In The Bird Song | TWD

chapter 50 - Going home

Harlow pov

I wake up feeling numb, or scared, or both. I know immediately as my eyes flutter open what day it is, it hangs over me like a shadow. Inescapable. Sunlight pours into the room, mocking as it is bright. there is no warmth in its light, no solace to be found in its rays.

I look away to save myself the picture, a reminder of the world's cruelty. I look over to my side and find Izzy sleeping soundly, her face wrinkled in stress. I want to reach out and smooth her features, to take away her grief. But how could I when my own grief seeps from my bones, wets my cheeks and drowns my eyes. I am sodden in all I cannot do.

No, I can't think like this right now. I need to be strong, I need to be present, I need to be okay. stubbornly, I wipe the tears from my eyes, there is no place for them anymore, not after all I've done. These past days I have indulged in them greedily; and I have neglected Izzy in the process. But I cannot do that today. Not when she needs me most. sharp shards of last night's dream poke at my brain, scratch my mind, scrape at my scull. images of my baby girl and a kind boy I once knew have imbedded themselves behind my eyes, stabbing them with the light of two ghosts lost to the daylight. I never want to see them again. I want to look at them always.

Movement clatters downstairs telling me I've slept in. glancing back out the window I see the sun mounted pride of place high in the sky. I need to get going if I want to bury her before mid-day. But first I take I few minutes to myself in the toilet, away from concerned and expectant eyes. I indulge in sweet smelling soap, whilst still being cautious to only wet my hands.

I twist the needle ring around my finger, reminding myself of its presence, of my purpose. I also take the time check the burns on my fingers, finding that they are healing well. They are no longer puffed up and watery like they have been, during the night the thin ground works of a scab has replaced the damp tender skin. Something about that feels wrong, and I have to fight away the pulsing urge to pick away the crust and expose the pain beneath.

I resist though, instead drying my hands on a clean towel and going to wake Izzy up with a small shake. "Time to get up my love," I murmur, easing her into the land of the living. Slowly, I watch as her big brown eyes flutter open and squint at the bright morning light. The sight brings me back to a different set of eyes, so similar yet irrevocably different.

My hands shake with the weight of the gun, the over ripe smell of unwashed bodies and disease permeates my lungs. I look into her wide resigned eyes, looking almost black in the night. the tiny nod of her head, a signal I do not understand. what are we doing? Why is she on the ground. I feel my fingers move; I am not in control. No stop, please God, someone stop me. but its to late, the air cracks, wide empty eyes stare up to the sky, not to me, not to anyone. Dead.

Izzy blinks, gazing at me with groggy sleep-soaked eyes, "Harley?" she mumbles hoarsely. Dazedly, I feel myself smile softly back at her, 'get it together.'

"Morning love, did you sleep okay?" I ask, coaxing her to sit up as I do so. "Mhm," she hums, rubbing gunk from her eyes. I tuck her sleep tousled hair behind her ear and sigh, "do you know what today is Hun?" I ask.

She dosent say anything for a few seconds, holding dolly to her chest, but eventually... "Netty's burying." she dosent look me in the eye as she says it. So I reach out to hold her hand, letting her know I'm there whilst giving her space.

"You sure you want to come" I check, "because you will be safe here until I get back if you want to stay," I try sound encouraging, because I really do not want her to come. I don't want her to see any of it. I want her memories of her baby sister to remain untainted by the image of her corpse. But stubborn as ever Izzy shakes her head, "me and you" she says, and so with nothing else I can say, "Yeah, you and me kid."