The Zombie Who Loved Baseball

Tommy loved baseball more than anything. Every Saturday, he'd grab his glove and run to Maple Park, where the sun painted everything gold and the air smelled like fresh grass.

One foggy afternoon, Tommy heard a strange sound near the old oak tree. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* A greenish figure shuffled forward, arms sticking out stiffly. A zombie!

But this zombie looked sad. Its eyes drooped, and it moved slowly, like it was carrying an invisible backpack full of rocks. Tommy should have run, but something made him stay.

"Are you... going to eat my brain?" Tommy asked, clutching his baseball bat.

The zombie shook its head. "No brains. Just need... vitamin."

"Vitamin?" Tommy blinked. "Like the orange chewable ones?"

The zombie nodded. "Sunshine vitamin. Makes me strong again. I'm Zimby, and I've been sleeping under this tree for fifty years. I forgot to catch my morning sun vitamins."

Tommy gasped. He knew exactly what to do. His mom always said sunshine was the best vitamin!

"Zimby, watch THIS!" Tommy tossed his baseball high in the air. He swung his bat with all his might—*CRACK!*—and sent the ball flying right through a cloud, making a perfect sun-hole. Golden beams streamed through, bathing Zimby in warm light.

Zimby's green skin turned rosy pink. He stood taller. "I feel... STRONG!" He did a happy little jig. "Tommy, can we play? I used to love baseball before my long nap."

They played until sunset. Zimby was amazing! He could hit balls into orbit and catch flies between his teeth (gently, of course). Other kids gathered to watch the amazing zombie player.

That night, Tommy learned something wonderful: sometimes things that seem scary just need a little kindness and sunshine. And the best friends come from the most unexpected places.

Every Saturday after that, Tommy and Zimby played baseball together. Zimby always made sure to get his daily dose of sunshine vitamins, and Tommy learned that being different doesn't mean you can't be a friend.

The end.