eleven

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"Every life is a death."

***

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The sickness has just gotten worse. I'm stuck in this cell block, with people dying all around me. I feel terrible, and everything hurts. Rick told Daryl and Carl for me. I was too afraid.

Hershel wasn't sick, and we were so lucky. Our other doctor, Doctor S, had now gotten ill as well. I knew that Daryl and a few others had gone to find antibiotics, and I was hoping they'd find some. Hershel returned to the cellblock with some tea he had made.

"How are you doing?" He gently asked me, checking my fever.

"O-okay," I weakly replied.

He nodded and handed me a cup.

"Carl insisted that you be the first one to have this," he smiled.

I smiled at the thought of Carl and quickly drank the liquid.

"Thank you."

***

"Please, go get some rest. You need it," Hershel told me as I finished helping one of the sicker people.

"Okay. Goodnight, Hershel," I smiled weakly at him and made my way to my cell.

I passed the window where Ty would often visit Sasha, and other healthier people would visit their loved ones. I could see the familiar silhouette of a sheriff's hat on the other side.

It was Carl. I quickly made my way to the glass, his attention turning to me. I uncontrollably smiled, and he did the same.

"How are you feeling?" He hesitantly asked me.

"About as I look," I joked, noticing my pale skin and dark bags under my eyes, in the reflection of the glass.

"I miss you so much," he sighed sadly, resting his forehead against the glass.

"God, I can't stand not being with you," I sighed and met my forehead with his.

"You'll be out soon," he reassured.

"I should rest. Hershel will get mad, seeing me up and about," I smiled sadly.

He kissed the glass where my forehead was resting.

"You're so cheesy, Grimes."

"You know it, Dixon."

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