The Stiching of Umbrella & Her Zombie Love Drug [Beginning]

The Stiching of Umbrella & Her Zombie Love Drug
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Darkness fell like something really heavy being tossed down the stairs in the middle of the night and waking your parents up, leading to an argument about why you were up at 3 am and what could you possibly be doing at that hour and is there someone in your closet because if there is then you're grounded for a month young lady and don't even think about going to that concert on Friday because you are definitely staying home and thinking about what you did. Umbrella Wutherington was at work late as per usual, sweeping up as per usual, dreaming of what would be as per usual. Life went on as per usual. For her, anyways. She was lucky.

Life, however, did not go on for Magnificent Obliterate Johansson. She was dead. Magnificent died just as all people die- she stopped being alive. It was sudden and inobtrusive and left her beautiful and chalky like a chalkboard or a chalkboard eraser or, you know, a piece of chalk. Magnificent was magnificent even in death. Her body wasn't distorted by the feast of decrepitude or the haunt of mangled happenstance; nay, she mereley laid to rise and rose to lay. Except she kept laying because she was very dead. Like extremely dead. Dead-dead, if you will. Just plan ole dead if you won't.

Her body was delivered to the morgue in an overnight envelope with no return adress and a limited edition Princess Leia stamp. Just kidding. She came in a coroner's van just like all the others. The coroner's name was not Samuel J. Flywheel. It was not Richard Forresting McGivins. And it was certainly not Kyle Obbigodovi Turshwinsington Horopsash the Third. It was Yoddlestich Gumdumbly. And his eyebrow was itchy. He used the capped end of a black Bic inkpen to relieve the itch that he was cursed with as he climbed out of the van and went to get Miss Johansson out of the back of the van. The van was squarish and roundish simultaneously. It was squarish as a whole but very round individually and gave off the impression of supreme confusion. Yoddlestich Gumdumbly called the thing his terrible-and-true-tertiary-triangle. He was right daft.

Umbrella met the coroner at the front of the morgue in what she referred to as Monday's Mysterious Mourning Coat, Tuesday's Tepid Trousers and Wednesdays's Wicked Water Wellies. She had bells on too, tied in her hair.