Love & Death

Anger

Next day

I gently opened my eyes to the sensation of something soft beside me. Glancing down, I saw Rogue and smiled, wrapping my arms around him as he nestled closer. Lying there, I gazed at the tent's ceiling, basking in the warmth, until my gaze shifted to my brother's vacant sleeping bag, and memories flooded back. Before I could dwell on them, Carol's voice pierced the silence from outside, "Sweetie, are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, rising to dress quickly in grey jeans, sneakers, and my brother's t-shirt, topped with a plaid shirt. After braiding my hair to the side and donning my hat, I checked my reflection, noticing my puffy eyes. A swift application of eyeliner and mascara, and I was ready to step out. I zipped the tent open, casting a final look at my brother's belongings, with Rogue at my heels. Emerging into daylight, I made my way to the table and took a seat.

Past

Shayna ran home from school in tears, calling out, "Momma, momma!" Her mother rushed to her, embracing her tightly. "Honey, what happened?" she inquired. "The boys at school are being mean to me," Shayna sobbed. Her mother lifted her up, took her inside, and settled her on the couch. She handed Shayna some apples and turned-on Dick Van Dyke, her daughter's favorite show, to cheer her up. A few minutes later, Eric arrived home. "Mom, I'm home," he announced. "Welcome home, honey," she replied. "Where's Shayna?" he asked. "She's on the couch. There was an incident at school; the kids picked on her," the mother explained. Eric nodded, entered the room, and snuggled beside Shayna. "Don't listen to them. You're the most perfect sister anyone could have," he comforted her. His words brought a smile to her face, and she hugged him, giggling. "I love you, Eric. You'll never leave me, right?" she asked, looking up at him. He smiled, tousling her hair affectionately. "No, I'll never leave you. Who else would look after you?" he joked. She laughed, "Nobody, silly!"

Present

Jolted by the chatter, she felt a shake on her shoulders. Turning left, she smiled at Lori. "Hey, what's up?" she inquired. "Not much, I tried calling you but got no answer," Lori responded. "Sorry, I was just lost in thought," she apologized. Lori nodded understandingly. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know," Lori offered before leaving. Shayna rose and walked over to where her brother lay; the realization that he would never return weighed heavily on her. She could only stare, her body refusing to obey her commands.

Everyone was uncertain how to react as she seemed like a ticking time bomb. Daryl approached her but halted upon seeing her actions. She brandished her hunter's knife, muttered a few words in Russian, and repeatedly stabbed his head. "You're a liar, you promised to always be there for me," she sobbed while continuing to stab her brother. Daryl pulled her away and embraced her as she wept. "Shh, everything will be okay," he soothed. She shoved him away, "Don't tell me it'll be fine," she retorted, striking him, and he accepted it, understanding her sorrow. Her actions ceased as she gasped for air. "He was my everything, always there for me," she yelled, beginning to throw things. "Want to know what's worse?" she challenged, but he remained silent. "He left me, my twin brother abandoned me. Do you know how that feels?" she asked, tears in her eyes. He just watched her. "It's like my soul has left my body; I feel dead," she confessed, tears streaming down her face. "We should've left when I had doubts about Eric's plan, but he insisted on joining this group, and I..." she trailed off, "I wanted to leave from the first day we arrived at camp," she admitted, her shoulders drooping as everyone watched, unsure of what to say. Overwhelmed by her outburst, she fled, resolved to leave.

Daryl broke free from his trance and pursued her, preventing her departure. "You can't leave," he panted. "And why not?" she replied, devoid of emotion. "Because we need you, and you can't just walk away. Everything will be okay, I promise," he reassured her, locking eyes with her. She returned his gaze, then dissolved into tears once more as he held her. After she settled down, they rejoined the group, who regarded her with skepticism. She managed a faint smile. "I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes cast downward. "It's alright, we understand," came the group's collective reply. She nodded and made her way to her tent. There, she gathered her possessions and then addressed her brother's items. She left behind only a few shirts, a hat, and the necklace she was wearing, along with a few of his other belongings. Rogue, sensing his owner's sorrow, let out a soft whine and comforted her with a lick to the hand. She offered him a tender smile and stroked his head. "We'll be okay," she assured before she resumed collecting his items and left the tent, lighter in hand. At the pit, she looked over her brother's scattered effects. She soaked the spare glass with gasoline, poised to set it ablaze, when Rick came near.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "He's dead; there's no need for his stuff," she replied, devoid of emotion. He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," he countered. She turned sharply to him, her face inches from his. "And why is that? He's dead; he's not coming back," she argued, tears welling in her eyes. "What if you want something to remember him by?" he suggested. She looked away, pondering, then cursed in Russian before facing him again. "My brother died for these people. Do you know what it cost him?" she demanded. He met her gaze, at a loss for words. "It cost him a bite mark," she sobbed. "I just... I don't know what to do anymore," she confessed, sitting down and hugging her knees, burying her head between them. A hand rested on her shoulder, followed by an embrace that offered comfort. She remained still, then looked up, wiping away her tears. He extended a hand, which she accepted. Glancing back at the pit, she hurled the lighter into her brother's belongings. As the flames consumed everything, he had owned except for the items she preserved, each item that burned revived memories she would hold onto.