The Lost Century

[Fiftypence]

Potion or poison?

Potion, most certainly. Think of it as an antidote to the poison of Circe's spell.

A most economical way to phrase that particular question. I can only second it.

Hmm, this makes Anney sound an awful lot like Dirty Harry... I eagerly await a "Do you feel lucky, punk?" quote.

Maybe I'll find a way to work that in...

 

[Fiftypence]

Journey's almost over, there's hope for everyone

63​

Mist covered the ground. Endlessly, like a Greek Phalanx, stood tombstones, that disappeared into the fog. The air was cold and heavy and there was a weak light that came from nowhere in particular, much like a deserted city street at the crack dawn, in the first light. The only sound was the crunching of the frozen ground underfoot, as the lone wanderer traversed among the rows of gravestones, encountering an unchanging landscape like a flickering loop of old film, repeating over and over on a blank projector screen.

There was a rush of air and another presence, at first just a strangely distinct shape hidden by the mist. As the wanderer trod onwards, it became clearer. It wore a top hat, torn bedraggled clothing that had once been smart evening dress, and the widest grin imaginable.

“Good day,” he said, doffing his hat. “Welcome to my domain, Molly Nemoy.” He glanced around the emptiness, and let out a breathless sigh. “I am here to take you to the land beyond this, to the eternal resting place of souls…” He stopped, and seemed uncertain.

Molly, feeling nothing, stared at the figure. “So I’m dead?”

“Ooh yes, as dead as can be. Dead as a doornail, deader than the proverbial dodo. Yes, dead…” He stopped himself again, and Molly was certain she could detect…what was it, sadness in his voice?

“So I guess you’re…Baron Samedi?”

He grinned even wider. “Well yes and no, partly but not. It’s complicated. I am he, but also Papa Guede. Two for the price of one, so to speak.”

“I…see. So what happens now?” Molly said.

“I dig your grave, and take you to the world of spirits. Only…I don’t know. There’s something else. See, you are indeed dead, very much so, but you shouldn’t be. Not yet, anyway. In fact, you can’t be dead, but you must be alive to prevent the death of death.”

Molly narrowed her dead eyes, and groaned. “Oh great, I’m dead and I’m still being fed riddles.”

Baron Samedi lit up a cigar and took a drag, and said, “Okay, forget the riddles. Basically, on November 2nd there will be a reality changing event that will spell the end for all us loas, the voodoo spirits. It should be a great moment of revival and rebirth, but Circe and the Criminal have colluded to twist it, to use the immense power of the rebirth for their own ends.” He gazed around the infinite cemetery wistfully. “That will mean the end of this place, of me. All the dead souls will be harvested by the Criminal for his own sick pleasure, and never again will anyone be at peace. It is my duty to guide you to the next world…but I’m not going to do it. For time immemorial I have been feared, loathed, hated, and I understand why, but I’ve always done my duty. But now my duty is incompatible with what’s right, so I must not do it.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“As we speak, Anney is taking your body to her good friend Kwame, who is me, kind of, only not exactly, and then he/I will perform a ritual, to place your soul back inside your body.”

“So they’re going to bring me back to life?” Molly asked, her voice rising with excitement.

“Well, yeah. Sort of…”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

Baron Samedi sighed. “It’s not as simple as that. You are dead. That cannot be changed. Your body is way beyond the point of resuscitation. Essentially, the ritual will place your essence back inside your dead body. You will be a soul inhabiting a corpse.”

“Oh…great. So I’m going to be a zombie? Some kind of mindless, undead abomination?”

“Oh no no, you won’t be mindless.”

“So just an undead abomination?”

Baron Samedi ignored that. “But that said, your body will require special treatment to prevent it from decomposing, and any wounds you get won’t heal. There will be a limit to how long you can realistically remain in your body…not long beyond Fet Gede. Ultimately, it’s up to you. Most people would give anything for such a second chance…”

Molly looked at the empty sky, and the never ending rows of tombstones. A chance to return to the world of the living, to see everything, if only for a short while. Either this, or let the Criminal take over the world of the dead. Molly knew she didn’t really have a choice.

“Okay, okay,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

Baron Samedi took a long drag of his cigar, and grinned.

