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Zane Norrison · (06-13-2019)

"Boston Bruiser!"

"The man who has promised to rid the federation of all the freaks and weirdos."

"To purge the company of the supernatural and the strange."

"Rid the XWF of beings that stand out above the rest due to wielding advanced abilities and powers."

"The gifted. The extraordinary. And the unusual."

"Boston Bruiser plans his very own movement, dedicated to the expulsion and eradication of individuals that challenge the preconceived notion of what's possible and defy reality with their mere existence, right here in the land of the fucking X-Treme!"

"Myself included. That's correct, I am on his list of the damned. I'm a zombie, after all. By all accounts of what's considered acceptable or normal, I shouldn't exist and yet, here I stand. Speaking to you all, right now. Plain as day. An abomination supposedly only meant for popular fiction or folklore, standing in front of this camera, just as real as anyone else. Only while you all go on your merry way, without anything hindering your lifestyle or chosen path, I eat brains for sustenance... and to avoid starting a full on apocalypse. That's my burden... my curse and my choice because I don't want to stop existing and cease my afterlife. It might be a selfish desire. Survival. But tell me how that differs from anybody else? No one craves death, I sure didn't when I was alive and I don't want the end to come now. I didn't choose to become a zombie and this condition wasn't something that was brought on by a careless accident or stupidity. This type of lifestyle was forced on me, against my will and I merely found a way to survive, in a manner that doesn't threaten the human population. I adapted to my circumstances. Why should I be executed or condemned for that? Is that fair or just?"

"No, it's not. That's what the Boston Bruiser is preaching though."

"Boston Bruiser believes I should be shunned and excluded for the simple fact of being a creature that defies reality. In his book. What he grew up understanding and knowing as fact, I literally shatter the notion of that to bits. So I must be punished."

"Oh well, I'm here to say, I will not go quietly into the night. No, I intend to stand and fight. Much like I've fought and won, multiple times in the past, proving my worth... time and time again. I will not be taken down or defeated by the Boston Bruiser. Once again, his maniacal agenda, will be thwarted."

"He talks of revolution and change. A better way of life through persecution, segregation and annihilation. Kinda sounds like another tragically misguided, delusional tyrant that attempted to spread the same message of hate in the past. Minus the ridiculous mustache and the thick, halting German accent."

"Well, much like his predecessor, his master plan will not succeed. He will not be victorious. As proven by Raphael Blackwater, Lux and soon, by my own undead hands. Boston Bruiser will fail to accomplish his task and take, yet another loss. Oppression and threats of obliteration will not be tolerated or accepted and on Saturday Night Savage, the world will once again witness the outcome of such atrocities, when they are committed. When the Boston Bruiser takes the fall. A failure and a fraud. Through and through."

"That's right a fraud. He's out here, false flagging and acting like he's the next big thing, an unrelenting force to be reckoned with and the face of the future in the terms of the wrestling industry. Pretending to be a warrior, when he's nothing more than a walking bad joke. A coward that hides his shame, with excuses as he points his finger and places blame. Much like a certain dictator propagating in Germany, during World War 2."

"Ironically I happen to be Jewish."

"And here I am, at the start of a brand new attempt at harassment, discrimination and all out war. With the promise of total control and eradication. Acts foretold by a small, pathetic, coward hoping to cause an uproar and sway the masses, with his message of hate."

"On Saturday Night Savage, this would be leader of a new world order, will receive exactly what he deserves."

"Fitting it's an X-Treme rules match."

"Now he'll get to really feel the fury of a fiendish abomination. When I unleash my inner demon and allow my monster free roam to play. He will come face to face, with a real life zombie. An unyielding terror that pays no mind to screams and doesn't feel remorse over the suffering it causes. The wrath that I release upon that sniveling imp, will know no bounds. Every instance of carnage and bloodshed that has been enacted within a wrestling ring in the past, will pale in comparison. Forget an ambulance, when I'm through with the Boston Bruiser, all that'll be needed is a clean up crew, a wheelbarrow and a nice sturdy shovel. One meant for picking up the carcasses of dead animals and road kill. The Boston Bruiser deserves nothing less and I intend to make sure that the debt that he's owed... is paid in full."

