Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Day Forty-Seven: What ho, chap

Turns out zombies don’t like to be peed on.

When I, ah, relieved myself, one of them shook his fist and told me to “Lay off, you brute!”. Or something like that. Then he threw his pancreas at me. I think it was his pancreas, anyway. The only biology lessons I’ve ever gotten are from watching people get shredded on the Neck, and the flying bits aren't labelled.

Though it would be handy if they were.

I was a little surprised to hear a zombie talk. I didn’t know they could talk at all. Their vocabulary up ‘til then was a bunch of groans and grunts. This guy had a monocle on, though, so maybe he was just the leader of the bunch...? Oh, wait, no. It looks like they all have monocles. And a different one’s asking if I would be so kind as to come down for a few moments so they can pick my brain about some pressing issues.

Yeah, I bet that’s what they want.

Man. I didn’t sign up for this, diary. Being an adventurer is tough. Granted, most guys would probably have either sliced these zombies to pieces or been eaten by now, but I’m not most guys. I’m not courageous and I'm not a good fighter. I'm also not dumb enough to try to run away. I’m just Dragomir. If these zombies ever do leave... maybe I should go home...?

But, no. I can’t go home. I’m on a mission, for my darling wife and child. They both need me to succeed, even if one thinks I’m a lazy lout and the other... well, Eve probably doesn’t even know I’m her father. I bet I'm just another target to her. Better than being livestock, I guess - she kills AND eats them.

I miss home. Home was so much simpler. Get smacked around by dad, do a bit of farm work, then go out and play. No monsters, no weird squeaking sound, no ghosts flipping zombies’ coattails. Just... home.

(I should probably tell Philip to stop doing that, he’s getting the zombies all riled up.)

Imagine if I'd raised Eve on a farm, with Libby. Dragomir the Farmer. Tend to the fields, feed the animals, teach Eve not to EAT the animals... that woulda been the life. Be protected by some lord rather than have to protect the lord myself. And protect the lord rather badly, in my case.

Guess that ain't happening now.

Talk to you later, diary. I’m hungry.


Dragomir the Adventurer

No comments:

Post a Comment