Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Day Forty-Eight: How electrifying

Nothing’s changed since yesterday, diary. The zombies are still staring at me, though now they’re talking more. I can’t understand most of what they’re saying... one just called me a ‘bally nincompoop’... he’s got some banjo-looking thing, so I don’t know if I should take him seriously.

I also don’t know what a ‘bally nincompoop’ is. Another one called me a ‘daft retard’ a while ago so I’ll assume 'bally' is bad.

I can’t give you any new details, diary, so I’ll tell you a story instead. It’s about when I was young. I haven’t said much about my childhood, mainly ‘cause it wasn’t that great. It was at least better than being stuck in a tree, surrounded by polite flesh eaters.

I grew up in a little town called York, not far from the borders of the Imperium. We were under the protection of a local lord and his band of soldiers, which was a pretty good deal: he gave us walls to defend the town, plenty of room for farming, and a big tower that watched over everything.

(‘course, he also had cannons attached to the tower, and he’d fire them off whenever he thought there was an incoming invasion. I don’t even wanna think about how many times we had to rebuild our silo.)

Anyway. My dad was a farmer, as you can imagine, who mostly bred animals. Cows were his specialty, though he had some chickens and eels and marmots and whatnot. You know, the usual stuff you’d find on a farm. And since I wasn’t good at much, he usually made me sit and watch him do the work. That’s why I ended up being Dragomir the Guard. I kept my eye on stuff.

So this one day he’s milking the eels, and as usual I’m standing guard at the front of the silo, looking for thieves, when he tells me to come inside. He wants to show me something, he says, and when I get in there he tells me to take hold of one of the eels. So I do.

Then it shocks me.

He tells me I’m an idiot and sends me back outside. I think he was testing to see if I remembered that we owned electric eels. I didn’t put on any rubber gloves, so yeah, I guess I forgot. Zap.

I wish I could say 'in retrospect' that my dad was an ass, and that I had a happy childhood. But no. I knew from the day I was born that he sucked.

That wasn’t a great story, was it, diary? Sigh.


Dragomir the Adventurer

No comments:

Post a Comment