 

[Stuyvesant]

This Baron Samedi sounds a fair bit like Death (Discworld-Death, to be precise). Not someone you'd want to meet, but certainly not an evil entity. Besides that, he's also better at explaining things than almost any other character in this long tale. I understood nearly every word he said!

So Molly will be resurrected as a decomposing zombie. Lovely. But then again, she's already dead - it can hardly be any worse, now can it?

 

[Jape]

I'm starting to catch up with this but thought I'd so its good stuff, very interesting.

 

[Fiftypence]

This Baron Samedi sounds a fair bit like Death (Discworld-Death, to be precise). Not someone you'd want to meet, but certainly not an evil entity. Besides that, he's also better at explaining things than almost any other character in this long tale. I understood nearly every word he said!

So Molly will be resurrected as a decomposing zombie. Lovely. But then again, she's already dead - it can hardly be any worse, now can it?

Not evil, but not a paragon of virtue either.

I'm starting to catch up with this but thought I'd so its good stuff, very interesting.

Good to hear.

 

[Fiftypence]

Yours sincerely, wasting away

64​

Some new information is required for the comprehension of one of the central concepts. Illumination and enlightenment must be possessed, for otherwise it won’t make any sense. You see, place names, people names, word games, all one and the same. People are not people, at least not all the time. People also represent concepts, and she represents the greatest concept, that of a dream, an ideal, a mythic, poetic abstraction that the enemies of reality seek to erode and destroy.

Long ago, the people of the Iberian Peninsula dreamt of an island, lying distant in the west, a golden land of seven cities.* The land across the sea, the Isle of the Blessed, Annwn, Brittia, Hy-Brazil. But remember, people are places and places are people, all are one and the same. She is a lady, reminiscent of stern Britannia, maidenly Marianne or proud Columbia. She lives, she breathes, she sighs and weeps, for she is real, and she is Haiti.

The lady, a person and a place, all are one and the same. Her name: Antillia.**

+++​

In the shop, which smelt of candles and incense and all manner of strange potions, Anney tried to stay awake. It had been a strange voyage, from the impossible airship into the impossible ship, through time and space (though not much) alongside the impossible Miss Charlotte, as the ship plunged beneath the waves.

“It’s easier this way,” Miss Charlotte insisted, “and quicker,” as Anney gazed in awe and horror at the deep sea that engulfed their impossible bubble, and darkness fell. Under the sea, the Impossible glided past ruins of long forgotten civilisations and an octopus’s garden in the shade.

“I…I didn’t know it could do that,” Anney said. A bit naïve, considering all that she’s seen, but we’ll let it pass.

“We need to get to New Orleans as soon as possible,” Miss Charlotte replied. “Rigor mortis is not a lot of fun…at least, so I’ve been told.”

“Right, but…can Kwame really do that? Bring Molly’s soul back? I mean, I know who he is, but even so, it seems…freakin’ weird.”

“More odd than a fountain whose water gives everlasting life?” said Miss Charlotte with a slight smirk.

“Touché.”

So in the shop she was, for the moment alone. Miss Charlotte and Kwame were in the back with Molly, and Anney had been asked to mind the shop as it was apparently a fairly difficult and time consuming task. Anney was only too happy to oblige. It wasn’t like Kwame got many customers anyway.

At that moment, a customer entered the shop; a man. Anney found herself slightly surprised to recognise him. A man of moderate height, dressed casually in a shirt and jeans, with quite unruly dirty blonde hair. He was the man in Tristero’s, she had heard talking with…what was his name? Pierce Inwitt, that was it, about Parasol and…some other stuff. Inwitt had just seemed like quite a humourless man, and…Mike, that was his name, he…well, he seemed like a conspiracy nut. But then, that’s the problem with believing in conspiracies, isn’t it? Even if you’re right, everyone’s still going to think you’re a loony.

Anney always found that she suspected the conspiracy theorists as being the true masterminds behind whatever conspiracy was flavour of the month. What better way to disseminate misinformation and pile scorn upon the very notion of shady goings-on? After all, if they really had discovered the truth, they wouldn’t be allowed to blabber on about it for very long. The men in black would soon come to wipe their memories. The conspirators wouldn’t be stupid enough to let their plans be unfurled by a bunch of nerds on the Grid, unless they were very bad at conspiring, in which case there would be nothing to worry about.

Mike approached her, and said, as if remembering lines from a script. “How is babby formed?”

