Hey, Those Are My T-Shirts! Why Are You Selling Them Without Asking?! – Part 01

August 31st, about three months after I became a zombie.

On the last day of summer vacation, in a corner of the school grounds, I quietly died in the shade of a tree. The blazing sun beat down overhead, and the cicadas screamed with more energy than a boys’ choir, filling the air like background music.

I was at school, yes, but I wasn’t wearing gym clothes or a uniform. Today, there was a flea market.

Well, not that I was actually participating. I might not look it, but I was dead—a zombie. I only really came alive at night.

What kind of zombie would willingly join an event like this under a scorching sun?

Right now, people from the neighborhood—young and old—spread out plastic sheets and straw mats across the grounds, chatting as they set up their stalls.

I just watched them from the shade. Maybe I’d stay