Zorgamazoo (15 page)

 

Katrina just smiled, with a grin like a cat.
“Of course,” she replied. “I knew you'd say that.”
She handed the eyeball to Morty, and then,
it was handed to others, again and again.

 

It was passed through the bars from finger to claw,
from dragon to pixie, from talon to paw.
Until, at long last, the eyeball arrived
(a bit sullied, perhaps, but having survived),
in the place
where the zorgles were huddled and cramped,
trapped in a cage that was bolted and clamped.

Although they were crowded, for that was the case,
they managed to shuffle and clear out a space.
And there, in their midst, looking timid and shy,
was Cyril DeYoung. . .
and they passed him the eye.

 

Katrina said: “Cyril, it's just like a ball,
and we need you to throw it. Just fling it, that's all.
But whatever you do, give it all that you've got.
It has to be perfect. We've got only one shot.”

 

Cyril looked at the eye. He hefted its weight.
He could throw it, he thought, and perfectly straight;
but he'd never, however, thrown ever so far,
or thrown with a ball so extremely bizarre.

 

“I don't know,” Cyril said. “The truth being told,
that's a pretty long way. . . and I'm getting old.
I used to throw hard, I used to throw fast,
but my arm's not as strong as it was in the past.

 

A few years ago now, perhaps five, maybe ten.
I might've been able to throw it—back then.

But the problem is, folks, that's one heck of a lob.
It's too far for me. I'm too old for the job.”

 

Morty went to his bars. He said, “Mr. DeYoung!
Don't forget! You're the finest who ever has flung!
I remember you playing, back when I was a tyke.
All those pitches you made—I mean,
strike
after
strike!
Well, anyway, sir, I'm your number-one fan,
and I
know
you can do it, or else. . . nobody can.”

 

Cyril looked at the eyeball, at its singular stare.
It looked back at him, hopeful—like everyone there.
He knew then he'd try. There was no other choice.
“I'll do it,” he said, in a whispering voice.

 

He started to stretch, started limbering up.
He flapped both his arms with a
whip
and a
whup
.
He narrowed his eyes. He chewed on his lip.
The eyeball, he squeezed, and he shifted his grip.

 

He lifted his leg from the place where it stood.
Then he flung that old eyeball as hard as he could.

It went off like a streak, like a shot from a gun.
It zipped through the bars, without touching a one.
It careened as it flew. It spun through the air.
It was off on its own, on a wing and a prayer.

 

Then it started to fall, began losing its steam.
Too early, perhaps! Or so it would seem.
But then, at the end of its elegant arc,
Everyone knew: It was right on the mark!

 

As Katrina had planned, right from the start:
It
WHACKED
it! It
CRACKED
it! It blew it apart!
It ended its flight like a thunderous punch.
It shattered the box, with a rupturing
CRUNCH

But sadly, the ogre, through the bars of his cell,
could see that his eyeball had shattered as well.

 

“My eyeball!” he cried. “Oh, what'll I do?!”
He glared at Katrina. “It's your fault! It's you!
I'll look like a pirate! I'll be wearing a patch!
I might as well find me a parrot to match!”

He threw up his hands. He spat on the floor.
He angrily kicked at the steel of his door.

 

And just as he did, as he kicked from inside,
The door gave a creak...then it opened up wide!

“Huh,” said the ogre. “Well, that's a surprise.
Who cares if I've only got one of my eyes,
because look! It's almost too good to be true!
We're freeeeeeee
, Miss Katrina! It's all thanks to you!”

 

The ogre was right. They were coming undone:
every cage, every lock, every single last one.
Each manacle, bridle, every linkage of chain—
they all opened up, as if sharing a brain.

 

All these creatures that people believed were extinct,
they all stood in shock. They muttered and blinked;
and then, one by one, they opened their doors,
coming forward like veterans of too many wars.

 

Winnie looked over, and guess who she saw?
Her cousins, with Uncle and Auntie McPaw!

“We're free,” said her uncle,
“thanks to you and your friend!
Our troubles, perhaps, they've come to an end!”

 

“Maybe,” said Morty. “Don't get hopeful too soon.
Remember, McPaw, we're still stuck on the moon.”

 

What Morty was saying was certainly true,
and the facts of the matter were worse than he knew…
Along all the walls and just out of sight,
mysterious figures were coming to light.
At first, no one noticed and nobody saw:
the flicker of wings…and of teeth…and of claw.