Anney raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Er, how is…babby…formed? How girl get…pragnent?”

Okay, I knew he was a bit weird, but this is too much. “Do you wanna buy something? We have lots of pretty candles.”

Mike scratched his head, flattening his hair somewhat, looking utterly lost. “Um, are you Kwame? I was told I was going to meet with someone called Kwame…”

“Kwame is a tall black dude who wears a top hat and smokes a cigar. Do I look like that to you?”

“Oh, uh, no. You look like a woman, and a…pirate?”

“Well that sure is a relief. No, Kwame is unavailable and will be for the considerable future, so you’ll have to make do with me.”

Mike was visibly distressed by this, and shook his head. “But I really need to speak with Kwame…?”

Anney smiled. “Maybe I can help? Is it about Parasol?”

“Yes! You know about” <he lowers his voice> “Parasol?”

“Of course! Fight the sun, orgone is bad! More than just a forum! Etcetera. But let me ask you this; do you know about Parasol?”

Mike frowned. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah.”***

__________________

*These cities are: Port au Prince, Havana, Saint-Domingue, San Juan, Kingston, Nassau, Port of Spain. Or so I heard. I met San Juan once (not John the Baptist, of course, but San Juan). He’s a jerk.

**Dividing by four and taking away one might help with elucidation

***Neither of them knew about Parasol.

 

[Stuyvesant]

Ah, after last episode's detour into lucidity, I'm now squarely back in familiar territory: befuddled. At least I'm not the only one, seeing as neither Anney nor Mike seem to have any clue. I like the way they're both skirmishing around the fact that they don't know, not wanting to risk putting themselves at a disadvantage relative to the other.

 

[Enewald]

Babby?
What is this Parasol?

 

[Stuyvesant]

Babby?
What is this Parasol?

I remember Parasol is an underground internet-like thingy, or a network of people opposed to the cloudbusters and assorted other things (most, if not all, related to Circe's plan to end all realities bar one).

The "How is babby formed" gibberish I vaguely recall as codewords exchanged when Molly went into Parasol... I think... But the memories are rather jumbled there.

 

[Fiftypence]

Ah, after last episode's detour into lucidity, I'm now squarely back in familiar territory: befuddled. At least I'm not the only one, seeing as neither Anney nor Mike seem to have any clue. I like the way they're both skirmishing around the fact that they don't know, not wanting to risk putting themselves at a disadvantage relative to the other.

In simple terms, Antillia is the female national personification of Haiti, the Impossible can apparently travel underwater, and the rest is fairly straightforward.

Babby?
What is this Parasol?

It's from an old internet meme.
Parasol doesn't exist.

 

[Fiftypence]

Time to curdle and cremate

65​

Here, though I may end up regretting it, I quote the thoughts of Pierre Legrand:

“How should I begin? So in my hands I had the potion that could restore the sanity of the world, strange times but who am I? I am a no one just a one of two one of several not a person but a collection of ideas. In going forth, I was tense and angry but mostly tense, and scared, but not about to admit it so I went back home to get some rest and then spent some time flicking through the manuscript of Louverture, so full of absurdities and inside I read of a fountain but not the fountain of youth or everlasting but rather a piece of readymade ‘found art’ by a man named Duchamp in France or was it Switzerland no it was definitely France, and his fons was a piece of lowbrow triviata traviata Violetta gone astray from the correctness of the art world preceding. And it was stolen but first on display in a museum first in Paris and then transported for an exhibition at the Haitian national gallery where it was stolen, but who would steal such an insult to highly strung artists surely artists but no, Albert said they found a note and it was rather a cabal of people with weak bladder control and it edged the universe closer to insanity because that which was cursed to live could no longer die and that which was forever could not be ended.

“The last century – the lost century syèk la te pèdi το χαμένο αιώνα, Peter Petros Pebble Papa Legba said it must be ended and the flow of information must be restored, the machine must be destroyed and the seas must be drained of their filth, but sadly I have no choice but to commit ssss aaarr I don’t know I don’t know how how how how…the story of this time must be told, but the medium must be fractured but hooooow can it be done but without fragmentation in ordinary prose makes it impossible inexcusable so yes! It takes shape in my mind, a multilayered multi storey story which makes no sense but it itself is the telling of its own story, and is itself its own history. But first, I must play my part in the story my story but not my autobiography or a hagiography, for in this tale the saintly must do as sinners do and I must go I have to go but how? In short I am afraid, do I dare disturb the universe in such a manner do I dare do I dare? The story must be told, it can’t be a mundane and straightforward affair because that’s not fair, real life is not mundane and straightforward, it must reflect real life, a great confusing mass of information and misinformation signals and manoeuvres the terrible juxtaposed with the good and the all seeing I looking down upon events out of time and out of myself but just watching as another fragment of my essence.

