Ralph the Impaler
Ralph was a relatively normal twenty-something, sitting on his couch playing Zombie Apocalyse 2020. I suppose, training for his next career. A career that would lead him to, one day,save the world, or atleast save himself.
"Ralph", Susan called, "RALPH!".
In a deep strong voice, Ralph replies, "Ralph the Impaler at your service". Truly an odd psuedonym for someone who looked more like a movie theatre usher than a zombie killing warrior.
"Did you get the butter, I'm gonna need butter if I'm baking cookies".
"Crapiola, I'm on it. Just gotta save my game an then I'll fly down to the market".
It was a quick trip to the corner market, just down the stairs and into Freds. Fred owned the food slash convenience store on the main floor of Ralph apartment building. Pretty much all the different kinds of munchies and a few staples crammed into eight hundred square feet.
As Ralph entered the store, his eyes were quickly drawn to the one pound bag of cherry nibs, "hunting fuel". The lone bag sat on the counter as fred asked, "zombie hunting again? Is that all for you?"
"Huh, ya, no wait, I need a pound of butter, too".
Ralph was a relatively normal twenty-something, sitting on his couch playing Zombie Apocalyse 2020. I suppose, training for his next career. A career that would lead him to, one day,save the world, or atleast save himself.
"Ralph", Susan called, "RALPH!".
In a deep strong voice, Ralph replies, "Ralph the Impaler at your service". Truly an odd psuedonym for someone who looked more like a movie theatre usher than a zombie killing warrior.
"Did you get the butter, I'm gonna need butter if I'm baking cookies".
"Crapiola, I'm on it. Just gotta save my game an then I'll fly down to the market".
It was a quick trip to the corner market, just down the stairs and into Freds. Fred owned the food slash convenience store on the main floor of Ralph apartment building. Pretty much all the different kinds of munchies and a few staples crammed into eight hundred square feet.
As Ralph entered the store, his eyes were quickly drawn to the one pound bag of cherry nibs, "hunting fuel". The lone bag sat on the counter as fred asked, "zombie hunting again? Is that all for you?"
"Huh, ya, no wait, I need a pound of butter, too".
He raced up the stairs to finish his game. The door to his apartment was ajar and a faint scratching was coming from inside. He first put one foot over the threshold and onto his floor and then the next; Susan was gone and the scratching was coming from his bedroom. Ralph took several baby steps towards the bedroom. There was a lack of ambient noise, the neighbors dog was not barking, no horns honking from the street below, just a light scratching noise coming from his closet. A few more small steps and he was standing in front of his closet. Ralph totally expected to open the door and find a large rat jump out at him. He had found some before but they had always given him a wide berth and continued on their way to forage somewhere else. This time was different, he had to open the door and let it out. The rat would be inches away from him and who could predict how it would react. Ralph pulled on the knob to the closet door just enough to peek inside.
Face to face with a zombie, "FRACK", he cried out as he fell back onto his bed.
A howl of laughter came from behind a zombie mask. Susan partially removed the mask and snarked, "some zombie hunter you are. Did you soil your shorts, too?"
"Crap Sue, that's not funny. I think I bruised my butt."
A howl of laughter came from behind a zombie mask. Susan partially removed the mask and snarked, "some zombie hunter you are. Did you soil your shorts, too?"
"Crap Sue, that's not funny. I think I bruised my butt."
Sue grabbed the butter and whistled as she returned to the kitchen. Ralph attempted to resume his game. Splatt was the sound coming from the game as his character died. "My heart is still racing too fast to play my game".
"Hey, Ralphie boy. Get off that couch and come out with me to get some beers.", a voice boomed as Ron entered the room.
"I'm playing my game".
"Put the game down. I heard some guy in Hong Kong just died from playing video games for five days straight".
"You're so full of crap, Ron".
"It's true, I just read it on the internet".
"Ya, and there's no crap on the internet. Gimme a second to grab my sweater". Ralph grabbed his Flyers sweater before the two left for the corner pub.
"I'm playing my game".
"Put the game down. I heard some guy in Hong Kong just died from playing video games for five days straight".
"You're so full of crap, Ron".
"It's true, I just read it on the internet".
"Ya, and there's no crap on the internet. Gimme a second to grab my sweater". Ralph grabbed his Flyers sweater before the two left for the corner pub.
Upon entering the darkened, ambient light of the pub, Ralph suddenly was aware of the ever pressing eyes upon him and his companion, Ron, who was following close behind.
"Do you hear that?" spoke Ralph, with a newly formed drip of sweat gleaming upon his brow.
"Hear what?" Ron echoed, as he pushed his way past his friend.
"You just going to stand there?" the disheveled barkeep interrupted; "Or are you going to sit and have a drink?!"
Ralph knew that something was arise in the black. The rotting hardwood beneath him cracked as he walked, speaking in languages that mimicked his fear of the unknown.
"Do you hear that?" spoke Ralph, with a newly formed drip of sweat gleaming upon his brow.
"Hear what?" Ron echoed, as he pushed his way past his friend.
"You just going to stand there?" the disheveled barkeep interrupted; "Or are you going to sit and have a drink?!"
Ralph knew that something was arise in the black. The rotting hardwood beneath him cracked as he walked, speaking in languages that mimicked his fear of the unknown.
