A 'Brooklyn Zoo' Story
Game of Contest
Gridlocked vehicles idle in crosswalks and intersections. Owners blast radios and chastise children to manage. Frustrated at having to wage through such traffic, pedestrians give an early Christmas gift to drivers. They return the gesture with their own gifts. The exchanging of presents continue until those on foot disappear out of sight. Board reset, a new game of disgruntled pedestrians weaving between halted cars, angry horns and middle-fingers begin. Dumb bored, a kid escapes the discomfort of rolled up windows, the stench of cigarettes and annoying traffic, sailing away on the winds of his imagination. Caught up in the clouds, his mind descends, interrupted by his sister's snoring. Low-key, crumbling up a piece of paper, he lobs at his sister. Like nothing happened, he fixes himself at the car window, looking for something to focus on. Young men lanky in stature and built like redwood trees run up and down the basketball court of St. Andrews' Playground. Gold rope chains bounce and glisten in a late afternoon sun. Locked down, a play called by the point guard of the opposing team sets up the alley-oop, sending the shooting guard running to the rim. Heavily worn Jordan's stampede across the asphalt. Up! The recipient of the assist extends his reach, palming the ball, Tomahawking his team to victory. Dappin' up the winners, the losing team exits the park. Traffic cleared, vehicles move. The kid shifts his focus to a new wonder.
Where Giants Play: Asphalt Fields
Taking full advantage of empty streets, souped-up cars book it across Atlantic Avenue. Side-pieces enthroned in passenger seats flash wandering eyes. Mouths water and hearts covet. Winos bewitched by love in a bottle whisper sweet nothings into the late night air. Covered in glitter, an inebriated hipster staggers along a crosswalk underneath the LIRR. Vanishing into the darkness, a shimmering trail directs any and all to the beatnik's residence. A pickup truck with a wooden flatbed, containing three over-sized monkeys push along the road. Eyes, ears and mouth covered, they harmonize, humming a somber tune. Sputtering about before giving up the ghost, the vehicle breaks down in front of St. Andrew's Playground. A fourth monkey appears. It fills the pickup with gas before striking the decrepit ride with a "love tap". BANG-BOOM! Backfiring, the truck jolts forward as the monkeys carry on with their eerie melody, disappearing down Atlantic.
Full of glory, a plump moon rises over an unkempt section of the park. Shadows and lunar light contend for territory, throwing hands along fences. They take the fight to the ground. Defiant weeds sprouted between cracks in the asphalt shutter, blown by a contrary breeze. A hand plunges into a trash can, pulling out a juicy rat. Some escape, leaping to safety. The captured rat puts up a fight, biting at the wrist of its assailant. A horsed cackle, follow by a snap rips through the night calm. CRUNCH! SQUISH! The rodent's lifeless body dangles in the hand of the cloaked figure. Blood running down a misshapen chin. Mangled, the rat head rolls around inside the noctuquar's mouth. A couple of more chews and the head is minced down. Reaching back into the trash can, two more rats are plucked from the garbage and flung to the ground. They scurry. Scratching and squealing from nearby trash cans,
place a malicious grin on the creature. The cans tip over. Like a launched cannonball, two furry spheres tuck and roll in the direction of the fleeing rats. Hairy limbs protrude from the tumbling balls. Scaly hands and feet, armed with black claws extend toward the vermin. Rolling right over the rats, a sinister laugh echoes from the wooly spheres. Circling back to the carcasses, the two creatures converge upon the flatten rats, lapping up the rodent's blood and the devouring both meat and bone.
Overtaken by a gale, treetops bend to the point of breaking. In vain, leaves cut themselves free, taking shelter under park benches and in the playground's corners. An intensifying wind blows fallen foliage out onto the street and over vehicles. SLAM! TA-TING! TA-TING! Two-foot talons rap the face of a stadium light in the asphalt fields of St. Andrew's; its back positioned against the LIRR. Similar sounds ring out as colossal owls perch on the eleven remaining fixtures. Their stoic nature and righteous gaze elicits distain. Rattling chains and weary growls turn heads toward the main egress. Led out by a squadron of noctuquar, a tigress is brought before the crowd. Limping to the field, the noctuquar pummel the big cat, whipping and kicking her. Others join. She collapses. They drag her the rest of the way. Moonlight exposes the tigress' scars, festering wounds, and prolapsed innards. The parliament reacts - a member cries out, "And what is this?!" but is silenced by his leader. "This is their right! Now is not the time to cause a fuss! Let time do what it does... now hush!"
