“So, you’re alive.”

“Eh,” says the zombie, wiggling a hand “I’m like two-thirds dead and I’m pretty sure there’s a pigeon in my ribcage, so I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You nearly died!”

“Oh dear, what a shame that would have been,” snarks the zombie “Not like I’ve done that before.”

“What if-”

“You died.”

“What- no. That’s not what I was going to say.”

“What’s wrong with dying.” asks the zombie “Are you saying dying is bad?”

“I- uh. Yes? Yes, dying is bad.”

“Yeah, it kinda is,” says the zombie “Sorry were you two discussing something important?”

“Nobody is getting murdered.”

“Except for me,” says the zombie brightly “I’ve already been murdered.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Humour is my favourite coping mechanism.”

“I didn’t come back!” shouts the zombie “I’m dead. I’ll always be dead. I’m not the person you used to know.”

“I know. And that’s okay! The person you are now is still my friend.”

“Why did you buy fourteen axes last night?” “In case of emergency.” “What kind of emergency? There are four axes in the kitchen. What kind of emergency needs four axes that happens in the kitchen?” “You know…”

Xe began to wither with the autumn leaves. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but sickly spots began to bloom on xir flesh as the trees ran yellow, skin sluicing off as the leaves began to fall. Xe rotted as fall died, until there was nothing left but hunger, and the need to share this fate, teeth buried in the flesh of another.