“It is now the night of our time, the dark lady Nyx watches over us with condescension, her great beauty second only to my Marissa and she sends forth her children the enchanting Hypnos and the terrifying Thanatos and she knows that it is her time in the primordial bilges of the eternal ship ship is immortal in the universe, dark night, for example, heavy blanket, a veil that hideous stifling Phobos and Deimos us and mess with all kinds of difficulties will be released, but that Nyx provides primitive ways night after days in a row, and that Dawn has published three Rosy dawn of the rights of third, aurora-EOS! Let her come, Hemera, let her come…

“Pierre Legrand all the time I have been called Pierre Legrand, but the truth is starting to make itself apparent, I am not Pierre Legrand in my totality but rather that is just a small part of who I am, I am all things and nothing, something much larger than the sum of its parts, I am divided and scattered like all people, fooled into accepting a limited version of reality by my senses, deceptive senses that seek to trick and betray. I still have a task to perform, but I know I must succeed because otherwise this passage of text would not exist and there would be nothing but silence…“​

Interesting. I hope Pierre’s not going insane? Or maybe he already went insane, during his delirium on that island in the sun? Pierre has to trust in his own experiences, because from now on he is alone. No parasol to shield him from the sun’s deadly rays and the moon’s wicked ways.

Luckily for Pierre, he looked identical to Eleazar, Molly’s ‘midnight man’, who had gained the trust of Circe and the Prime Minister Selena Eryx but who was in truth a double agent. That would be the key to Pierre’s failure or success, and that is where we shall alight next time around.

 

[Stuyvesant]

In simple terms, Antillia is the female national personification of Haiti, the Impossible can apparently travel underwater, and the rest is fairly straightforward.

The good news is that, apparently, I got more of that the first time round than I realized.

This is an impressive, seemingly stream of consciousness update. It flows hither and thither, it often makes little sense (the lowbrow artsy fountain? Eh?), but overall it manages to give a sense of what's going on, and what Pierre has to do.

I might not understand it all, but I am certainly enjoying it.

 

[Enewald]

At least now I know this is not supposed to make sense.

 

[Fiftypence]

The good news is that, apparently, I got more of that the first time round than I realized.

This is an impressive, seemingly stream of consciousness update. It flows hither and thither, it often makes little sense (the lowbrow artsy fountain? Eh?), but overall it manages to give a sense of what's going on, and what Pierre has to do.

I might not understand it all, but I am certainly enjoying it.

Look into Dadaism and Surrealism, and also the idea of religious syncretism. That should explain some of it...maybe.

At least now I know this is not supposed to make sense.

That's been fairly evident from the beginning. Indeed, the first line of the first update states that it's not meant to make all that much sense

 

[Fiftypence]

Triangles, you might like them

66​

Part One: Glimpses

#1: The big question, I mean the really big question that everyone is asking is: where’s the beef? Seriously, where is it? Does anyone know? Answers on a postcard.

#2: The sun is low and the sky is blue. Here we find Molly dreaming, possibly another pilgrim unstuck in time. She did not burn, Molly. It’s the --- that dare not speak it’s ----

#3: Next is Anney, sitting in a shop in New Orleans. Mike is there, and I think they’re flirting. I’m not sure, but I spoke to Erzulie Mimsy and she seemed pretty certain, so I’ll take her word for it. I’m more about life and death rather than romance and such.

#4: The big question, I mean the really big question that everyone is asking is: who shot JRK?

#5: Dancing around each other, making sure not to tread on each others feet and crack their toenails. My name, he says, is Mike. Just Mike. I have no surname. It’s not Les Tours.

#6: “It’s ALIVE, it’s ALIVE!!”

#7: Pierre appears, peering at a vial of dark red liquid. He gazed into the potion and in it he saw a graveyard stretching out to infinity, and a figure, a ghost of pure light. The laughter, the insane, cackling laughter filled his head, and filled his dreams.

