of 'em don't have lips. They WERE going to eat me, but now I'm out-of-bounds.

That's cool. Somebody out there likes me. I'm fine with that. Wish I knew who it was who saved me, but, hey. Maybe it's the gods? I won't look a gift emu in the beak.

So yeah. It's apparently a day of giving thanks among the zombies, so they've invited me to their table as some kinda guest of honour. And their chief, a badly-rotting dude with no teeth and a big, fluffy white wig, says I can stay with them as long as I want. They actually seem pretty nice.

Don't think that means they're wooing me or anything, though, diary. I am gettin' the heeeeeeell outta here at my earliest possible convenience.

Talk to you later, diary. I have to somehow force myself to eat some putrefied deer. I don't wanna refuse my hosts, 'cause, uh, they could change their minds about not eating me. They're pretty harsh on rudeness. Eep.

Really wishing 'The First Ones' had decided to save me earlier so I didn't have to spend a week in a tree,

Dragomir the Adventurer

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