The Right Thing To Do (Markiplier's Priority Sequel)

19

Editing credits to my lovely personal friend futuristiccola on instagram. Thank you Vic! ❤️

Christmas Day came and went, faster than I expected. It was a breathtaking to see everyone on such a beautiful day during such a gut wrenching time. Everyone gathered collectively outside on the main grounds, grilling food, celebrating, some even drinking too. Kids were playing, opening whatever gifts we could give them, which wasn't more than sweaters we ransacked from a H&M outlet store last week. Everything was beautiful. It's moments like these that I cherished most with people and building the feeling of a strong society. We felt happy for a day, it was an ironic kind of happiness. Even though everyone here feels like they're already dead, they work like cattles in a field just to hold onto whatever motivation they have remaining. We can't live like this forever, but it doesn't stop us from being happy, no matter how broken or worn down. 

The sun slipped into the hills deserting us with the bitter cold of night. The end to our only real light left everyone to drag themselves back to their beds to sleep, to carry on as if today never happened. It's not like they're slaves, or feel like it, but this makes us wish we had our old lives back. The aching, over-worked muscles and the endless sweat drenching their clothing underneath winter coats: it's something we all drive through together. At the end of the day, we just clean off in buckets of water, instead of a proper shower. Sufficient hygiene has never been craved more with the of the feeling of half clean skin and dirtied scratches that raise on our body from infections creeping up from within. My hair is raw and, rough with dirt that's collected on my scalp from lack of soaps to clear them off. I can't comprehend how we humans can cope in this world, and survive with sanity. We're almost living in the wild. We are wild humans; the first post apocalyptic generation.

***

A week has passed since our magical day of escape. Since day one the camp really began to multiply, we proceed to start claiming territory at large amounts almost daily. This morning I was up at the crack of dawn, with everyone was still asleep, at least in the main building. The day was silent so far except for the howling of cold winter winds picking up, rattling the doors softly against their locks. The spooky noises are comforting in a very strange way. Knowing today is the first real hike to a piece of land we haven't claimed leaves me feeling nervous. I hadn't been able to sleep because of it; my body constantly aches sleeping without a mattress. My lower back stinging and cramps of pregnant fatigue beg me to lie down.  When I do, though, I begin to cry to myself because I can't sleep for a single passing moment. Even though Jack cuddles me, and tries to make me feel as comfortable as possible, I still struggle to sleep. I struggle to differentiate my insomnia from pure discomfort and I will always fail to discover which one is really haunting my sleep. 

I forced myself from the pointless bed when I believed it was morning, or starting to be. I made slightly burnt deer steak over a tiny fire that's fighting to stay alive. After dumping it into a half broken and crumbling clay bowl, I headed to the balcony where I always sit alone in the morning. I slid on my winter jacket and ate outside to watch the sunrise, which isn't all that magical to me anymore. I felt myself only stomach a few bites before my anxiety and morning sickness began to act up. I remained seated with back against the walls and knees closed, to stop my nausea. It wasn't until I felt my baby start to kick again that I felt a sense of peace to me. It distracted me from the cold for a short moment while I rubbed my stomach under my jacket.
"Can't sleep either?" Mark whispered to me. I jumped softly as I didn't expect his presence. He joined my side with a short chuckle and apology for startling me. Just like me, he kicked his feet in front of him with no chairs to sit on, and our backs to the walls.