THE DEAD KID

The dead kid was late again today, and all the class knew what that meant.

When the dead kid first showed up, nobody quite knew what to do with it. Debate raged up and down the school system. Meanwhile, the dead kid kept coming every day. So finally they let it stay. By this time, the class had noticed the pattern the dead kid followed.

On good days, it came early, moved more smoothly, and acted much more, well, alive. Teachers swore they could almost see the person the dead kid had been, before it had died. But when it was late, and that meant that whatever mortician fixed it up for school had not had a good night.

And today it was the latest yet, so late they started to think it wasn’t coming at all when they heard the by now familiar clumping sound it made when it walked. Everyone shuddered as it made its way to the desk they had provided for it. On good days, all but the most sensitive kids could deal with it now.

They had figured out the dead kid wasn’t interested in eating their brains or anything like the zombies in the movies, and so they carried on like everything was normal. But not on bad days, and today was the worst yet.

On bad days, it was a walking reminder that all things rot, which might be a good lesson in theory, but difficult for a bunch of kids to deal with in practice. Bits kept falling off it, and the dead kid would simply stop and pick them up and push them back into place.

It was moving very slowly today, but it found its way to its seat and turned its eyes, such as they were to the blackboard at the front of the room. Nobody was too sure why it came to class, or if it understood what was being taught, but it did look at the teachers when they talked.

If it had been alive, they might have worried about the fact that it had no friends or playmates, but as it was, they were grateful it seemed content to watch the living play and learn. Of course, that it was content was an assumption, for nobody really knew what it was thinking and feeling, or if it really thought and felt at all.

One of the teachers said she thought that maybe the dead kid didn’t know it was dead, so went through the routine of going to school because that’s what kids do, Nobody asked the dead kid’s opinion on the subject, or any other, for that matter. It sometimes made noises, but hadn’t spoken any actual words, as far as anybody knew.

It was lunch time, when things changed,. Now, nobody was even 100 % sure what gender the dead kid was. It was dressed like a boy, but it seemed to have an indefinable feminine quality about it, especially on good days. Despite this confusion, or maybe because of it, a debate developed over what would happen if someone kissed the dead kid.

None of the boys would volunteer as long as the issue of gender was unresolved, but one of the girls decided she would risk it.

They had heard the nurse at the school say it carried no diseases that they could find, so a small kiss could not do any harm, and so she waited until just before the bell rang, quickly came up to it, and said to it, “can I give you a kiss?”

The dead kid dropped its hands to its side like it was surrendering, and she took that to mean “yes”, and leaned in, and gave a quick peck on the dead kid’s lips, and then turned and ran into the school.

Her lipstick stained the dead kids lips, the first bit of color on its face anyone had ever seen. Almost immediately, there was a difference.

The dead kid moved into the school faster than it had even on its best day, and by mid-afternoon, people could see that some of the worst flaws had somehow healed themselves.

For the first time, the teachers could tell what color eyes it had, and that feminine quality seemed overwhelming, but its actual source was still a mystery.

Sadly, the effect didn’t last, and within a week it was back to the same old routine, and the same people who had been so sure it was a girl were no longer sure.

But something had changed in the dead kid, but nobody could see it yet.

Some force, some magic in that simple kiss remained dormant inside, waiting.

Waiting for the day when the dead kid wouldn’t be dead anymore. And the secret of the dead kid wouldn’t be a secret anymore.