These are hard times. My cousin was just turned last week and it’s starting to feel like the whole world is doomed. Every day the zombies are getting closer to infiltrating the castle. I guess I’m pretty lucky to be the servant to the royal family. I get about as much protection as the princess herself. Granted, no one really cares if I get turned, but it matters quite a lot to me; so I’m happy for the default protection. I only wish I could do something other than smuggle armor to my family’s cottage just beyond the safeguard of the castle. Although it does make me worry: if I can sneak out through a secret passage how long will it be until the zombies can figure out how to sneak in? It’s a mad world out there beyond the stone walls and moat; but heck, it’s a pretty mad world in here too. Somehow I still manage to hope and dream.
My dreams manifest in the form of Sir Nesband. I guess sometimes it’s hard to give up on something you’ve wanted for so long, no matter how unattainable that thing may be. But maybe that’s why I can still hold onto that dream. It’s so out of my reach that I’ll never actually have to confront the harsh reality; I’ll never show Sir Nesband my feelings, so he’ll never be able to reject me. Well, not properly anyway. It kind of feels like he rejects me every time I look his way and he sees right past me, and every time he kisses Princess Cornelia in front of me, which is far too often.
My job is to tend to every whim of the princess. This girl has no idea what a state the world is in! She is chauffeured around in her purple convertible all over the kingdom, shopping at all the upscale boutiques and playing polo every Sunday on her thoroughbred. I’ve got my hands full dealing with her day and night. It’s only on nights when she’s had a few too many glasses of vintage wine and passed out on the couch that I’m able to sneak out and see my family.
Mother says I shouldn’t risk it. She’s always begging me stop coming, but I know she’s secretly waiting by the door for me every night, Papa’s told me so. He doesn’t even bother to cover up his joy when I come around. I bring protection and food, both highly valued commodities on the outskirts. And my little brother Phillip tries to act cool about it, but I know he misses me. Every time I come home I’m just happy to see that they’re all still alive, fully alive. Not like those half-zombies who look like there are among the living, but before you know what’s happened they’re reaching for your neck, teeth bared and body trembling with struggling desire. Part of them still so human, but the zombie starting to emerge. It’s strange to see someone familiar, someone who shows no signs of being anything other than who they’ve been all their life; it’s so strange to see them commit an act so inhuman. I’ve seen it once and I don’t care to see it ever again.