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The graveyard was quiet and desolate. Most zombies dare not step toward their final resting place. A low fog had fallen over the graveyard, and somewhere a crow could be heard cawing and scratching at a tree. The only light came from the few stray streetlights that still flickered with life. Footsteps echoed around the town, groans and hisses followed soon after. No human had dared step out of their house and the zombies made no attempt to break in tonight. Although, they stared at the lights and shadows in the houses with a sense of longing. Longing for the sensation of a fresh brain on their teeth.
The All-Star had unintentionally been leading the group, to be honest, the zombie had just been out on a walk. Did he consider it a walk? He had left the headquarters and now was wandering through the streets, much like a lost puppy. The brown coats had begun following him, out of boredom? Maybe? But maybe they were just following him cause he was one of the zombies that usually told them to do things. So they followed him around like ducks, waiting for their orders. All-Star eventually noticed the few brown coats that followed him, his eyes squinted in confusion before he took off running.
The rest of the zombies turned on their heel and began to walk some other direction, taking it as a sign that he wasn't going to tell them anything, but one Buckethead stayed put. He sniffed the air before groaning again. He stared ahead before deciding to turn and follow the football zombie. All while, All-Star had finished his jog at the far entrance to the graveyard. He stared dead-ahead into the fog and walked directly in. He wasn't scared, not of the graveyard, no. He wasn't afraid of Chompers camping. This was zombie territory, they knew better. He was fearful of the one thing he'd actually come there for. His gravestone.
It was hard to put into words what had frightened him when he first laid eyes on it. Maybe it was the fact he was never supposed to see it. He was supposed to stay buried in the ground, right below the marker. Or maybe it was the vaguely recognizable words carved into the gravestone. As he walked further in, the graves with holes in them began to increase in volume. It almost seemed like the entire graveyard had risen. Some looked fresh, some looked like they'd crawled out years ago. The dirt was stiff and had settled, while in some, it still laid freshly dug. All-Star came to a stop at a familiar row of graves, this was it. It had to be.
All-Star stepped around the piles of dirt and grime. His cleats dug into the dirt, he hadn't realized how much force he'd been putting into his steps. As a zombie it was normal to feel tense, 'Rigor Mortis' is what the big-headed Zombie called it. But this was different, it felt like a pounding on his undead chest. He knew that was impossible, his heart had stopped beating years ago. Maybe it came from somewhere else. The world nearly spun out as he got closer and closer to the perpetrator. The dirt had all but dried up now, the pile was spread unevenly around the grave. Wilted flowers sat nearby, stepped on and scattered. All-Star's vision spun as his eyes finally aligned on the grave. He turned his head quick, what was happening? It felt like a damn curse anytime he was near it.
He bit his swollen tongue, trying to work up the damn courage. He felt embarrassed, this was exactly why his grave said that. His eyes finally looked away from the high fence that surrounded him and finally went back to the marker embedded in the ground. His hand clenched into a fist at the beautifully carved words, the large cross that sat etched into it seemed to permeate his soul. The words seem to swim and distort. He hadn't even realized but he's fallen on his knees. The gravestone was almost impossible to decipher, at least to him. All-Star grabbed both sides of it and stared intensely. Trying to force his vision to comply and stop sparing him the truth.
And there sat the words he'd been dreading.
"Lillian --------"
"1963-1984"
"May you rest in heaven."
His eyes analyzed every detail, his grip on the stone growing tighter and tighter till the stone began to chip away under his nails. This couldn't be right, his name wasn't Lillian. That was obvious enough wasn't it? He grasped at his helmet, pulling it off his face. Maybe it was the lighting, that had to be it. The grave was smudged with dirt and grime. The name had been attempted to be scratched out but it stuck, stuck like a bad scar.
His hand grazed the stone etching. His fingers went over every nook and cranny. He stared at the name, surely it couldn't be his name. Surely it couldn't. His name had to be something else. It had to be. This was his grave, he knew it. Who was Lillian? That was a girl's name. He's not a girl. His hand slowly went up to his chest, almost of its own will, trying to prove him wrong. At least, he thought he was a boy. He certainly felt like one, he had the 'proper' equipment down there. But he didn't exactly have a normal chest. They did look like boobs, but maybe they were just.. Different.
The longer he stared at it, the more tense he started to get. He took a few steps away from it but it felt like it was almost calling out to him. Begging him to remember, begging him to form a thought for once since his revival. His mouth hung slack-jawed, he felt so tense. It was like the artificial rage he felt when in battle, but there was no anger. No motive to kill, just a burning in his chest.
"Lillian! What on earth did you do to your hair?!" The exasperated woman grabbed the teenager by her arm. The razor dropped to the floor and buzzed endlessly, it being the only noise beside Lilian's fearful breathing. The girl looked up at her mother and pulled her arm away. Her shaggy blonde hair was scattered all over the floor, it had even clung to the top of her long sleeved white shirt. Her mother grabbed onto her daughter's shoulders. "Do you know what your father is going to say about this?!"
Lillian pushed her away. "I don't care! I hate how you make me grow my hair out! I hate it!" She stomped her foot like a child throwing a temper tantrum. That's the only way she could adrenaline out without a punch ending up on the left side of her mother's jaw. Lillian was almost shaking, maybe it was fear, maybe it was pent-up energy. She tapped her foot as she waited for her mother to respond.
