Boo.

Boy: ‟Dark in here.” Man: ‟Yes it is.” Boy: ‟I have a baseball.” Man: ‟That’s nice.” Boy: ‟Want to buy it?” Man: ‟No, thanks.” Boy: ‟That’s my dad outside.” Man: ‟How much did you say the baseball was again?” Boy: ‟$250.”

In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the mom’s lover are in the closet together.

Boy: ‟Dark in here.” Man: ‟Yes, it is..” Boy: ‟I have a baseball glove.” Man: ‟That’s nice.” Boy: ‟Want to buy it?” Man: ‟No, thanks.” Boy: ‟I think I just remembered something I needed to tell my dad.” Man: ‟How much did you say the glove was again?” Boy: ‟$750.” Man: ‟Fine.”

A few days later, the father says to the boy, ‟Grab your glove. Let’s go outside and toss the baseball!” The boy says, ‟I can’t. I sold them.” The father asks, ‟How much did you sell them for?” The son says, ‟$1,000.” The father says, ‟It’s terrible to over-charge your friends like that. That is way more than those two things cost. I’m going to take you to church and make you confess.”

They go to church and the father alerts the priest and makes the little boy sit in the confession booth and closes the door.

I repeated the experiment later, wearing the boots but otherwise my usual clothing and mimicking the expression I thought I’d had at that moment. People parted like I was Charlton Heston.

I now wear that style of boots whenever possible. I recently had a man do a double-take as I walked by and ask me, politely, where I had served because I “looked like a soldier.” I’m not current or former military. I was wearing a flowy purple peasant top and looked as un-soldierlike as possible.

Wheel like you’re gonna win the Indy 500 and don’t care how.

Your crutches are short swords; walk like you can see them buried in the bodies of anyone who crosses (in front of) you.

Zombies are docile when adorned with flowers.

Settlements overgrown with herbs and flora.

Barely any banditry; everyone is focused on farming and gathering.

Different human factions and towns named after flowers like Lilies, Orchids, Roses, etc.

It’s incredibly risky to attack zombies. The scent of the attacker’s aggressive intent coupled with spilled pungent rotten blood drives other zombies into a frenzy.

Zombies given funeral rites grow flowers within their bodies, eventually bursting from their chest and head area. These zombies are naturally gentle and their presence tames other zombies in the vicinity. Due to their helpfulness, it’s taboo to harm “blooming” undead:

Sweaty summers are the worst and everyone hopes they have enough dried flowers to last the winter. 

It’s a colourful apocalypse! An overabundance of flowers in the world leads to plenty of dyes and busy little honey bees!! Scented candles are a thriving export.

Survivors who help spread flowers, look after “blooming” undead, cull the hordes, and herd zombies away from safe areas are affectionately called Florists.

Regular weapons such as guns and knives are still used but everyone prefers perfumed water guns, spray bottles, and incense.

I'm not happy with Michael's fcuking face but my spine hurts so here we go unu)