MEDICINE // twd

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HIS brother's screams felt like daggers stabbing through Ron's ears, another memory to repress, the obvious agony and pain as warm blood trailed down his face and flesh met rotten teeth, tearing and ripping it from his neck. He watched as his little brother, possibly one of the only people left on the earth to care about what happened to him, was literally torn apart in front of him. He was in too much shock to cry or vomit, he just froze, cold and stone. Sam was only eleven years old, he shouldn't have been the one.

And then his mother started screaming.

She shrieked at the top of her lungs, trying to claw at Sam's arm, to grasp whatever was left of his small body, her son. But he was gone, and there was nothing she could do. She just stopped moving, staring at her child as he squirmed on the ground, eyes wide as tears trailed down his cheeks, waterfalls of liquid pain. And she followed him, into the darkness that Ron had refused to name, tried so hard to tell himself was sent from above.

One of the things walked up behind her, growling as it sunk it's jaws into her shoulder, making her yell out in pain. More of them took notice, taking her away from him as they bit and hissed and growled, clawing at her skin and ripping her from limb to limb, like she was an aged rag doll, falling apart.

The entire world seemed to slow and blur, the walkers were stumbling around like they were stuck in mud and he felt like there was something heavy pulling him down, watching the entire scene pan out before him. The world no longer existed, it was just him and the walkers, and maybe not even the people with him. He could physically see, but it was as if he'd forced his brain to ignore all of it. But he didn't force anything, he couldn't move and he couldn't feel anything as he stared, empty and lifeless.

Until an ax swung down and chopped his mom's wrist in half, freeing Carl's arm.

Something hot in his stomach threatened to choke him, bile crawling up his throat. Why was everything about Carl? Why did Rick care so much about the boy? It didn't seem right to him that his mom had to suffer for the sake of Carl, of all people. He shook his head, tears falling down as he panicked, taking in heavy breaths through his mouth as his chest heaved. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

He shouldn't have been the last one standing. His mom maybe, or even Sam. But not him. He shouldn't have been the last reminder of the existence of the Anderson family, he shouldn't have been the one to represent them. He didn't want to be alive without them, he needed them and he knew that he'd just waste away if he kept going like this.

So he made a decision, and he knew it was the right one.

Carl looked up at him, eyes wide with uncertainty as Ron shook his head, bringing his gun up in front of him. He wasn't sure whether to be mad at Carl, at Rick, or even his mom- but he was certain of at least one person he was furious with. Carl took a step back in fear, but Ron brought the gun up to his own chin, a small sob escaping his throat as he let his finger trace over the trigger, cold metal bleeding into his fingers.

"I'm so sorry," He sobbed, taking a deep breath, life filling his lungs. But it didn't feel like life, because this wasn't in any way 'life'. It was death and it was illness and blood and murder, and he didn't want to live in a place where it was normal for almost an entire family to die within a single minute. He let his finger push down on the trigger, gently pushing down on the metal as his entire body tensed in fear. But Ron wasn't afraid. He was nervous.