Her mother looked even more furious, she unplugged the razor with a rough tug and tossed it onto the counter. She pulled Lillian out of the bathroom by her arm and completely refused to acknowledge her shouts and protests. The middle aged woman's hand ran through her own hair, her eyes darting around in a paranoid manner. "You cause more trouble than your worth." She stated blankly, though her tone lacked the usual bite. The teenager looked down at her feet rather than face her mother and those disapproving eyes.
She only looked back up when her mother spoke again. "You better find a good excuse, believe me Lillian. No one will care for this." Lillian glared back for once.
Pulling at his own skull wouldn't even make the thoughts stop, he clawed his skin and rocked his head back and forth. He could nearly feel himself dry heave, what an uncomfortable feeling when your organs didn't work. He felt like he was shaking while not moving at all. His limbs felt like they were coils, waiting to unleash some wild energy. He threw his helmet onto the ground and it rolled away a few feet, he felt like he was suffocating with it on. Falling to his knees, he clawed at his forehead in particular. It felt like his head was on fire, like whatever was left of his brain was burning and turning to ash.
As he stared at the grave, he decided he had to do something. He'd do anything to make it stop. He punched the stone and the sound echoed through the graveyard. He swore he felt the bones in his fingers crack, yet no pain responded to tell him to yield his actions. He swung his arm again, this time a crack began to form.
Red filled his vision, his jaw opened wide as if his body expected him to panting. His body was shaking, anger leaking out of him like a broken glass. He punched the grave over and OVER. The sound of his hand breaking echoed through the entire graveyard. Yet, nothing. He let a scream rip and tear out his throat, adrenaline making him shiver. He stood up with a start and he kicked the rock with all his might.
And finally, the top of the tome crumbled. He stared as the rubble fell around the grave. Only 5 words remained etched on the bottom.
"May you rest in heaven."
And with a "THUMP", he collapsed onto the ground.
He wasn't asleep, nor was he awake. It was like all his senses had just turned off for hours, days or.. However long. But when he finally came to, he saw an odd figure near him. Was it playing with his hand?
He tried to pull away but the grip immediately tightened and he was met with an annoyed groan. He forced his eyes to met the figure. A Buckethead zombie sat near him. Trying to force his fingers back into place, it was clear he had no idea what he was doing in the first place but he seemed determined, he'd never seen these types of zombies with so much emotion. All-Star tried to pull away again but the Buckethead smacked him on the shoulder. Telling him to "stay put."
The Buckethead decreased the tightness of his hold and took his bucket off. It dropped on the ground with a loud clink. And then the Buckethead begun digging through it, the sounds of shuffling and stuff clinking against the metal confused the All-Star momentarily till he took out some gauze from the helmet. He unwrapped it and began trying to really hold his fingers in a normal place to heal. Although, they most likely couldn't do that. The necessary cells to heal had long since died out.
The buckethead pulled one final time which resulted in a semi-cast sort of thing. All-Star used his other hand to sit up. Now the other zombie stared at him, blinking, almost awaiting something. All-Star stared back, it was almost awkward in some way. Finally, the Buckethead looked away and stared at the shattered and dismantled grave.
"Brainz..?" The bucket-wearing zombie groaned. All-Star just simply sat there, unable to say anything. The Buckethead crawled toward the grave, analyzing the words. He stuck his tounge out before going back to his bucket to rummage through. All-Star couldn't help but seem a little interested by the other zombie's plan. He scooted himself a bit closer. He opened his mouth to say something but a finger was pressed to his lips. The Buckethead held a screwdriver in his free hand.
The Buckethead approached the grave and began scratching out the remaining words. All-Star stared in confusion and semi-horror. He raced over and tried to get him to stop but the Buckethead smacked his hand away again. He grumbled and tried once more only to be met by a growl and a harder smack. All-Star then opened his jaw to bite the Buckethead. But then the zombie stepped back, revealing what he'd been doing.
"May you rest in heaven" had been replaced by a loose scribble of words. "ALL-ZTAR." The football zombie sat there for a moment, he didn't know exactly how to feel. But he couldn't help but feel happier? Was this happiness? It feel bittersweet. That was his name. Finally, the thing that tormented him had been reclaimed just for him. As he turned toward the Buckethead to thank him, his helmet was shoved into his hands. He must've thrown it off, did he do that?
The Buckethead had dawned his bucket once more. He groaned and made a gesture of big hair and glasses before pointing to the All-Stars casted hand. All-Star squinted, the cogs in his head turning before he connected the dots. The Buckethead was telling him to visit the scientist on the count of his broken hand. He nodded loosely. Then the other zombie turned on his heel and began stumbling away, as if the interaction hadn't happened.
All-Star watched for a moment before finally looking back toward his tomb. For once instead of his stomach twisting in disgust, he finally felt like he could breathe. Even if it was now, impossible for him to do as such. He raised his hands to secure his helmet back on his head. And a smile worked his way to his undead lips. He didn't even care for Leah. Lilly? Lilli.. Whatever, it had already emptied his mind. All-Star. That was only person he needed to be.