Author: kirabug

Day 139:

I’m still digging east, but found a lot of good ore pretty deep in where I was digging.

Because I’m doing a lot of spiral digging down, I often cross over places I already dug out. They’ve been filling with zombies.

I don’t know if there’s some kind of hoard forming or what, but I would like them to stop. I’m running low on arrows.

Day 138:

This chasm that my tunnel came out at on my way east to the big mountain (bigger mountain?) is deep, and at the bottom (or at least as far as I can see) is a load of valuable granite.

Digging down a vertical shaft isn’t nearly as easy as digging across a vein, especially when I lack rocket boots or inertia dampeners.

I’m spending a lot of time making bracing and rope structures for the walls just to try to prevent myself from slipping to my death.

I don’t feel like I’m making much progress, is what I’m saying.

Day 137:

Bobby’s still following me around, though I have to admit it’s hard to tell him from the other duckens on occasion.

I came out of a hole onto a field where I was staled by giraffe corgis this morning. I shot the first two with a bow and arrow I took from a skeleton, but the third one almost got me… except it walked into Bobby, who let out a squawk.

I shot the third exploding giraffe-corgi before it could explode, but it dripped some… blood? gunpowder? explosive stuff… onto Bobby’s beak, where it appears to have burned part of his beak.

It didn’t seem to hurt him and I washed some of it off with some water I was carrying in a water skein.

But now at least Bobby’s identifiable. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but it’s where we’re at.

Day 136:

I’ve been harvesting sand all day. I melt it down in my furnace to make a weak but functional glass, so that I can see out and get some light into some of the areas where I work. The intertidal zones around what I’m assuming is an ocean are  mostly sand and the occasional blob of clay.

Here’s an oddity: I haven’t had to filter the sand. There are no animals, no bugs, no crabs, no beetles, no mussels… the sand here is empty. Sterile.

There should be bugs here.

There are no mosquitos. No ants. No bugs of any time. The animals all eat plants.

There should be bugs.

Day 135:

A hundred and thirty five days.

I’m covered in mud and ducken feces. I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’m bruised most of the time. But I’m healthy.

I’m lonely. This notebook is the only “person” I have to talk to. The cows are nice, I mean, Bessie loves me as much as a non-earth cow probably could. But it’s not the same as people. It’s certainly not the same as people who speak your language.

I want to go home.

Sometimes I have to say that out loud, or it feels like I’ll forget it altogether.