LONE

Rusty

Grow up
Don't grow down

The familiar sound of a guitar fills the bedroom. The tune of 'El Coyotito' comes automatically. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. "Mmm." Isaiah mumbles, still softly strumming.

Violet appears at the door. "Hey." Isaiah nods at her. She walks in and sits next to him on the bed. "We had a talk outside, we're gonna vote if Clem and AJ can stay at the school." She says. "What do you think?" He thinks for a moment. "What did Lamar vote for?" He asks. "He votes they stay." She replies. "I think it's safer for them if they leave." He says, still staring at the wall. "Did you see Mitch pull a knife out on them yesterday?" Violet thinks for a moment, and sighs. "So, what are you voting?" She asks him. "I vote they leave." "Seriously?" "Give them supplies. A map, and some shit. I'd wanna leave, if I were them. There's raiders and stuff, trying to take us or something." He shrugs. She stands up, and leaves the room.

He stands up and walks towards the desk. Opening the drawer, he picks up this beautiful pistol he scavenged a few years ago. He never was a good shot, but he knew someone who was. As Isaiah leaves the dorm, he sees Violet and Louis breaking the news to Clem and AJ, about having to leave the school.

He enters the room to find Louis demanding AJ give him his gun. "That's like, one of their only defenses. C'mon, man." Isaiah says to Louis, who turns around and briefly glares at him. "You're probably better off with this, though." He hands AJ the pistol. It's fully loaded, and is equipped with a silencer. AJ gives a weak smile, and Clementine nods a silent 'thank you'. He nods back, and leaves the room.

He sits at Brody's grave. It gives him this weird, sick sensation when he looks at the cross with her name carved into hit. Carefully, he plays his guitar. "When I parted from my city, tears and tears I came a-crying," he begins to play the English version of 'El Coyotito', just as he promised a few nights ago. "And with a trumpet-flower pretty, to comfort myself was trying." His fingers are beginning to become rough from the constant strumming. "I am like the little coyote, that rolls over and leaves them, I go trotting so neat, oh, my downcast glance deceives them."