Markjin: The Walking Dead

The Coping Mechanism

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Jinyoung kept up a steady rhythm as he sat cross-legged throwing a tennis ball against the opposite wall and catching it when it bounced back. He was so engrossed in his mindless activity that he did not notice Mark enter the room, and who now stood watching before finally clearing his throat after a couple of minutes had past. Jinyoung jumped and the ball missed his hand. It rolled out of reach under the table.

"I'm going on a run. To scavenge. I'll be back in about three hours." Jinyoung didn't reply, he just stared at the spot where the ball had hit on the other wall. He was bored. The end of the world was boring.

Shrugging at the lack of response, Mark left without either of them exchanging goodbyes. Jinyoung heard the entrance door swing shut. Heck, he really was very extremely bored. As he sat for a while senselessly listening to the slow ticking of the kitchen clock, some things were bothering him and sitting here really wasn't helping. In fact, Jinyoung thought, what would really help is some exercise...a walk to clear my head. Yeah, a walk. But as he closed the side entrance door behind him and rested his hand over the machete handle tucked through his belt, a bit of him was wondering whether he could catch up to Mark or not. He knew where Mark was going. A warehouse a couple miles down the main road, he had said. It wasn't hard to get to, but then again, when was anything ever easy? Just a walk. To clear my head. Jinyoung repeated as if he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't out deliberately putting himself in danger once again. Really, he was expecting at any moment he'd turn back towards the station. But somehow Jinyoung was still walking forwards.

He met his first obstacle about halfway there. A lone biter shuffling across the road. The media had drilled into the public that they were merely mindless monsters but, for the first time since it all began, Jinyoung pondered whether they had any purpose to where they walked when they weren't in pursuit of a target. Did they think? Was their movement solely arbitrary? Did they just move because they were bored? Or were they searching for stimuli? Even though this biter seemed preoccupied in its task of labouredly limping over the street, Jinyoung wasn't yet prepared to take risks again anytime soon, especially as alone as he was now. He waited for the biter to cross before continuing. It was a lonely world, he mused, nowadays it was more lonely than ever. He was no longer surrounded by his six friends - no - brothers. In fact, this must be the lonliest he had ever been because, this time, not even Mark knew where he was. No one knew where he was. If he were to die now, no one would know. And, he thought with regret, it was likely no one would care. His companions most likely already thought he was dead (bunch of pessimistic losers) and Mark, well, he was Mark. He showed little emotion, empathy, warmth. He would probably be grateful not to have Jinyoung weighing him down. He exhaled, deeply depressed. Maybe he'd be useful one day. He was working on it at least. He was trying. He was trying right now, wasn't he? Even if Mark probably didn't want company on his run. He had to learn. He'd always been protected by others. They had always been there for him. This was his downfall, he supposed. They had let him become too sheltered. Well, maybe now it was time to break that shell he had hidden in for too long. And draw some blood with its shards.

When Jinyoung finally reached the warehouse, lightly perspiring from jogging the last mile, he knew something was wrong. It was quite obvious actually. Vicious growls emanated from the derelict building. Once again, that same urgency that erased all rhyme and reason from his brain took over him. Jinyoung pelted into the warehouse. But the sight that met his eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. It seemed like hundreds of zombies were swarming around Mark; gnashing their teeth and carelessly trampling one another to reach him. For now he was safe, he had found short refuge perched precariously on a large industrial shelf, but it wasn't long until it was toppled over or he lost his grip.