I got a job. I’m now a Doll.  Actually I’m big chief kahuna Doll.  I am now the new manager of Arklay’s parlour.  Not something my mother would be proud of but I strangely am.  I might be using my body to survive, but it’s the apocalypse, and I’m still pretty so I say hey – let’s party.

Last week was the worst week I’ve had since we got to Arklay.

I’ve been settling in nicely at The Eights, playing Suzie homemaker whilst Shawn and Harlow work to get the apartments into a condition where they’re not falling to actual pieces.

My security’s been shattered though.  This guy with a british accent broke in and took everything I had. Threatened to rape me, threatened to kill Shawn. I gave him a bloody face to remember me by though.

Turns out their part of a group called the Howlers – a new plague to go along with the deaders we already have, except these ones are breathing, and maybe the more dangerous.

A doll, but no more Barbie!

I also killed.  A live, real human being.  Some old pervo who dragged me into an alleyway and tried to…..y’know…..but I didn’t let him.  In the end it came down to him or me, and I’m the one who crawled out of the alley with his blood all over me.  I don’t even feel guilty? Is that weird? It sort of felt like the most natural thing in the world when I rammed my stake Mr. Pointy (yeah I named my stake, I don’t have a stuffed animal anymore!) into him.  It’s as if I’ve been waiting to do it all my life.

Finally, I got sick.  That fat zombie Jeb that’s stuck in the water has polluted some of the town’s supply, and I started throwing up all over Coach’s.  Some nice folks got me to the hospital, and I have some meds, but I’m worried what they are going to cost me.

So if things come in threes I should be done.  In Arklay they don’t come in threes though, more like sixses or sevenses.

Maybe eightses? Is that a thing?

All of this made me decide.  I might be a Doll, but I’m no longer everyone’s Barbie.

I’m Buffy.

Slayer, comma, The.