30

Flesh Challenged

"Dad...what's it feel like to be, um...well...you know...not exactly living?"

It was very late that Halloween night, or, more accurately, very early morning of All Souls Day. Nick sat with his father in front of the very small television his grandparents kept in the kitchen in order to watch news. After the head-spinning events of the evening, Nick hadn’t been able to sleep and come downstairs to find his father watching Night of the Living Dead on the TV.

His dad turned from the flesh-eating mayhem on screen to address his son. "It's okay to say it, Nick. Don't feel embarrassed. I'm a zombie, and I've accepted that…for the time being. Though, I think I prefer the term flesh challenged."

Nick rolled his eyes. "But, that's the thing. You're not a real zombie. You're sitting here talking to me. If you were like the zombies in this stupid movie, you wouldn’t be making terrible puns, you wouldn’t be talking to me, you’d be chomping on my brains."

“Yeah, it’s confusing. For me, too. I guess I'm just trying to stay upbeat."

"Great, so you're optimistically undead."

"Hey, you either let the flesh fall where it will or you'll be forever thinking the plot is always greener on the other side of the grave."

Nick groaned. Deilune chuckled, and then turned off the TV. "Sorry, Nick. It's a bit easier to laugh it off rather than analyze what’s happened. But, I'll give it a try." He ran his swollen fingers through his unruly hair. "I feel lightened."

"Lightened?"

"Yeah. Lightened. Like I’m almost transparent. Maybe it’s how Tibetan monks feel after chanting for days on end. Ethereal. Metaphysical. Like everything is passing through me.”

“You lost me with that mystic monk stuff."

"Okay. It’s a bit like floating in the ocean. I feel buoyant. Like I could drift away. Or sink right through the earth." He smiled at his son. “Pretty weird, huh? I still feel much like I did before. I still get hungry.” He took Nick’s hand in his good one. “I still feel my love for you, your sister and your mother in my heart."

"But what about your heart? Is the Kareima now a part of you? How long can it keep you here? Keep you and Mom alive?"

"That, Nick, is a killer question. I know the Kareima’s now a part of me, and that it’s somehow keeping your mother and me living, but I have no idea what that means in terms of longevity. I know you’re the biology whiz and that none of this makes medical sense. So, I think we have to adopt a less clinical approach to our current condition."

"What approach is that?"

"Mythical."

Nick rubbed his temples. "You’re saying the myths of Lebreima are true?"

"I think it suggests we need to examine the story of Hawk more carefully for clues. It’s a creation myth, and there may be some elemental truths buried in with the epic fantasy."

"Magic and mayhem, huh? Why not?” Nick leaned against his amazing flesh-challenged father. “Turn back on the TV. Bring on the zombies. I don't think I'll sleep much tonight."

Deilune hoisted his unhinged arm around his son's shoulders, doing what he could to comfort his son. He understood his concerns. In Deilune’s own miraculously restored heart, he feared to sleep. He couldn't quite get past the nagging idea that this "rebirth" was all a dream and, should he try to sleep, he might not awaken again: Kareima or no Kareima.