Build-a-Boyfriend Workshop

A familiar panic seeped into my chest like venom, paralyzing me to the neglected wooden floor. Maybe I could play dead. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, they won’t see me.
But I knew, as their death call grew closer, I was just drawing out the inevitable.



The sharp sounds ricocheted down the dusty hall, the yellow light bulb flickering with the steady beat as it drew closer. That was all the warning I needed.
As quiet as I could, I pulled myself up onto my feet. I held my breath as I tried to listen for them, trying to pick out where they were. When that proved to be useless, I bolted.
I took off down the hall to the only door I could see, running as hard as I could. Dammit, why did this hall have to be so long?
My heart was pounding so hard that I could count the rate as the pulsing rang loud in my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I suddenly became aware of how vulnerable my back was.



The death call came closer, this time close enough for me to hear the tell-all moans and groans of the walking dead.
They were catching up.

A shot of relief flooded me when my hand made contact with the brass knob of the door. I pushed into the room without a moment of hesitation, closed the door behind me and twisted the lock into place.
Breathing out slowly, I turned, pressing my back into the door and sluggishly slid to the floor. That was when I caught sight of the condition of the room’s opposing wall.

“Oh no…no, no, no.” I muttered.

Dozens of perfectly circular holes were punched through the walls, leaving gaping openings into the room.
Cold panic squeezed in my chest as I looked around the room for anything to close up the holes and fully secure the room. In the far corner, there was a cluttered mass covered by a dust-covered tarp. I rushed over and ripped the tarp off. A box of rusty nails and screws, a small pile of wooden planks, an absurdly large bag of marshmallows, and bucket of random tools were revealed.

Maybe my luck wasn’t so rotten yet after all. But I couldn’t let my guard down just yet.

I quickly grabbed what I needed; a hammer from the bucket and the large bag of marshmallows. Determined to secure the room as fast as possible, I dragged the selected items to the holey wall and quickly got to mending.

“Chubby-bunny! Chubby-bunny-chubby-bunny!” I wailed as I feverishly plugged one marshmallow after another into the holes.

I could hear them coming closer. Their uniformed shambling rumbled through the thin walls, and the crisp snaps cut through the air as if to draw me out. It was as if they could smell my fear---

“What on earth are you doing?”

I nearly jumped a foot at the voice that suddenly spoke up from behind me. I wheeled around, ready to strike down the intruder with the trusty-rusty hammer and a karate-chop hand. Imagine my surprise when I came face to face with a towering stick figure Captain Morgan, grinning crookedly at me.
He tilted his head in amusement, his crudely drawn knob hands resting proudly on his angular hips.

“What the…” I choked out.
I opened my mouth, but closed it. Opened my mouth again to speak but when no sounds came out I shut my trap once more. The stick figure man continued to wait.
“You’re… new.” I finally managed to say.
“Well, yea… I was recently made-up.” he stated.
“By who?” I asked.
The grin on his paper face pulled up even further.
“That’s a funny question,” he snorted. “By you, who else?”

“What… but wha…” I stammered.

He lifted his crooked eyepatch off his eye and threw me a wink before fluttering over to the door. He folded his towering form at the waist so he could peep through the keyhole and let out a long hum.
“So… why are the zombies having what looks to be a choreographed jazz dance battle?” he asked. “And why are they dressed like the Sharks and the Jets?”
“I don’t know, to strike fear into the hearts of their victims?” I shrugged.
“And the marshmallows…” he questioned.
“It wards the zombies away. Everyone knows that.” I huffed.
“Ah yes, the magical properties of the pure fluffy white clouds of sugar.” he said, his tone full of sarcasm. “Dream logic at its finest.”

He straightened up to a full stand, and struck his signature pose.
“Daaaang, it’s so gloomy in here.” he commented as he glanced around. “And drafty…”

“What are you even doing here?” I hissed at him, trying to keep my voice down.
Captain Morgan shrugged his paper shoulders.
“I dunno,” he said casually.
“Well, what’s your name?” I asked.
“I dunno that either,” he said. “Though you have been calling me Captain Morgan for a while now… Is it the pose?”
“You should come up with your own name. Something original.” I told him. Without looking, I stuffed another marshmallow into the open crevices in the wall. “Chubby bunny.”
“That better not be a name suggestion, so help me,” Captain Morgan warned. “And could you cut it out with the marshmallows? You’re gonna bring in the dream-ants.”
“But how would the enemy know that Lucky Charms are magically delicious?” I whined.

The stick figure man rolled his one good pebbly eye, shaking his head.
“God, if I am the brainchild of the person who also came up with this nightmare, I better have more than a great personality,” he sighed.

“A nightmare?” I echoed.

“Yes, dear. This is your reoccurring nightmare, Kyo.” he said. “The one where you started having when the neighbor’s kid decided to do the chubby-bunny challenge with peeps on Halloween and threw up neon colors all over the street.”

“But the zombies… why zombies…”

“He dressed up as a zombie that year, remember?” Stick figure Morgan reminded me. “Clearly you’re traumatized.”

“Oh my god, what is happening?” I groaned, scratching my head with the claw end of the hammer. “They’re gonna eat my brains, and I ran out of marshmallows…”

I could feel the tears welling up, the heavy pit of despair lodging itself in my throat.

“Hey now, it’s okay… put down the hammer. Good! There we go…” Captain Morgan soothed, as he coaxed the hammer from my hand before unceremoniously tossing it aside. “Here’s the beauty about nightmares; they are not real.”

His simple words sank in, and I felt myself abruptly sober up.
“Oh.” I said. An awkward silence fell over us. “So, now what?”

“I think it’s time for you to wake up.” Captain Morgan said. “We can discuss my name-change… soon.”

Before I could reply, I saw him lift his knobby hands up in front of my face and clap.

“Ah!” I yelped, bolting upright. I looked down, and saw my legs tangled up in the covers of my bed. On my knees were the sketchpad, the stick figure Captain Morgan grinning his lopsided grin up at me.

“Oh…” I said. “Chubby Bunny.”