A pot-bellied ghoul hobbling to the tigress, shifts its wide frame from a deformed leg to a tentacle-like extremity. Brandishing a dagger from their waistband, the ghoul holds up a blade. Materializing in the stands, a crowd of nightmarish beings cheering. Baring her teeth, the feline, swipes at the ghoul. Rushing into subdue the tigress, the squad of noctuquar pin her down. Eyes fat with fear, she struggles to move. Kneeling, the ghoul slices across the tigress' throat with a horrendous cry. Forming at the center of Asphalt Fields, a portal births out a legion of armored giants and other mystical creatures onto the playground. Posted up on a fence by the basketball courts, Fable, Zoo and Chime survey their environment.
"Yo, yo, that's that missin' tiger." Chime exclaims.
Adjusting his fitted, Fable snaps. "So, it ain't got nothin' to do with us. We ain't here for that!"
"%#*$ that, I wanna get down!" Zoo barks, taking off his shirt. Fable grabs his arm. Zoo yanks it back. Snarls emanate from his diaphragm. Eyes locked with Zoo's, Fable continues with his chiding.
"Like I said, we ain't here for that! We parlayin' until!"
Awakened by the sound of war drums, Tristan emerges from his bed. Hands over his ears, he staggers to a window overlooking St. Andrew's Playground. In unbelief, Tristan, from behind curtains watches the supernatural spectacle. Horrified by the grotesque creatures gorging themselves on the tigress' body and blood, Tristan covers his face, slinking down to the floor of his bedroom. Cradling himself, arm hairs stand straight and tears form at the shores of his eyes. Held hostage by a bone-chilling cold, a burst of adrenaline breaks the bonds and sends him to racing his big brother's room.
A silhouette moves up, down, and all around atop a full-size bed. Muffled moans and grunts sneak from underneath the blanket. Slower movements stop the bed's creaking. Tristan barges into his brother's bedroom. A body ejected from the bed, rolls onto the floor, taking refuge in a closet. Tristan's eyes follow the figure but return to his brother. "Bruce, Bruce! Wake up! Wake up!"
"What the %*&#!" Flailing like a freshly caught fish tossed on a hot rock, Bruce kicks and swings before focusing on Tristan. "Wha-wha... what is it!"
"There are monsters in the park!"
"Huh...?" A giggle from the closet tugs Tristan's ear.
"Who is that?"
"Promise you won't tell mom or dad about this!"
Bruce turns on a lamp. He dry humps the air as his eyes move to the closet.
"She my girl." Bruce mouths with an eye roll.
"Turn the light off! They will see us!"
"What are you talking about?"
Approaching footsteps instill panic. Tristan throws up his arms. "He heard us... I didn't want dad to know! He's going to ground me for watching that scary movie. If you would have believed me in the first place..." In one fluid motion, Bruce leaps out of his bed, jumping into a pair of basketball shorts. Gathering up the soiled linens, Bruce hides them under his bed.
"What is going on, and why are you both up?"
Without looking, Bruce snitches on his brother.
"Tristan watched that horror movie you told him not to and now he's complaining about seeing monster in the park here."
Giving his brother such a "death stare", Tristan mouths expletives.
"Oh really?"
Another set of footsteps unnerve all three. "Mom." Bruce utters.
"You snuck and watched 'The Howling' after we forbid it. We gave you the option to watch it with us - "
"No one wants to see a scary movie with their parents." Bruce interrupts, followed by Tristan.
"Yeah!"
A familiar odor raises the father's antennae. He sniffs the air, looking at his son. Bruce stiffens. A smile and wink from his father eases Bruce's tense demeanor.
"What is that smell?!" The boys' mother blurts out. Tristan's father turns his displeasure towards him.
"Mary, that's not the issue. The issue is that our youngest son disobeyed us!"
"Wha... what's the difference between me watching it by myself versus watching it with you?"
"No back talk mister! Let's go!"
Ushering Tristan into his room, his father flings open the curtains.
"No, don't! They'll see us!"
"See son, no monsters!"
Finger pointing to Asphalt Fields, Tristan's father scolds him. Amid the chaos, a noctuquar watches from the unseen as Tristan's father reprimands him.
Word of the Day:
Noctuquar - "Night walker" or a creature of the night.
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