“Coffee first,” the dad mumbled.
“Come on kids,” said the mom.
The mom went into the kitchen to start coffee, while the dad took the kids into the living room. “Okay, you can open ONE present,” he said.
The little boy grabbed the biggest box he could find with his name on it. Within seconds, paper covered the living room. “Wow, a Build Your Own Skull set!”
Meanwhile, the girl was carefully unwrapping her present. “Just tear it open!” said her brother.
“But the paper is too pretty! It’s got stars on it. And it’s sparkly!”
Finally she got the box open and squee’d. “Oh my god, I have a Zombie Barbie!”
The mom walked into the room with two cups of coffee and handed one to her husband. “Okay kids, open the presents from us now.”
The little boy ripped a piece of paper off of a box, then handed it to his sister. “There, now just tear it open.”
She stuck her tongue at him, and then tore the gift open. It was a box with a handle on the side. She turned the handle and it played, “Pop Goes the Weasel.” At the climax of the song, the lid came open and a zombie torso popped out. “Aw cool, a corpse in a box!” said her brother, grabbing it away from her.
“Hey, give that back! Open your own present!” She threw a box at him. He opened it to find mutilated and deformed little army men.
“Here honey, I got this for you,” said the mom, handing her husband a box.
“Aw, false teeth, I needed these. Thank you honey,” he said and gave her a peck. “This is yours,” he handed her a box.
“Aw honey, you shouldn’t have,” she said, taking the box. It was a nice, engraved box, not wrapped, but still a beautiful presentation.
She opened it to reveal a beautiful white and red hand dyed silk scarf. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said.
“I thought this pattern would help hide stains,” he said.
She tied it around her neck, then gave him a big hug. “It’s perfect. Thank you!”
(back to TOC)
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Thanksgiving
The table was covered with a delicate tablecloth, laid with the fine china, and filled with turkey, potatoes, cranberries, and pies. Before they could eat, they each took a turn acknowledging the occasion. After she was finished, Grandma turned to Aunt Georgina, and said, “And what are you thankful for?”
Aunt Georgina took off her glasses and delicately dabbed at the sore on her neck with her napkin.
“First of course, I am thankful for my family. As you know, this year has been a hard one for me, and I couldn’t have done it without your help.
I’m thankful for my beautiful granddaughter born this year. She gives me hope for this world and fills my days with laughter.
I’m thankful that we’re all able to get together here as a family. That I have a roof over my head and was able to keep the house that my children have grown up in.
I give thanks to my job for working with me during my illness and offering me my job back when I was recovered.
Johnny turned 16 this year, and I’m thankful that he hasn’t run anyone over.”
Everyone laughed. Johnny stuck out his tongue.
“Most of all, I’m thankful for the second chance of life that was given to me. If it weren’t for the nice man who turned me into a zombie after the accident, I never would have gotten the chance to see my first grandchild born. I also wouldn’t have been able to see my oldest son graduate college. God willing, I will still get to see my youngest graduate high school.
That accident killed me. Obviously, I wouldn’t have wanted to be a zombie, this is a hard life. But it’s much better than the alternative. I don’t know who that stranger is, but if he wouldn’t have bitten me, I would be missing out on so much. I hope that he is out there somewhere sharing a wonderful Thanksgiving with his family as well.”
(back to TOC)
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4th of July
The Johnsons parked their two cars at one end of the street. Mike Clemens pushed his newly purchased but not yet restored 1973 Chevy Nova at the other end, next to sixteen year old Sandy Anderson’s first car. The street was effectively blocked off so no one could drive down it.
Everyone pitched in to rent a large roaster and buy a hog, which was rotating around the spit. The Smith kids were passing out cheap plastic red white and blue leis and little American flags. Little Fanny was wearing a new dress that looked like it had been sewn from the flag. The eccentric old zombie on the corner, Joseph Kruger, was even wearing red and white striped pants with a blue t-shirt with white stars.
The pig was finally done as the afternoon turned to evening. It was carved up and put on a platter at the end of several long tables, along with green bean casseroles, potato and macaroni salads, fruit bowls, and lemon bars. The neighbors lined the sidewalks with lawn chairs, and they ate and laughed together.
When the sun started to set, sparklers were placed in the children’s hands, and they ran up and down the road leaving streaks of light in their path. “Is it time for fireworks yet?” asked Fanny.
“Let’s ask George,” her mom said, and led her over to the zombie that lived across the street.
“Mr. George, how did you get like that?” Fanny asked.
Her mother scolded her. “It’s impolite to ask questions like that.”
“It’s okay,” said the zombie, who had a face that was charred and burnt all along the left side. “I don’t mind sharing. It teaches kids about fire safety.”
Then he squatted down to meet Fanny’s eyes. “I used to be a fireman,” he said. “A little boy had been playing with matches and set his house on fire. We rushed over in the fire truck to put it out, but the little boy was still inside. I went in to rescue him and found him in his room. After I broke his window, I covered it with a blanket and handed him out to another fireman to get to safety. Before I could get out, the roof collapsed on me. I died.”
