(Thanks to Lee Hartnup for the artwork!)
It is quite the pain in the ass to write upside down, in a diary, filled with lines I already wrote. To make it worse I'm going back in time because I'm over writing days I barely remember. Sheesh some of this stuff. Blame it on heat stroke.
I gathered up a bunch of seashells yesterday, little ones. I also found some little bleached twigs. I was thinking of setting them up like an alarm of sorts so I know when they are misbehaving or trying to get away. Not that they try much. They both remind me of stoners the way they sit around and stare at nothing all day. Unless I walk by. Then it is like they forgot who I am and it is back to the snapping and snarling like I'm walking prime rib. Hey, maybe they snap and snarl in a pattern, kinda like morse code. I should write down how many times they do it and associate it with words. Don't laugh at me, diary, all you have to do is sit there and wait to get picked up.
So I took this handful of shells and laid them out nice and pretty. There were some shiny little white ones that I guess the sea stripped clean. I set these in a corner and then dug out a few colored ones. These were light blue and pretty. I found a few with spots and even a couple with some red in them.
I had been thinking about running the shells on a thin strand of fiber I could make from palm leaves. Then when the girls moved or tried to leave I would hear it. They can't get out of their bonds easily but I did have a few close calls on the old island.
But really I am bored and some beaded curtains over the entrance to the hut area would be nice. I could pretend like they are a door even though one whole other side is wide open. I punched holes in the shells with a sharp piece of that black rock I can find everywhere. I had pretty good luck hitting them from the side so I could shave pieces off.
The problem was that for few that I put holes in, others broke. Had to make the holes smaller and smaller. When I tried to slide them onto the thick line I had created but it was a no go.
I glanced over at the girls who were on their feet and walking around in circles while staring at the sun. If they had brains the things would have been cooked. My girl was hooting like she used too, I have decided it is some form of sun worship. Eileen just stared and kept walking into her tree. Then falling down. Repeat.
I took some hair from my girls head, just yanked some out when she was looking away. She didn't even look at me when I did it. Wound a few threads of it together. This worked better but it was also too flimsy to be much use. A stiff wind would break them. When I was tying stuff to the hair it made a really cool sound like a clicking and clacking. She kept taking her eyes off the sun to see what I was up to. This gave me an idea.
I sat her down and worked some of the shells into her hair then I tied little twigs in there. This went on for a few hours. She kept trying to turn around to see what I was doing but I kept her attention on a shiny rock I tossed in front of her. Oooh look. A rock. Stupid zombie.
Got one side of her head done and then started on the other. This really helped pass the day but it was slow going. I found that if I pulled too hard, clumps of her hair came out with chunks of skin still attached. I had to go at it slow slow slow otherwise I was going be stuck with the evil spawn of Yul Brenner.
I got hungry so I decided to finish Bo ScaryDerek's hair later.
I ate some more jerky but it was starting to taste funny. Probably going bad. I ate a lot more than usual because I wanted the protein. I mean if the stuff is going bad I may as well enjoy it while I can.
I came back to work on the girls hair. On my way I stumbled over a pink and red stone. Picked it up and found it rough like it was made of sand paper. I rubbed it against my nails. I haven't had clippers in a month and they are getting long. Sure I can bite the things but they get rough and sharp. Sometimes I catch them in my hair which already feels like a fishing net.
I walked back while sanding. When I arrived I looked at my girlfriends nails. Must have had them on the mind since I was hard at work on my own. She didn't really have nails anymore, more like claws. I remembered reading somewhere that even after death the hair and toenails keep growing. Little undead bastards. Where's the loyalty?
I took her hand in mine. Her cold hand. It's ninety damn degrees out and she feels like an iceberg. I used the file to grind down one finger but when I did the next one her nail peeled back like a chunk of parmesan cheese. It flew up and smacked me in the forehead and stuck there. I batted it off and rubbed at the spot. Gross!
Her finger looked terrible. Skin all dried up where the nail used to be. Hand cold. Well that's what I get for trying to give my zombie girls a beauty shop day. Tomorrow I'm back to looking for food. They can sit here and rot.
What was that? I heard a noise out in the woods like people talking. Night diary!
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