Gloves Up | 2022 ✔️

Story #5 - "We could make a small fire."

The fifth entry where fire is mentioned... I can't tell if it's subconsciously intentional or not. Also, the year in which this takes place is 2035 because I got inspiration from the fire in New York in 1835. Anyways, here's my retelling of a paradoy.

The boy with fair hair stood atop an overturned crate, surveying the crowd of boys. On his right, the majority of the baseball team gathered, on his left the larger boys who hadn't known each other before the evacuation, and before him, small children huddled together.

"Up here!" Ralph yelled through the megaphone in his hands.

The street fell silent. Ralph heaved a sigh.

"As you know, we didn't make it out of New York. We're stuck in this concrete jungle. Jack, Simon, and me went up to the Empire State Building. For once, Manhattan is quiet. Surprising since it's 2035. There's no traffic, no lights, no planes, no people. We're here alone. Everyone else's plane made it out."

The captain of the baseball team, Jack, cut in, "We still need an army - for protection. From the zombies."

His bright blue eyes filled with a sense of urgency, a violent sense of urgency.

"Yes, we saw a zombie."

Ralph recalled the shadowed creature they saw in the alley. Within an instant, all three boys knew it had to be a zombie.

The silence turned to a roar in mere seconds as the assembly debated the new development.

Jack banged the butt of his pocket knife against a metal light pole.

The meeting returned to silence.

"We'll have to look after ourselves, with food and everything." Ralph paused, in thought. "And another thing. We can't all talk at once. Whoever I hand the megaphone to can speak. And only I can interrupt him."

The meeting continued with silence with Ralph reiterating that the plane came crashing through central park, creating a scar on the land.

The silence was broken with laughter. A small boy, no older than six stood with the megaphone; a mulberry-colored scar showed on his left arm.

"Now he says there's a beastie," the fat boy, Piggy, interpreted from the small child who whispered in his ear.

"Yes, the zombies."

"A big thing, a very big thing."

"Really?" Ralph narrowed his eyes at him.

The wind whistled through the street, leaving the boys shifting uncomfortably.

"He saw 'em in the dark," Piggy continued. He removed his glasses, rubbing his cotton shirt against the smudged glass.

"He couldn't have seen," Ralph countered.

"He says that it came and left and tried to eat him."

"A zombie."

He shook his head vigorously.

"Then what?"

The boy gave no reply. Piggy gestured for him to take a seat.

Ralph ran a hand through his fair hair. "Besides the zombies, we need to be rescued. They know we didn't arrive like the rest of them."

With the thought of rescue, the crowd stilled.

"Planes fly over New York all the time, but none today. There will be a grownup eventually. For now, we need to protect ourselves. We're still in the city where they broke loose after all."