“Oh no!” cried Fanny. “I don’t want you to die!”
“It’s okay,” said George. “Another fireman got me out of the house, and the boy’s father brought me back to life as a zombie. That’s why I set off the fireworks every year, because I have experience. That makes it safer for you.”
He stood up and looked at the sky. “In fact, I think it’s time to start setting some fireworks off now. What do you say?”
“Yay!”
“Go get a good spot so you can watch.”
Fanny skipped over to the blanket in the yard, lay on her back, and stared expectantly up at the sky.
The whole neighborhood agreed that it was the best fireworks display they ever had. There were fountains, and sprinklers, and ones that made little army men fall from the sky from paper parachutes, and ones that made lots of noise, and ones that lit up the sky in fantastic colors.
Soon, the children were falling asleep on their blankets. Their parents carried them into their houses and tucked them into their beds.
As George cleaned up the street, he was already working up something special for next year’s celebration.
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Overcoming Limitations
Daisy Plazas
The rain was cold on that Saturday in early March. Although it washed away the piles of snow, the people thought that a new snowfall would be warmer. At the very least, it wouldn’t be as wet.
The pedestrians waiting for the bus while standing in the rain on Main Street held that sentiment the strongest. Yes, there was a covered seating area, but it was labeled “Living Only.” Sometimes the zombies could get away with standing inside when no living was around, but today it was full.
Daisy Plazas was among the drenched zombies. She had just gotten off of a long day at work in the curtain factory and was anxious to get to her nice warm home on the outskirts of town. Undead weren’t allowed to live inside city limits. Even after getting off the bus, she would still have about a mile to walk from the la
st bus stop to her front door.
Finally, the bus pulled up to the stop. Of course, the living got on first and took seats in the front of the bus. Daisy followed them on, and paid her fare along with the other zombies. Together, they began to make their way through the aisle past the living to get to their seats in the back, but the bus driver stopped them. “Uh uh,” he said. “These fine people don’t want you wet dogs brushing up against them. Go out and get in the back door.”
As they filed back out of the bus, Daisy’s purse was knocked out of her hand. She let the other zombies get out before her, then reached down to pick up her bag. Impatiently, the bus driver demanded she get out. The front doors closed behind her. Hurrying down the side of the bus to the back, she saw the person in front of her step beyond the doors. As soon as she got to them, the doors slammed shut and the bus sped off.
Her last option gone, her bus money spent, she spent the evening walking home in the cold rain. The closer she got to home, the colder the rain got, until it was freezing on the ground. Carefully, she walked on, trying not to slip on the slick sidewalks. She wasn’t careful enough and slipped and sprained her ankle on her front steps.
Two days later, although the day was nice and unseasonably warm, Daisy sat on the sidewalk outside the bus stop shelter waiting for the bus. Being a zombie, she figured her ankle would never heal. It was swollen and tender and she couldn’t put any weight on it without excruciating pain.
The bus pulled up, and the same driver was behind the wheel. Daisy made sure to be first in line after the living so he couldn’t drive off without her again. This time, after paying, she was allowed to walk through the Living Only section and took the first seat in the Undead section.
As the bus drove on, more and more passengers got on, and the seats filled up. In the back of the bus, several zombies were forced to stand, because no seats were left. When a group of living people got on the bus and had nowhere to sit, the bus driver moved the “Undead” section sign to the seat behind Daisy and told her to move to make way for a living man.
“No,” she said. The driver looked at her incredulously. “I paid for this seat, I sat in the section you told me to sit in, and my ankle is sprained. I won’t be able to stand. I’m not moving.”
“You will move, or I’ll make you move,” the bus driver said. Before he could get on the radio, another of the living passengers had already called the police.
The cops boarded the bus and cuffed and dragged Daisy away, charging her with civil disobedience. She spent the night in jail.
This small act of protest paved the way for zombie rights. The next week, the zombies staged a bus boycott, refusing to ride and passively disallowing living on the buses as well.
Daisy Plazas was also one of the founding members of the National Association for the Advancement of Zombies.
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Zombie Auto Werks
Death was exactly what Simon had needed.
He had been lackluster and uninterested in high school. He often skipped classes and his grades were just good enough to get him a diploma. Staying after school for any extracurricular activities was out entirely.
It wasn’t that he was stupid. In fact, it was quite the opposite, his IQ was just as high as the IQs of the top students in his class, if not higher. He just didn’t care. School bored him.
What he did care about was his car. He earned money doing odd jobs to get his first car when he was 15.
Well, using the words “earned” and “odd jobs” is misleading. First he went over to Mrs. Taylor’s house in the middle of the day when her husband was gone and someone else’s car was in the driveway. When she came to the door with flushed cheeks, he simply asked if he could wash the car for some spare change. She handed him a twenty dollar bill and asked him not to mention the car to anyone.
