A Quick Tale

[Magile]

I posted this a while ago... it's a bit old, I suppose. I was feeling depressed lately and remembered what I wrote -- after all, when you realize what it's about, it was my situation for a moment here in university life. It's nothing technical and it had no real structure to it. It is a life's lesson within a horrendous fairytale and it's something I was once proud of long ago. Maybe you'll enjoy it, maybe you won't. Regardless, here it is.

Zak and the Zombie
By Timothy S.

There lived a lonely boy who sat out by a grave:
He’s the one whom no one likes – the lackluster knave.
Children would not play with him; he seemed to be a scare,
especially to the burliest brat – the one dubbed Roger Blair.
He poked and laughed at poor ole Zak because he felt it fun,
because he noticed small Zak’s skin had never seen the sun.
Because he saw the matted hair that sat upon Zak’s head,
because he saw that poor ole Zak only spoke with the dead.

Since depressing Zak had no true friends, he made them in his mind,
and with these friends he traveled far; having adventures of all kind;
yet, these adventures led him to the oddest spots, for certain,
as many ended in cemeteries – where life drew up its curtain.
No normal kid could bare the place; they’d hold their breath while passing,
for they knew by breathing there, they’d shorten their life’s lasting.
Yet Zak was never one to give into such suspicion;
after all, his friends were there – unlike the superstition.

Alas, the mind of a young boy can only go so far,
so far before they feel amiss – like travels in the car.
Thus Zak found himself a shovel, and dug himself a hole
to pick out bones for a true friend and leave the grave a knoll.
This search would go for quite some time, deep within the night;
surely his actions were going to give his family a horrible fright.
Yet on he went into that hole before he struck fleshy gold:
a skull, a chest, some legs and arms – all skeletal and old.

Ah, but age brings about wisdom that Zak knew he could gain,
like, “how to make a gazillion friends, and remove Roger – that stain.”
And with a tune ringing aloud, Zak built up his big brute,
with head to neck and feet to ankles, the song he’d follow suit.
So fast he built with hasted hands that the creature was complete,
this abomination he had built by dawn could stand upon its feet.
He smiled with smug satisfaction at his new found friend;
but little did he know that this dear zombie spelled his end.

The being pounced upon the boy and licked hi lips in hunger;
digging his teeth in poor Zak’s skull – as toilets endure a plunger.
Soon the beast stood back up and smiled as Zak once did,
and his new companion stood up too – brains leaking from his lid.
“You see that, lad?” it did question, “I give you happiness.”
Zak looked upon his dying blood and felt no feel of bliss.
“You doubt me boy – I see, it’s true! My one eye ne’er fail!
But if you bite your buddies’ brains, it’s you they soon will hail!”

So Zak led Zombie to his school where all the children roam,
And it was then that Zombie’s mouth began to oddly foam.
“You’ve done me proud,” he slyly smirked, “you led me to some feasts!
Dig in now, boy – we’ve got little time to convert these lil’ beasts!”
The two hobbled over to the kids and gobbled their little heads,
so soon the playground, once with life, was brimming with the Deads.
Zak took his time with one big brute whose life he gladly slew,
for Roger Blair was not so tough when courage quickly flew.

Zombie burped aloud by Zak and looked upon his child,
“A mighty-fine catch, if I do say so – their blood was not too mild.
Alas, look up – the time is here for me to quietly depart.
But do not fret, for don’t you see? Your friends won’t give a start!”
With words muttered in deadite talk, Zombie stepped from the scene,
and Zak looked up with a smug smile – his record was wiped clean.
He’d start anew with special friends, for they were all the same;
but then again, you should not trust a zombie with that claim.

Zak wandered up to Rosie Reed and asked to play four-square,
but Rosie groaned and stumbled away – her mind was elsewhere.
He shrugged and found Georgie Brown to play some hop-scotch;
George, however, fell on his face – his legs were not top notch.
Zak grumbled and groaned and shuffled around to notice something odd,
for everyone gathered by Roger Blair – the brat whose wit was fraud.
He listened with his one good ear and gasped at what he heard:
that Roger was up to his antics again – his actions were absurd!

“Zak’s not a zombie, like all of us. He’s more a stupid freak!
On top of that, look at his face – he’s like some science geek!”
The children laughed and pointed at him, some fingers flying out
as jaws hung loose and arms fell off while Zak cried from the lout.
His tears popped out his left, dead eye as it rolled across the floor
as Zak ran from the evil brats and passed the wired-door.
He ran as far and fast as he could to find his only friend
whose words would never harm his mind and force him to defend.

Into the cemetery he went and sat beside a grave,
to imagine a plethora of wonderful things to cheer this saddened knave.
Friends who’d never run away, who’d never find him a scare;
friends who’d never poke fun at him as that one Roger Blair.
Their lives would be happy while they’d have some fun
with adventures of all kinds beneath the moon, stars and sun;
yet, somehow these friends would not come to aid his little head,
for Zak did not know he could not think – after all, he was now dead.