Today, when the zombies were momentarily distracted by the rising tide, I snuck out of my fortified hut and ventured inland towards the town. I tiptoed through the barren streets until I finally came across a familiar sight: An atomic-powered supersonic can't-believe-it's-not-butter zombie-killing rubber band death ray turret! Someone must have gotten the blueprints I sent out in a bottle, but who? I thought I was the last survivor on this island.

I ventured nearer and came upon a group of survivors sitting around a card table, sharing a meal. They invited me over and we got to talking about all sorts of things. We talked about the mail turtles, the mysterious beach fires, and the countless undead. It was remarkable to sit and have a real conversation that didn't abruptly end with a cry for an hourly "brrraaaaiinns" fix. I was actually enjoying myself for the first time in two hundred and fourteen days.

And then I woke up.

The zombies still moan and drag their feet outside my hut, food and fresh water supplies continue to dwindle, and there's not another soul in sight.


P.S. Send help.