#8: President Keita of West Africa is our next apparition, appearing in the eternal shiftless sands. On the wall is a map, with a big red arrow firmly pointing at the little nation of Guinea. The shadow laughs, and rubs its hands together in glee.

#9: The big question, I mean the really big question that everyone is asking is: what the hell is going on?



Part Two: Purgatory

It’s the dove that dare not deak its dame…

Molly sat bolt upright, momentarily disorientated. She felt around her; soft blankets, a pillow supporting her head, an alarm clock on a bedside table that said, in red digital numbers, 3:81. That’s perfectly normal, she thought, and wiped the sleep residue out of her eyes. She went to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. She put the half drunk glass down, and the water turned to ash. She glared at the ash, and muttered,

“Ugh, I hate it when that happens.”

She went to the window, and looked outside. In the darkness, she could see the glittering lights of Port-au-Prince, and as she looked the city slowly began changing. The lights melted into one another and turned into a snake, which devoured her.

“Oh great, now I’ve been eaten by a snake,” Molly said with a sigh, and couldn’t help but let out a little laugh when she saw that she wasn’t alone in the serpent’s belly. There was Pierre, Anney, Anton, Mozart, Maurice, Ramon, Stephan and several other people she recognised. Also, ------- was there, which was a bit strange but Molly was pleased nonetheless. There were also two indistinct figures lurking in the background, and as soon as Molly tried to focus on them they merged into one another and then turned into a tree.

+++​

“So, are you actually gonna buy something or what?”

Mike looked around the shop, and shrugged. “I don’t know. To be honest, this whole voodoo thing creeps me out.” He picked up a voodoo doll from the shelf, and frowned. “I mean, does this really work?”

“I dunno, you’d have to ask Kwame about that,” said Anney. “Maybe if you will it strong enough it will.”

Mike put the doll back down. “That’s a pretty ambiguous answer. Does that mean you don’t know?”

“Maybe,” said Anney conspiratorially.

“But anyway, how long will it be until I can speak to Kwame?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never personally reanimated a corpse before, so I’m as clueless as you."



Part Three: Rebirth

There was a great torrent of viscous translucent liquid that swept away everyone except Molly. Before her appeared a ladder, so after a moments hesitation she climbed the ladder.

“I’m tired,” Molly said as she ascended. “I want to go back to sleep, to my warm, comfortable bed. My warm...comfortable...dreamlesss...sleep.” Her muscles tightened, and an overwhelming fatigue crept over her, dragging her downwards, ever downwards...

“Sleep is for the weak,” said a familiar, booming voice, jolting Molly out of her growing stupor and back into action. It became more difficult with each wrung, but she forced herself.

"Push yourself, Molly, push!"

Upwards, must go upwards! Forever upwards!

“She should be ready now. The essential salts have had their effect. Wake from your slumber, Molly! Return to the world of the living!”

And Molly woke.

 

[Enewald]

Sleep is for mortals. Immortals use caffeine.

 

[Stuyvesant]

Methinks Molly is going to be less than pleased when she realizes her new state...

This exchange:

“But anyway, how long will it be until I can speak to Kwame?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never personally reanimated a corpse before, so I’m as clueless as you."

Is certainly one you don't hear every day.

 

[Fiftypence]

Sleep is for mortals. Immortals use caffeine.

Exactly

Methinks Molly is going to be less than pleased when she realizes her new state...

This exchange:
Is certainly one you don't hear every day.

You might be onto something there.

 

[Fiftypence]

The unquiet dead

67​

The back room of Kwame’s shop was dimly lit, dusty, with boxes stacked against the far sided wall and all windows obscured. The light was an ancient electric, that flickered like lightning and cast long shadows throughout the room. In the middle was a long table, upon which Molly lay like a patient etherised, only sleeping.

Molly woke up, but her eyes did not open. The herbs and spices (brewed to Kwame’s own secret recipe) had been administered, the embalming oil applied, and the passage to the underworld blocked, but Kwame felt a constant uncomfortable itch. Molly was dead, and the dead must stay dead. Molly-as-a-human was dead, certainly, but Molly-as-something-else had been born, an entity of which Kwame had never seen the like. It is fair to say at that time he didn’t completely understand exactly what was going on, but he wasn’t alone in that regard.

