(Okay, so here is the dark comedy short story. It isn't the best, as it was written purely as a joke, but I find it enjoyable, lol)
I survived because I burned my ancestors. Can you say the same?
There’s nothing like a good set of zombies living in your backyard. Well, I had five. I dunno where they came from, but apparently, they’re all distant relatives. (Trust me, very distant)
First, there was Great-great-great Aunt Roberta, the green one without a nose and faded apron covering the rags on her body. Then there was Great-great-great-great Grandpa Julius, the large yellow one with no eyes, no hand, and a peg leg. He’s wearing a tattered uniform. There’s three others, and without going into much detail, there was the gray Great-great-great-great Uncle Viktor, the white and mostly rotten Great-great-great-great-great Grandma Lilith, and the creepy child that I suppose was my second cousin twice removed on my mother’s side. His name was Timmy.
So, anyway, some of you might be saying “Ooh, cool, you had your own pack of Undead to do your bidding.”
Ehe… NO. These were fast, mindless creatures with one mindset: Take the house and kill the owner… Aaaand the owner happened to be me. Also, physical things had not hurt them so far. Bats, guns, trash can lids, chairs, refrigerators, and a box of dominoes could not harm their bodies, no matter how rotten and squishy they were. The only thing that seemed to help was when I threw my cat at them. It distracted them for the rest of the day. RIP Mittens!
Anyway, I was cooking lunch, listening to the usual banging and groaning from outside, when I heard a noise to my left. I turned around tiredly and groaned as I saw Timmy entering through a small hole the others had made. I took my bat and prodded him to the door as he tried to claw my eyeballs out. After shoving him out, I ran back to the hole and began covering it with a strong metal plate and some welding tools. After all the practice I had had, it took me thirty minutes.
I then sat back, and realized a burnt smell was coming from the kitchen.
“Not my FOOD!!!” I screamed. Running to the doorway, I saw the pot sprouting flames. A shriek of horror escaped my lips. Thankfully, I still had my welding mask on. I grabbed a pair of those hot pan mitten thingies and grasped the pot gingerly. Streaking out the door, I through the pot as far from me as I could. Aaaand it happened to land on Grandma Lilith. One lick of flame touched her, and it seemed as if she had just disappeared. Maybe it was just a reminder of where she was supposed to be… I still don’t know what happened, I just knew at that moment what I was supposed to do.
I ran back inside and got the cigarette lighter. Then I realized as I heard shuffling footsteps behind me that I had forgotten to shut the door in my excitement. “Crap,” I whispered, shoving the lighter in front of me threateningly. They came one by one, praise be, and it all happened very quickly. All I had left now was a stench in my house which I fixed with some Febreeze.
So yeah, I survived because I burned my ancestors. Can you say the same?
