HOME | DD

Description
This is a picture of some zombies seated in a restaurant.
The image was created with Midjourney, then tweaked and modified with Photoshop.

Here is a story (created by A.I.) about them:

The room felt like a stage, and I was thrust into the spotlight, center stage, for a performance I hadn't rehearsed. My eyes locked onto the three ghoulish figures seated around the dining table, their emaciated faces illuminated by the soft glow of the window. The scene was so surreal, it felt as if I'd stumbled into a horror-themed dinner theater production gone horribly awry.

The older figure, his bony fingers tapping rhythmically on the table, looked up from beneath the shroud of his unkempt hair. His eyes, as deep-set as craters on the moon, bore into mine. The two teenagers across from him twisted in their chairs to stare at me. It was like being under the scrutiny of a jury of the damned.

I cleared my throat, trying to summon some courage. "Um, hey there. Long time no see, right?" I managed to stammer.

The elderly one, who I vaguely remembered as my Uncle Morty, nodded slowly. "Indeed, it has been a while, hasn't it?"

I couldn't help but notice that the youngest-looking teen zombie was my cousin Timmy, who had perished in a freak rollerblading accident last summer. "Timmy, you've grown…well, different."

Timmy's gaunt face attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "Yeah, you could say that. Death changes a guy."

The other teenage zombie, who I suspected was Timmy's friend Billy, chimed in, "Yeah, man, we're like, undead and stuff."

Awkward didn't begin to cover it. I shifted uncomfortably, glancing around at the scattered objects on the table, which included what looked like a dismembered doll, a rusty horseshoe, and a half-eaten sandwich. My mind raced for something to say, anything to break the eerie silence.

"So, what brings you guys here?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Uncle Morty sighed, and I swear I saw a puff of dust escape from his lips. "We were just having a little gathering, reminiscing about the good old days. You know, before the whole 'zombie' thing happened."

"Right," I replied, pretending to understand.

Timmy leaned in closer, his bony finger tapping the table with a hollow thud. "You haven't, by any chance, seen our missing fourth, have you? We can't seem to locate Aunt Mildred."

I glanced nervously at the doll on the table, missing an arm. "Uh, no, not lately," I mumbled.

Just then, a gust of wind rattled the window, casting eerie shadows across the room. The undead trio exchanged glances that somehow managed to convey disappointment. "Well, it's a shame," Uncle Morty said, "but we'll keep looking."

As the unnatural chill in the room intensified, I felt an overwhelming urge to escape. "I should get going," I stammered, rising from my chair.

The three figures nodded in eerie unison, and I practically sprinted for the door. As I reached the threshold, I couldn't resist one last glance back at the bizarre scene. They were back to their morbid gathering, deep in conversation about some undead dilemma.

As I stepped into the daylight, I couldn't help but chuckle nervously. I never thought I'd have an awkward family reunion with a trio of zombies. But as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I might not be the only one who had changed since our last encounter. The living and the undead, worlds apart, but somehow forever entwined in a darkly comedic tale of family bonds that not even death could sever.

Description
This is a picture of some zombies seated in a restaurant.
The image was created with Midjourney, then tweaked and modified with Photoshop.

Here is a story (created by A.I.) about them:

The room felt like a stage, and I was thrust into the spotlight, center stage, for a performance I hadn't rehearsed. My eyes locked onto the three ghoulish figures seated around the dining table, their emaciated faces illuminated by the soft glow of the window. The scene was so surreal, it felt as if I'd stumbled into a horror-themed dinner theater production gone horribly awry.

The older figure, his bony fingers tapping rhythmically on the table, looked up from beneath the shroud of his unkempt hair. His eyes, as deep-set as craters on the moon, bore into mine. The two teenagers across from him twisted in their chairs to stare at me. It was like being under the scrutiny of a jury of the damned.

I cleared my throat, trying to summon some courage. "Um, hey there. Long time no see, right?" I managed to stammer.

The elderly one, who I vaguely remembered as my Uncle Morty, nodded slowly. "Indeed, it has been a while, hasn't it?"

I couldn't help but notice that the youngest-looking teen zombie was my cousin Timmy, who had perished in a freak rollerblading accident last summer. "Timmy, you've grown…well, different."

Timmy's gaunt face attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "Yeah, you could say that. Death changes a guy."

The other teenage zombie, who I suspected was Timmy's friend Billy, chimed in, "Yeah, man, we're like, undead and stuff."

Awkward didn't begin to cover it. I shifted uncomfortably, glancing around at the scattered objects on the table, which included what looked like a dismembered doll, a rusty horseshoe, and a half-eaten sandwich. My mind raced for something to say, anything to break the eerie silence.

"So, what brings you guys here?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Uncle Morty sighed, and I swear I saw a puff of dust escape from his lips. "We were just having a little gathering, reminiscing about the good old days. You know, before the whole 'zombie' thing happened."

"Right," I replied, pretending to understand.

Timmy leaned in closer, his bony finger tapping the table with a hollow thud. "You haven't, by any chance, seen our missing fourth, have you? We can't seem to locate Aunt Mildred."

I glanced nervously at the doll on the table, missing an arm. "Uh, no, not lately," I mumbled.

Just then, a gust of wind rattled the window, casting eerie shadows across the room. The undead trio exchanged glances that somehow managed to convey disappointment. "Well, it's a shame," Uncle Morty said, "but we'll keep looking."

As the unnatural chill in the room intensified, I felt an overwhelming urge to escape. "I should get going," I stammered, rising from my chair.

The three figures nodded in eerie unison, and I practically sprinted for the door. As I reached the threshold, I couldn't resist one last glance back at the bizarre scene. They were back to their morbid gathering, deep in conversation about some undead dilemma.

As I stepped into the daylight, I couldn't help but chuckle nervously. I never thought I'd have an awkward family reunion with a trio of zombies. But as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I might not be the only one who had changed since our last encounter. The living and the undead, worlds apart, but somehow forever entwined in a darkly comedic tale of family bonds that not even death could sever.