Part 1, Quest for the Z-Box, Battle of the Beastly Lawn

Long ago (sometime in the early 2000s) in the dusty backyard of a humble little home on a quiet suburban street, there raged a terrible battle.

Jay, a fierce warrior of eleven, sucked in a ragged breath as his grip tightened on the whittled stick spear in his hands. He glowered at the enemy across from him.

Jake, the larger of the two boys, despite being only ten, sighted down his improvised bow at the other. He pulled back his rubber band bowstring, his face set in grim determination.

“You don’t got the guts,” Jay said tensely as he eyed the twig Jake had loaded onto the bow in place of an arrow.

“Ya gunna give up?” Jake asked, his hands steady.

“Eat dirt!” Jay spat.

“So be it.” In a flash, Jake loosed his shot.

Jay swung his spear. Clack! He knocked the arrow out of the air. “Hah hah!” he shouted in glee, “Is that all you got?

A wicked grin spread across Jake’s face. He fitted another stick onto his bowstring. “Nope.”

“Ayee-ya-yawh!”

A terrible shriek split the air. Jay flinched and spun about. Too late. It was an ambush! From the branches of a tree above, something small and lightning fast pounced onto Jay’s back. Jay howled in surprise and tried to fling the creature off him, but alas! The beast was too clingy.

Nine-year-old Josh, the smallest of the boys, tangled one arm about his oldest brother's neck. In his off-hand, he grasped the leg of a blue stuffed toy with large, hard plastic eyes (Grover, from Sesame Street). Josh spun his mace-like plushie by its foot and brought the beady eyes crashing down on Jay's head. Dazed, Jay wobbled precariously.

“Surrender!” Jake bellowed, aiming down his sights at his overpowered sibling.

“Never!” Jay howled.

“Then you. Will. DIE!” the tiny Josh screamed while hanging from Jay’s neck like a cape.

With a twang, Jake fired his last arrow. It struck true,  bounding off of Jay’s tender bits.

“Oof!” Jay’s eyes crossed as he fell to his knees. With a whumpf, he tumbled onto his side, his body curling up reflexively. Breathless, he lay there, his legs twitching.

Josh relented from his downed prey and began pawing inside Jay’s pocket. With a jubilant shout, he retrieved the TV remote concealed there. He brought the prize to Jake and the two high-fived before turning back to their fallen foe.

“That's what you get for standing in the way of BunnyToons!” Jake said.

“I know where you sleep,” Jay wheezed through bleary eyes.

“Yeah, same here, bub,” retorted Josh, wagging his eyebrows and swinging the Grover plushie menacingly.

After an appropriate period of gloating, Jake put a hand under Jay’s elbow and helped him up. Just then, the trio heard the back door open as their mother poked her head out.

“Boys, Lunch!” she shouted.

With that, the brothers dropped their armaments. They ambled across the backyard, covered in dirt and sweat, Jay walking bow-legged between the other two.

And so ended that day’s battle. It had only been half as long as the one the day prior, and nowhere near as bloody as the Battle for the Last Slice of Pizza two weeks before that. In fact, it had been a fairly tame affair, all things considered. Such was life in those terrible times, with all its horrid fresh air and outdoors play.

The dispute over what to watch now settled, the afternoon cartoons and lunch (ham-and-cheese sandwiches on white bread with Cool Ranch chips) were enjoyed by all. None of these details would have stood out in memory years later, had it not been for— the Commercial.

The food finished, Jay had just begun administering his revenge leg-punches to Jake, when the screen turned black and intense guitar music played. All three of the boys' attention snapped to the screen. Neon green graphics flashed before them, proclaiming a world-changing technology. The Z-Box game console! It was the latest and greatest system to hit the market. The best graphics, the newest features, and multiplayer gameplay! Plus, it was the only way to play Space Ring Commander, the greatest video game ever created! (or so the commercial claimed, so it must be true).

Oh, how the boy's eyes lit with excitement. The thought of traveling through space, shooting plasma balls at grunting aliens, and blasting space ships to smithereens was simply too captivating an image. They had to have the Z-box. They had to!

But even as their dreams were being forged, the price of the console flashed across the screen, dampening their excitement.

This was a problem. The boys were skint broke.

The commercial ended, reality resumed, and the three were left to ponder. Obviously, they had to have the console. How else could life continue now that they knew of its existence? The question was, where could they find the money to buy it? And so the head-scratching commenced.

To this day, history books still call what happened next: the Era of the Great Scheming. The boys plotted, and they planned, concocted, and even connived a little. But alas, after an eternity of meetings, tussles, truces, and snack times. (about two days in total) They still had no idea where they could earn the necessary moola to buy the Z-Box.

An inevitable truth manifested. They may never lay their hands on that gleaming green and black box of plastic glory. Oh, cruel fate! A gloom fell over the land as the harsh reality set in.

It was in this sad state that the boys were to be found one afternoon, not long after. Jay sat moping at the living room window. He was lost in thought, imagining jumping out of a spaceship, shooting lasers down on herds of alien scum, when he happened to look across the street.

There, Mrs. Jenkins stood before her forest of a front lawn. She looked out over the impassable tall grass with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. The vegetation swayed and rustled in unsettling ways. It was well known by the neighborhood children that small animals that wandered into her lawn were never seen again. Josh even swore he saw a pile of squirrel bones tossed out of the grass once. It was a place best avoided by the sane.

Jay watched Mrs. Jenkins dully through the open window. She let out a sigh loud enough to be heard across the street and said, “I’d pay someone a pretty penny to handle this mess”.

At first, he paid her ramblings no mind. It was just crazy, Ol’ Mrs. Jenkins, after all. But then, her words struck him. “A pretty penny...”

Jay sat up straight, his eyes widening.

Without taking his gaze off the old lady’s terror of an overgrown lawn, Jay reached back for Jake, who had been sitting nearby. Jay’s wandering had found his brother (or his brother's face, in any case) and smacked him several times to get his attention.

“Guys, guys!” Jay shouted, “I know how we can get the Z-box!!”

With hope restored, he leaped to his feet and led his two confused siblings into the backyard, coming to a halt in front of their mom's old garden shed. He threw open the doors, then waved his hands at the cluttered mess within, beaming manically.

Josh and Jake looked at their eldest brother with flat disinterest. “Mom doesn't keep money in there,” Josh said. “We already checked.”

Jake’s eyebrows raised in alarm. “Wait, are we doing chores? Is Mom punishing us again? Whatever it was, it wasn't my fault this time, I swear!”

With a roll of his eyes, Jay smacked both his brothers around their heads. “No, dummies! Watch.” With that, he scrambled into the shed and began pulling out tools. Several hectic moments later, he emerged with a mower, a weed whacker, and several rakes. He looked down on the old rusty implements of their salvation, grinning ear to ear.

“I don't get it,” Jake said. “What's all this for?

With a crazed glint shining in his eye, Jay said, “Pretty pennies...”

Across the street, Mrs. Jenkins retired indoors. The ominous grassy blades of the lawn continued to sway, and from somewhere deep within the growth came a low, sinister growl.