"Dad. Carl. Effie. This is Zane. My boyfriend."

At long last, it finally happened, I was being presented to a family as someone's significant other. This was a monumental occasion. First time in... well, ever. That something like this occurred. It's funny, for days before and even on the car ride to Frankie's, father's house, I was perfectly fine, not a care or worry in the world. Didn't once think about how this evening might turn out. Now that I'm standing inside her dad's home, that couldn't be further from the truth. Luckily, my status of being technically deceased manages to conceal my intense anxiety. For the most part anyway. While I might be nervous, I'm not sweating, my heart is completely inactive and I am not hyper ventilating. Because I don't require oxygen. Some days, it pays to be dead.

"It's very nice to meet all of you."

I said in my most respectable, well mannered tone.

"Thank you for extending this dinner invitation to me, as well as for welcoming me into your lovely abode, Mr. Styles."

"Please, call me, Chuck. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Zane. Frankie has told me quite a bit about you."

"All good things I hope."

A nervous laugh. Polite banter to a parent, isn't something that I'm used to but I'm pretty sure all the years of television that I've watched, has me set for the next few sentences.

"Oh but of course... most assuredly, only good things. She said you're ambitious and hard working. You've got a stable career and your own place. From what I've heard it sounds like you've got a good head on your shoulders. Quite the hundred and eighty degree spin, from Frankie's other past interests."

"Dad."

Arched eyebrow and curt but still respectful tone.

"Maybe we can discuss this... or preferably, a completely different topic altogether, over dinner... you know, the meal that's been clearly served out and is currently setting on the table."

"My gosh, Francine. I didn't mean to upset you. It's a compliment. Clearly this fellow is a step up from the rest. That's all I'm saying. She's right though, there is a wonderful meal prepared and ready for us to eat. It would be a shame for it to get cold. Francine came over last night and cooked the whole thing. Then, to top things off, she showed up a little while before she went to pick you up, to make sure that I popped it in the oven. Which of course, was followed by the near endless stream of texts, asking if I was properly tending to it all and serving it out in a timely fashion. You know, if I didn't know better, I would have started thinking that she had me pegged for an early case of senility."

"No, dad."

She's biting her tongue. I can tell.

"I simply wanted to help out, so you didn't have to do it all on your own."

"Wow. Cooking for four people. What a debilitating chore indeed."

Chuck Styles led the way towards the dining room, where everyone took a seat. Naturally, I sat next to Frankie, briefly grasping hold of her hand as a sign of support. The tension I had initially felt on my arrival, all but vanished.

"I kid, of course. I am very fortunate that my daughter prepared and cooked, such a delightful meal. Even if it was done for the sake of breaking bread with you, Zane."

A pot roast, baked potatoes, grilled asparagus, biscuits and an apple pie for dessert. It all looked, like a dinner that was set out on a table within a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Unreal, to say the least. In a good way though.

"Everything looks amazing."

I shot a glance over to Frankie and smiled. Gradually, the food was rationed out and placed onto plates as a nonchalant discussion about the day's events occurred. Nothing too pointed or serious. Just a general conversation that slowly branched into the topics of sports and various other light hearted subjects. I occasionally voiced my opinion, here and there but mostly I took it all in and listened. Right about when I took my third or fourth bite of pot roast, I noticed Frankie's younger brother, Carl staring at me. Full on, eyes burning a metaphorical hole through me, staring.

"How are you doing that?"

He inquired.

"Doing what?"

"Eating regular food."

"Ummm... like anyone else does."

"Yeah but you shouldn't be able to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you're dead."

To be continued...

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Dinner with the dead... a classic tale of girl brings zombie home to meet the family
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