 

The Octomabots were coming their way,
like lions and tigers, approaching their prey,
with pincers and grabbers all ready to snap,
preparing a perfectly treacherous trap.

 

But neither Katrina, nor Morty to boot,
had a sense of their nasty pursuer's pursuit.

 

From left and from right came a shadowy shape.
So the question, good reader, is:

Could
they
escape?

Look there,”
said a sphinx, for she could make out—the darkness nearby...it was moving about. At first only shadows. Then suddenly:
CLAWS!
Then bellies and wings and finally:
JAWS!

“They're back!” Winnie blubbered. “I guess this is it! You'll excuse me, of course, if I whimper a bit.”

 

It was hard to blame Winnie for being upset,
when the Octomabots were closing their net.
They surrounded their prey like a poisonous moat,
or a noose—as it narrows and strangles a throat.

 

Everyone cowered, resigned to their fate:
to be swallowed again, like some fisherman's bait.
A terrible silence pervaded the air:
The silence of terror, the hush of despair.

 

It was Morty himself who ended the hush.
He wormed his way in through the huddle and crush.
He was thinking, you see, of Katrina Katrell.
If she could be brave, maybe he could, as well.

 

He came to the core of that cowering crowd.
He stood on his tip-toes, he shouted aloud:

 

“Now, sometimes you lose and sometimes you win,
but my Pop always told me:

And if he were here now, I know what he'd say:
Morty, my son, when you're caught in a fray,
or your travels are tough and the going is rough,
or you're up to your neck in the slippery stuff,
or say some old robots are on the attack,
then I tell you, my son:
You start
fighting back!'

Hearing this improvised rallying cry,
the creatures of Earth decided to try.
They'd work all together. They'd give it their all,
like a team on the field, playing Zorgally Ball.

 

They stood, all together, in steely suspense.
Their eyes were unblinking. Their muscles were tense.

Morty looked round, with an arch of his brow.
“That's it,” he said softly, “just wait for it now.
Just wait…and we'll take them, I think, by surprise.
Just wait…'til you make out the whites of their eyes.”

 

But the Octomabots, they were smarter than that,
and one of them lunged, right off the bat.
It moved blindingly quick, but be that as it may,
the Behemoth was there, and he stepped in its way.

 

He snatched up its tentacles—six in a fist!—
and he hefted it up with a heave and a twist,
so the Octomabot, its whole body and all,
went sailing away and smashed on the wall!

 

The Behemoth was stunned. He was rather impressed.
“I don't know my own strength!” he sincerely confessed.

 

“All right,” Morty cried, “let's give 'em what for!
That was only the first. There's a great many more!
But if we stick together, like paper and glue,
then I think we can take them, I honestly do!”

And so, all at once, a great battle began
(you might say the hooey was hitting the fan).
The battle went crashing all over the place,
between creatures of Earth,
and the creatures from space!

 

 

 

The giants
galumphed
with a

While the punches of pixies went

The griffins, whose wings had been formerly pinned,
soared up in the air, like hawks in the wind.
They snatched up the arms of the Octomabots,
and, looping in circles, they tied them in knots!

 

Even the tiniest creatures of all,
the faeries and imps (who were awfully small),
they, too, waded into the furious fray,
and were helping to fight, in their miniature way.

 

On the robots they leapt, with the greatest of care,
going deep underneath all the layers of hair.
They went under the arms, where they tickled the pits,
so the robots were reeling in snickering fits!

Soon the Octomabots were battered and bruised,
looking messy, disheveled, and rather confused.
But still they fought on. They were stubborn and stout.
They continued to bully their muscles about,
thrashing and flailing their pincers and claws,
gnashing and grinding their slavering jaws.

 

So the battle raged on for the Octomabots,
against dragons and manticores, covered with spots;
against sphinxes and griffins and ogres and elves,
all struggling together, defending themselves!

 

It was then that Katrina was struck with a thought,
of a way they could maybe avoid being caught.
“Morty!” she bellowed. “You stay here and fight!
I'm going off now, to set everything right!”

 

“But how?” Morty wondered. “I don't understand.
And where are you going? What've you planned?”

 

But Katrina had vanished, without leaving a trace.
In the spot where she'd been, there was nothing but
space.

Not again
, Morty thought, as he muttered a sigh,
while dodging a tentacle, slithering by.
Katrina was smart, that much was true,
but honestly, what could she possibly do?