Falling Apart (Narry)

Harry couldn’t remove his eyes from the tattered body of the man before him. He had done it; he had shot the man himself in cold blood. Surely it was for self-defense, or so he would remind himself in order to sleep at night.

Just a few months ago, Harry had stumbled across a lone man’s shelter, unbeknownst to the man—who was currently away in the search for food or provisions. At the time, the young boy simply thought that he had been lucky enough to come across a nice abandoned shelter. He soon discovered, however, that was not the case whatsoever. The man had taken his unannounced intrusion a bit roughly, and the situation quickly escalated.

Harry tried explaining that it was just an honest mistake, but the man refused to listen and continued to attack the boy with closed fists. Once, twice, the man struck the smaller boy across the face, allowing gravity to play its role. Without haste, he proceeded to kick the boy in the ribs with the intention of fracturing any bones he came in contact with. Soft whimpers and pleads rolled from the boy’s lips, begging the man to have mercy. Weak from days of starvation and dehydration, Harry was in no shape to fight against the much larger man who was burning with rage.

After an agonizing ten minutes or so, Harry was finally left alone; the man seemed to have lost interest in crippling the boy, dragging his body from the shelter and into the open for any walkers that might have picked up his scent from miles away. Harry had never felt so incapacitated before in his entire life; he felt extremely vulnerable and powerless out in the open with no means of protection beside the single handgun, safely tucked in the pocket of his jeans. He had never used a handgun before—or any gun for that matter—and he was unsure whether or not he could even aim the weapon correctly.

The boy never had the need to kill a walker before, and he had no intent of starting anytime soon. With the remaining strength he could muster up, he began dragging his body in the opposite direction of the man’s shelter in hopes of finding a potential shelter of his own. His journey was excruciatingly long. Time after time, he feared he would pass out or lose consciousness, which he certainly did not have the luxury of doing.

He couldn’t forget the way the man had watched him wither away, proceeding to beat and burn him. Despite his nonviolent past, the man had sparked something inside of the boy; Harry had never felt so much hatred towards a person before, and he swore to pay the man back for what he had done to him.

With the massive gash on his upper right thigh and the burn across his back, Harry had to constantly change the position of his body in order to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt himself any more than he already was.

Several hours had passed before Harry finally found a standing building with decent security. The infrastructure was almost as broken as he was; it must have been several months since a single soul had set foot inside of the building. Exhausted from hauling his body around for hours, Harry collapsed at the entrance of the building, too weak to go any further. The stench of his blood was intoxicating, but with his weaken body, Harry had no strength to mask the scent; he silently prayed that he wouldn’t be found by walkers any time soon, especially not when he was still completely vulnerable and out in plain sight. Involuntarily, his eyes fluttered shut as sleep began to consume his body.

He woke up the next day, jerking up from the ground like a guard dog that had just been disturbed by the slightest sound. Immediately, he let out an agonizing cry as a jolt of pain shot through his body. The adrenaline had worn off, and only now did he realize the weight of his injuries. He cursed to himself for not completely pulling himself into the shelter before he had collapse. The task had become much harder now that his body was completely wrecked and even the slightest movements sent his mind into frenzy.

Once Harry had managed to haul himself into the building, he had no time to waste; he had already gone several days without food or water. At this rate, he might die of either starvation or dehydration if he doesn’t get anything to eat in the next couple days. Tears threatened to escape his eyes as he realized the severity of his position. Not only did he have no food or water, but he also had no provisions to dress his wounds. If left alone for too long, he would surely catch an infection and turn into a walker himself.