The Twelve Days of Christmas Day 6

On the six days of Christmas my true love gave to me… ELF!

Your story should center around “Buddy the Elf” 

Spaghetti with maple syrup

six geese a laying

lingerie

and this all should be taking place during a zombie apocalypse 

500 words

2 thoughts on “The Twelve Days of Christmas Day 6

  1. (250 words due to lots of excuses)

    “Are you sure you don’t want some…candy?” asked the food to the others around the table. “You know, elves have four main food groups: candy, candy cane…”
    “Urgh!” Zog the zombie stood up and moved his arms about. This food talked too much. Zog ripped off another piece.
    “Ouch! You should try spaghetti with maple syrup, now there’s a good food.”
    “Urgh!” He pointed to Tark to take off the food’s head but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t budge.
    “Now my scarf is too small, thank you, thank you very much. You are a cotton-headed ninnymoggins!” shouted the food, smiling at Jarg the zombie girl, who was eating a finger. “Hi, what’s your name? Mine’s Buddy. I’m an elf. I guess you’re a zombie, right?”
    “Urgh!” The food was now hitting on Zog’s girl!
    “That’s some nice lingerie you’re wearing there. Did you get it from Macy’s?”
    That was it. Zog pulled on the right leg and it ripped off.
    “Ouch! Son of a nutcracker!”
    It went quiet for a while. Zog and his mates finally had some peace to eat their latest find. Until…
    “I like to sing, though. ‘On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me
    a partridge in a pear tree….ouch! On the second day of…ouch!…”
    Noise or no noise, Zog was going to finish his meal. The food went on and on…and on….
    “…my true love sent to me six Geese-a-Laying, five gold rings! Four…ouch!…calling birds, three French…ouch!”
    “Urgh!”

  2. Terrible things have a way of affecting people. If there was any question in my mind about this being fact, it was all erased early this morning with the beginning of the Apocalypse. I think I’m handling it rather well. Or maybe I’ve completely lost my mind and can’t tell the difference. How does an insane man know he’s insane?
    Whatever my current mental status is, I know my friend has completely lost his mind. I’ve known Buddy since high school. We went to the same college so we’d both have someone we knew. We came home for Winter Break, and all hell broke loose on Christmas Eve. I have the benefit of knowing my family went peacefully, at least as peacefully as someone can go via a fuel tanker explosion. Buddy wasn’t so lucky.
    I fought my way to Buddy’s house, and found the carnage. His family had been overwhelmed and he was fighting with animalistic vigor. We managed to get out, and to the mall where we both worked. Being an assistant manager has its advantages, and I let us in via the back door to our crappy fast food kiosk. We’d probably be fine in here long enough for the military to get everything under control, if it hadn’t been for the jerks that drove their SUV through the front door of the mall. They got overwhelmed and only succeeded in separating us from the supplies that would have kept us going for weeks.
    So here I am, holding the doors to the maintenance area, and trying to keep the horde out. I really don’t think these doors are going to hold much longer and I debate on the merits of clogging the hallways with bodies.
    “Buddy! Where are you man! I need some help!”
    “Over here!” Buddy’s voice cheerfully comes from the main hall. He prances into view, and yes PRANCES is the correct word to describe his entrance. Of all the horrors I have witnessed, NOTHING could have prepared me for what greets my eyes at this very moment.
    Buddy, my pleasantly plump, basement-dwelling, otaku of a friend, is spinning around giddily in what must be an outfit from Victoria’s Secret. Seeing such a hairy meat bag exploding out of some holiday themed lingerie, fairy wings and all, which was made to fit a woman sized zero is more than I can handle.
    Buddy strikes a pose as he says happily. “I’m Buddy the Elf! I’m Santa’s little helper! Look! I have a package for you!” He compliments the statement with a few full body pelvic thrusts.
    I recoil away from him and fall into a stack of sports equipment, letting the zombies in. Buddy grabs up a large baseball bat and screams, “Such bad little boys!” and quickly goes to work.
    I eat spaghetti and maple syrup, our only supplies, as Buddy begins arranging the corpses with the heads under their own rears. “Look! See! Its six geese a laying! Ha HAH hah HA!”

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