It's Another Long Story

"Amy Greenwood?" Ms. Johnston called out, reading the name off the
list.

"Here."

"Timothy Hazel?"

"Present."

"Jonathan Jacobs?"

"Presadint," replied a mischievous looking blonde haired boy of
about six. A few of the boys surrounding him giggled while many of the
girls in the Ms. Johnston's classroom of first-graders rolled their eyes.
Ms. Johnston's eyes traveled to the name following Jacobs's. Suddenly the
tempo of her beat-by-beat roll call came to a halting stop. She was unsure
of what to make of this name, or what to call out. She chewed on her pen
and ran an uncertain finger through her graying brown hair. Perhaps a
secretary had made a mistake while typing up the list? Despite herself,
she knew better than to keep a classroom of thirty six and seven-year-olds
sitting still for too long.

"Ah, um, 'asterisk' Lamarra?" After a second's silence, or perhaps confusion, a little black girl cleared her throat.

"It's pronounced "Star," the girl said assertively.

"I see," said Ms. Johnston, making a short note next to the name of * Lamarra
on her list. "That's a very...interesting spelling, Star."

* sighed a sigh that told Ms. Johnston that she had heard that
song and dance a hundred times before. "I know."

After calling the roll, going through the rules of her classroom
("which includes no gum-chewing, now spit it out Timothy.") and going
through an example of a math and then spelling quiz, it was already time
for lunch period. Once they had finished up their meals, Ms. Johnston
brought her class outside for recess, and picked a shady spot next to the
school building to watch over the kids.

Usually on the first day of school the boys are either off playing
by themselves or tormenting the girls, usually led by a boy like Jonathan
Jacobs. For a change, Ms. Johnston noticed, the girls were tormenting the
boys. * appeared to be in charge of the group, threatening to give the
boys cooties along with Amy, Beth and Melissa while the boys ran scared
for their little lives.

"Star, come here for a minute dear," Ms. Johnston said to * when
she ran near.

* stopped running and walked over to Ms. Johnston. "Am I in
trouble?" * asked with a hint of pout in her expression.

"Of course not dear, of course not." Ms. Johnston leaned forward in her
brown fold-up chair towards *. "I was just wondering if there's some story
about your name, Star."

"It's kinda a long story," said the girl.

"That's all right."

*'s parents had told her the tale behind her name a few times
before, but this was the first time anyone had asked her about it. All she
always heard was something along the lines of 'oh well isn't that something,' from the grown-ups, or sometimes other kids would tease her about not having a real name.

The little girl sat cross-legged on the ground next to Ms.
Johnston, and relayed the story to her while playing with her hair, which
was braided in three different directions. The back of her head reminded
Ms. Johnston of a propeller, and that * could take off at any time towards
the sky.

She told Ms. Johnston about how her parents argued over what to
name her while her mom was still pregnant with her. They had gone through
almost every conceivable name in the alphabet, from Allyson, to Mildred,
from Nancy to Zelda. Even while she was being born they argued about her
name, and apparently whoever it was that was writing the birth certificate
afterwards got frustrated with them and just wrote down an 'astrix' as she called it.

"So, they just started calling me Star," * said brightly. Ms. Johnston chewed her nails thoughtfully while absorbing the story. "I'm glad they didn't go with'Latrina,'" * said while pulling up some grass with her hands.

It's Another Zombie Story 1

Shirley grimaced at the strong stench that attacked her nostrils as she opened her apartment door. The entire place was dark, and what little light cast by the dying sun through the closed up window blinds was barely enough to see by. Gregory should have been home by now; he hardly ever worked overtime and always was certain to have their accomodations bright and lively by the time she arrived. Shirley pushed through the stink and made her way towards the kitchen.

"Gregory?" She asked. "Are you here? And what's that godawful smell, it reeks!" It reminded her of a time when she was a child, and her older brother had tormented her with half a piece of roadkill. The smell seemed the chase her around the apartment now as her brother had with the dead rodent years ago. Shirley flipped the light switch and shrieked, as it was at that moment that Gregory shambled into view.

"Oh, Greg! You scared the crap out of me -- don't do that!" As her eyes began adjusting to the florescence of the kitchen she began to notice her husband's appearance was sickly and meek. His skin was a dull yellow with specks of green, his eyes seemed hollow and his hair was greasy, thin and unwashed. Then he moaned and Shirley could have sworn a fly buzzed out of his mouth.

"Gregory?" She asked, stepping back slowly. "Are you all right? What happened? Greg?

Gregory sauntered further into the kitchen, one arm outstretched and clutching a spoon, the other used to lean on the counter. Shirley had nearly backed completely out of the room, and in a position to run full throttle out of the apartment.

"Shirley, wait," groaned Gregory, his eyes coming to life. "This is kinda embarassing but I died this morning. Unfortunately there's no more vacancies in the afterlife and I have to walk the earth as the living dead until there's a spot open."

"Oh," Shirley replied. She looked down at the ground dejectedly. "Oh." She shuffled her feet on the hardwood floor before looking back at her late husband. "What..what's the spoon for?"

"Oh this?" Gregory said, as if he had just noticed the spoon. "This is so I can eat your delicious braaaaaaaains." He started shambling towards her again, hungry for his meal.

It was true, thought Shirley. She made a breathtaking brain pudding.

"I'll go fetch some from the fridge."