𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 | 𝙼𝙷𝙰 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖! 𝙾𝚙! 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

26. "In Another Life."

The sky cried. The little drops of rain sprinkled onto your face and on the palm of your hand. It was a chill breeze out, but not one that was too bad that you couldn't stand it. The dead world around you wailed, the distant groans of the zombies heard. Your gaze was fixed onto the ground, nothing at all really going through your head. Except for the fact that… this feels so unreal. However, there was nothing you could even do— you were in this broken world, living in it. That is how it always was, was it not? Your hand tightly gripped your barbed bat while you were deep in thought.

But… it felt as if you were supposed to be somewhere else. Like you had another ‘calling’.

It is strange.

Your life was only filled with fighting zombies, was it not? These various scars that decorated your body. Forever sewn into your skin to remind you of the hell you must endure every single day. Some scars were even there to remind you of those you lost. Bitter scars they were, and you would trade anything to get them back. Even so, it still did not feel as if you were currently living in your actual world. As if this… was just some stupid hazy dream of yours.

“[Name], come on!” A voice beckoned for you, sounding incredibly pissed off. “It's been five minutes, stop crying in the rain!” It was Atlas and he was yelling at you from inside the beat up cabin the two of you found. “You're going to get sick, and I don't have the time to take care of you!”

… You were crying?

“I can take care of myself,” you replied with a bitter taste in your mouth, sighing as you turned to walk back to the cabin at your own pace. The sky was gray, depressed. Your thigh stinged a little bit for some odd reason— as if something was in there— but nothing was there. “I'm not four years old, Atlas.”

He scoffed, “I don't know about that with your mental age, but… whatever you want to say.” A small mischievous smirk was on his face as he crossed his arms. “How many zombies did you end up getting today?”

“... Thirty? I dunno…” You shrugged your shoulders.

“As skilled as ever.” Atlas chirped, putting his hands behind his head as he took a couple steps back as you entered the cabin. The old crusty door squeaked as he closed it. “Really, [Name], you should teach me your ways.”

“Go live on your own for ten years, you'll be like me by then,” you hummed, noticing the ripped, but in decent condition couch in the middle of the room. Obviously, you began to walk to it and sat down. “Also, use a barbed bat, not your stupid grimy hands.”

“Hey, I'm good at hand to hand combat!” He argued back, his emerald eyes shining. You examined the scar over his right eye.

“Not until you're bitten and you're some mindless idiot walking around,” you say, chuckling. “Not like you aren't already.”

“...” Atlas's glare said a lot.

“Just telling the truth— hey, hey!” You were suddenly tackled, falling over onto the couch, Atlas tickling you aggressively. “You deranged animal! Stop it—!” Your foot, which was wearing some nice combat boots, met his side.

“Ow, fuck!” He really emphasized that foul word, falling over besides you as he grabbed his side. “Really?! And it's wet from the damn rain…” He grumbled angrily, looking at you accusingly. “There's wet dirt—”

“Mud—”

“On me!” He angrily finished, still staring down at his shirt.

“Then don't do that,” you laughed, watching as he ran to the other room to get the dirty shirt off of him and change. Your attention was snatched away to outside, the walking dead continued to sway side to side, all having a common goal; to eat. You felt a shiver down your spine, “Jeez… there's so many.”