Skyberries and Voidmelons or Voidberries and Skymelons

I've noticed the flesh wounds scattered around my bedroom now, but when I awoke some hours ago, I found there were leaves still tangled in my hair, as if I'd been sleeping in a forest.

The secret passageway still twinkles with fairy-lights and bloody hand-prints on leaves, but the zeppelin has flown away. The television is looking normal again after watching fragments of last year's party at 5am, and triffid-vision is no longer an option - the green mat that shielded the screen, as if triffids might sprout at any moment has been removed. Music for plants has stopped playing. The green whip hangs from a wardrobe now. The mashed up triffid lime cordial jelly with kiwifruit and grapes, made in a flower-shaped mould has all been eaten, but there is a little bit of rosewater jelly left. The neon balloons are more like turned-off neon, but perhaps they always were. Blindfolds have been removed. The pass-the-parcel with body parts, mechanical plants, sherbet dib-dabs, and forfeits that involved sending love-letters to zombies has been destroyed. My arm is still covered with blood from the 1980s though.

Thank-you for coming, triffids and the undead.