Molly reached up a stiff arm to her face and pulled up her eyelids, and let out a scream that anticipated a pain that never came. The light didn’t hurt. There was no pain.

She cast a clammy gaze on Kwame. “I’m back?”

Kwame nodded. “Yes. Come, sit up. Let me help you.”

With Kwame’s assistance, Molly sat up on the table. Her lips were dry. She stuck her tongue out and tried to lick them, but her tongue was also dry, and it was the strangest feeling, unholy and unnatural. She tried to blink, but her eyes were dry and her eyelids unresponsive. She felt a slight panic, but her body remained placid and calm. Panic in the mind, but not in the body. They are interlinked, but one gives way to the other. Molly was now able to experience what it was like for that interminable link between mind and body to be terminated. She had a dark thought, and there was no accompanying rush of adrenalin. She tried a happy thought, but there was no rush of serotonin and the endorphins did not fire. Total disconnect, no signal received. A cauterised wound. Thinking everything, feeling nothing. She looked up at Kwame, who was regarding her with a mixture of worry and inescapable macabre interest.

“This is…this is…” Molly tried, but words failed her. “You…who are you?”

Kwame attempted an encouraging smile, which unfortunately ended up more disturbing that anything. “I’m Kwame Bawon. Anney brought your body to me to bring you back. We spoke in the graveyard, I don’t know if you remember?”

“I can’t remember much, but…I spoke to Baron Samedi, I think, but that might have been a dream. It all seems so distant.” Molly tried to narrow her eyes, but nothing happened. “You’re Baron Samedi?”

“In a manner of speaking, but I go by the name Kwame here. If you speak the Akan language, you would appreciate the cleverness of the pseudonym, but no one ever seems to speak Akan. I don’t know why, it’s a lovely language.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Kwame shrugged. “Never mind. There are a few things you need to know. If you recall the graveyard, it was explained that you are essentially a spirit inhabiting a corpse. Corpses work differently to living bodies, they require extra care to keep them in working order. Your muscles will be stiff, and will need therapy. You will need to keep yourself moisturised, by applying water to your eyes, mouth and body, and you’ll need to have fresh oils and herbs applied every day for the next couple of weeks, just to get your body back into some semblance of working order, which means you’re going to have to hang around here for a while.”

“Can I have some water now?” Molly croaked.

Kwame nodded. “Of course. Oh, and one other thing; you won’t be able to eat. If you do, the food will just sit in your stomach undigested, and will eventually start rotting. As you will want to keep the smell to a minimum, don’t eat, no matter how much you might think you want to.”

Kwame left, and Molly slumped backward. What kind of an existence was this going to be? The same old mind, trapped in an unresponsive meat prison. Everything felt dry and sore. She began playing with her hair, but stopped when a large clump came out in her hands. She felt like crying, but her tear ducts didn’t work. Instead she stared at the dingy room in silence, and when Kwame returned she gratefully grasped the glass of water.

“Oh by the way, Anney’s here. Molly looked to the doorway, where Anney stood, looking uncertain. She approached Molly, and said, “How do you feel?”

How do you feel? How do I feel? There is no answer for that question. Actually there is, you feel by having a working link between your mind and your body. A dead body can’t feel. You feel by being alive. “Okay,” she replied. She forced the glass to her parched lips, and felt slightly better for it, but only slightly.

Anney knelt beside her, and took one of her hands. “You will get stronger, and…do what you have to do. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t believe that. It’s just great to see you again.”

Molly smiled a slight smile with her cracked purple lips. “Yeah, you too. What’s the date today?”

“The 22nd of October.”

“What? But that means…less than two weeks till the Day of the Dead! There’s not enough time! I’m supposed to do all this stuff like going to Circe’s island and being the third of three and that’s why you brought me back, right? Because people keep pressing these expectations of me even though I never wanted them. Whatever, I’m dead but not dead and I can barely even move and it’s ridiculous!”

Anney and Kwame exchanged a look of mutual concern, and Molly lay back down on the hard table with a thud.

 

[Stuyvesant]

Even when there are no overzealous American survivalists trying to blow your brains out for sport, the undead life of a zombie doth verily suck. Poor Molly.

By the way, when Kwame introduced himself as 'Kwame Bawon', I had a rather unfortunate (unfowtunate?) association with one Elmer Fudd...