I’ve got to get out of this town. I’ve been here my whole life, but I just can’t take it anymore. We’re having our annual Bridge Celebration Week, and I’ve experienced enough of these for a dozen lifetimes. Bridge Celebration Week is the absolute worst. Everyone goes out of their way to drive over bridges throughout this week, which makes it pretty much an absolute nightmare to go anywhere. My commute to work has tripled in time this week. Next year, I’m going to be living somewhere else. No doubt about it. Although, I’m not sure what kind of person would want to buy my house in this bridge-fanatic town.
I’m thinking that I’d like to live in the Bayside area because there aren’t any bridges there, but really, anywhere else in Melbourne would do. I’ve been contacting buyer’s advocate agencies in the Melbourne CBD all week, telling them to just find me a house without any bridges nearby. No bridges, and no weird festivals. If there’s a festival celebrating odd bird toys with vibrant colours and fuzzy hairdos within twenty kilometres, I don’t want anything to do with that place. For once in my life, I’d love to live somewhere normal. Is that really too much to ask? Am I cursed to always live in a town with absolutely crazy people?
There was one buyer’s advocate close to Hampton that sounded pretty confident they could find me such a home. “Is it on Mars?” I asked when the agent told me. I have no desire to join Mr Tusk’s expedition to the red planet, but what are the chances of me finding something perfect on Earth? Turns out, pretty good! This buyer’s agent told me a house had just gone on the market today that would be perfect for me. I figure it’s way too good to be true, but I have an appointment booked with him later this week to discuss the potential new home of mine. Dare I dream that this all works out?
I was shocked to discover that Forgotten Springs has a thriving undead community, so long as you use the word ‘thriving’ very loosely. All of the ghouls, zombies and skeletons live in a dungeon on the edge of town, sharing a cramped space that is often invaded by trespassers. I travelled into the dungeon to interview one of the zombie leaders, Smasher.
“It’s tough being a zombie. Honestly, I’d probably rather just not be undead at all. You can’t eat anything, you can’t sleep, and your fingers are constantly falling off. Not to mention all of the adventurers who think they can just waltz in here (sometimes literally waltzing), swing their swords about and take all of our possessions. They have some serious nerve. Of course, we always try to defend ourselves, which perpetuates this idea that we are violent monsters.”
For a short while, Smasher and I discuss the idea of moving out of town and buying their own houses. When Smasher points out that nobody would sell a house to a zombie, I suggest visiting some property advocates near Melbourne. They could help buy property anonymously so that nobody can discriminate against the undead.
“It’s an interesting idea. One which I have considered before, admittedly. I once visited what was considered the best buyer’s advocate Armadale has to offer, but I decided to not go through with the idea. Even if I got my dream house, people would still discriminate against the undead. At least here we are a known quantity. Sure, it sucks having to deal with the intrusive adventurers, but we will manage. The buyer’s advocates were brilliant, though. They really sold the idea to me, but in the end, I had to make a choice, and I chose to stick with what I know.”
I feel bad that there isn’t anything I can do for this undead community, so I discuss with Smasher the idea of installing some traps in the dungeon. He thinks that’s a brilliant idea, and we get to work.