Jeff Wysaski
As the wreckage of the space transporter smoldered in the background, Gavin surveyed the exotic jungle scenery laid out before him and the crew. “Well, it was close, but we made it,” he said optimistically. And with that, he turned off the smoke machine and closed the stage curtain in preparation for opening day. “This is gonna be the best musical ever!” Zoey exclaimed.
“So you’re telling me, that play I wrote – the intergalactic war, the oxygen mines, the Rebel Faction – it’s all true?” “Yes,” Mylon replied as he wrapped a friendly tentacle around the scrawny lad. Gavin continued, “Because the metal plate in my head picked up the Ziklar war transmissions?” “Yes,” Mylon responded. “And now you need me and Zoey to help your race defeat the Ziklars?” “Who are you, the narrator?” Mylon queried. No, I am, answered the narrator. But no one heard him because that’s not how it works in books.
“MYLON! Where are you?” Zoey yelled out as Gavin frantically scrambled to find enough sunlight for the solar phone. “Right here,” replied a slithering voice from the deep within the jungle. Gavin and Zoey slowly turned to see the unpleasant sight of an especially grotesque Ziklar. “You…you’re not Mylon,” Zoey stuttered. “Mylon?” the Ziklar replied. “Oh, I thought you said Krylon. My bad.” Embarrassed, the Ziklar turned and quickly scurried back into the forest from whence he came.
“Here’s the plan,” Gavin said as he surveyed the perimeter of the oxygen mine. “Let’s just get up and walk straight for the entrance. If it looks like we know what we’re doing, maybe no one will notice.” “Okay,” Zoey replied. And that’s exactly what they did. And guess what? It worked. Perfectly. Just as Gavin said. No twist. No misleading information. Not even a pun. “Well, that was kind of boring,” Gavin said as he and Zoey climbed into the mine car. And you know what? He was right.
“Yeah, but which one’s the King Ziklar?” Zoey whispered as they peered into the dining hall. “That one,” Gavin answered, pointing to the center of the table. Zoey stood on her tip toes to get a better view. “Where? Is he behind that big plate of spaghetti?” “No, he is the big plate of spaghetti. Mylon said he’d be covered in a gooey red paste, remember?” Zoey replied, “Yeah, but he’s also supposed to have big red eyes, 200 teeth and a Mohawk, remember.” “Oh yeah,” Gavin recalled. “I guess that’s just a plate of spaghetti, then.
The Wangdongs emerged from the fog, their keen sense of smell leading the way. The food was close, and judging by the gallons of drool dripping from their chins, they knew it. Eyeing the two earthlings, they quickly advanced, shouting excitedly in a language unlike any Gavin had ever heard. “I’m scared.” Gavin whispered. “Don’t be,” Zoey said. “My parents only speak Korean when they’re in a good mood – they love this restaurant and they’re gonna love you.”