I’m pretty tough.
I’ve fought off monsters with my finger gun. I’ve scraped my knee and not shed a single tear.
I’ve eaten my Mom’s cooking…
I figured that I’m so tough that I could probably kill a man with just one punch. Now, I know you’re thinking that maybe I’m being morbid, but realistically death isn’t that big of a deal. My sisters tell me that shortly after you die you turn into a zombie. Unless you’re mean and get “3 in the head” (?) you’ll live forever. Right?
I decided to test this theory out on dad. I informed him at dinner that I was going to kill him with a single punch (truth be told, given the vegetarian dinner Mom laid out on the table, I think deaths was his preferred state).
Dad seemed to be alright with it.
I wound up.
I threw my fist back.
And I gave dad my hardest punch I could.
He fell off the chair, convulsed for a few seconds, and then laid there, lifeless.
Clearly I assumed he was just playing games with me, you know, pretending to be dead. I thought I’d teach him by giving him a few kicks to the shin, pulling his beard, pinching his eyelids.
When none of those things roused him I became worried.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaking out, actually.
Mom was sitting there calmly throughout this entire ordeal. I knew she didn’t always like him but was she actually alright with him being dead???
I got quiet.
I guess that was the cue to my dead dad that he could come back to life. He just so happened to return from the dead when I was closely inspecting him.
He grabbed me.
It may take some getting used to having a zombie for a dad. I wonder how my teachers feel about me bringing him for show and tell on Monday?!
Fortunately for me I’ve already got everyone believing that my oldest sister is the smart one. He’ll know where to get his brain eats from, but we may have to get our hands on a few more weapons for around the house, in case of emergencies, you know?
I’m the smartest person in the world.