Then he went next door to Mr. Smith’s, who was home during the day. He took the mail from the mailbox up to the door, including an envelope from the Social Security Administration with Mr. Smith’s deceased mother’s name on it. He said to the man when he opened the door, “Here, I got your mail for you! I was wondering if you would like to buy a newspaper subscription.” Instead, Mr. Smith handed him a twenty and asked him not to mention the envelope to anyone.
Everyone in the neighborhood hated the college boys across the street because they often had loud parties. Even during the day, they always had visitors. Simon picked some catnip from the crazy cat lady’s yard, put it in a baggie, rolled it up, and went to the young men’s house. When they answered the door, a bit of smoke from the house wafted outside. He asked them if they would like to buy some catnip. They gave him fifty dollars, took the bag, and slammed the door.
And so on until he saved up five hundred dollars. He bought his first car on his fifteenth birthday, an old Cadillac that had recently been in an accident, for $300. He hammered out the dents, used a polyester resin to fill in the gaps, and painted the car with cheap paint. He sold it for $3000.
Then he bought a Ford that was about 15 years old. He figured out how to get under the hood and change the odometer. He told the buyers it had belonged to a little old lady who drove it to the grocery store and church.
After a few more upsells, he started building his own car. He was proud of his souped-up 1973 Chevy Nova. That car won him many street races, even the ones he didn’t sabotage or cheat at. Racing became his major source of income. But after so many unpaid speeding, reckless driving, street racing, and many other traffic infractions, he would’ve been jailed without even considering the high speed chase he led the cops on.
After getting his beloved car impounded, when he got out of jail, he had nothing. A high school diploma and no work history for a twenty year old felon didn’t open up a lot of job prospects for him. And he had never spent any time making friends.
He took an entire bottle of pills before calling the suicide hotline.
The man on the other end of the phone was very convincing and finally persuaded Simon that life was worth living. Suddenly Simon cried over the phone, “I don’t want to die!” When asked, Simon told the operator that he had already taken the pills. “Oh god man, save me,” he begged.
“Okay, okay, I can save you,” the man said. “Where do you live? I’ll be right over.”
The man didn’t get there in time. Simon was dead before he kicked in the door. It didn’t affect the man’s plan any, in fact, he was counting on Simon to have already passed. With a few rituals and a bit of time, he was able to bring Simon back to life as a zombie.
The experience changed Simon. Instead of conning people, he channeled his intellect into starting his own mechanic shop. It was the most popular shop in town. When no one else could fix their cars, drivers would go to Simon’s Zombie Auto Werks. Not only did he save many cars from the junkyard, and many people from being ripped off my dishonest mechanics, he showed the community how much they could benefit from differently animated small business owners.
A heart surgeon lauded Simon’s expertise when he came to pick up his car from the shop one afternoon. Before the surgeon got back in his car to drive off, Simon remarked, “You know, the work we do is so similar, I’m surprised at the difference in pay scales.”
“What do you mean?” asked the heart surgeon.
“Think about it,” said Simon. “I check how a car’s running, open it up, take a look at the engine, its most vital organ, fix the valves, check the flow, fix it and put it all back together like it’s running like new. That’s really not all that different from open heart surgery, is it?”
The surgeon thought for a moment, then said, “Try to do it with the engine running.”
“Touché, doctor.”
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Scholarship
Gordon Hopkins was at the top of his class of 562 students in his junior year of Washington Central High School. He was class president, head of their National Honors Society meetings, and a
ctive in the community. He was instrumental in the community project for a baseball program for inner city and at risk kids.
Normally, these accomplishments would be remarkable for even a higher than average functioning high school student. What made them unbelievable for Gordon was the fact that he had a disability.
Gordon Hopkins had been dead for two years. In the summer before his freshman year of high school, he had succumbed to the Rhabdoviridae Orthomyxoviridate virus.
He had been in the middle of the high school junior varsity baseball preseason training at the time. Although he was by far the best player on the JV team, the coach was reluctant to let him go straight to varsity. The coach thought Gordon would get more on field time with kids his own age. He was the most promising student athlete, and the coach was grooming him for an athletic scholarship, even though his grades weren’t the best.
When Gordon entered the unlife, the coach dropped him from the team. He wanted to try to convince the coach he could still play, but his parents persuaded him otherwise. They explained to him that if he got injured, he would never heal. With their encouragement, he turned his focus to his studies instead.
Staying at home with his nose in a book wasn’t Gordon’s style however. He needed to channel his energy somewhere, so he decided that he should give kids the chances that he had always taken for granted. Without anyone’s help, he started teaching kids too poor to even own a baseball how to play the game.
These kids looked up to him and gave him the confidence to succeed, regardless of how society viewed him. He strove to be the best in everything he did.
Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) Page 15