Stay Alive

It Feels Like a Memory

Keith imagined death so much that it felt like a memory. When was it going to get him? Six feet in front of him? It almost came for him in a flaming ball. It would inevitably come again whether he was prepared for it or not. He almost prepared this time. Next time he might not be so lucky. It might end up like the times he was almost killed in accidents, or he could get lost in a Blade ship and slowly starve to death. He could be on a ship that's hit by a Galra missile and his life would end before he even knew what had happened.

Those possibilities came to him while he lay on his bed in the castle. He did fall right to sleep, but that sleep was occasionally interrupted whenever he thought of any of those scenarios. It was how thoughts of death occupied his thinking, going back to his childhood, after his mom left, and he and his dad moved into that hovel. It didn't always get to him, though, like during his early years at the Garrison, with Shiro—good old, reliable Shiro—there to take him under his wing. But then Shiro left, and Keith, worried about his brother figure's fate, would let the images of death come back to him.

They weren't the cause of his expulsion. The Garrison made it clear that it was Keith being Keith the hot-headed loner, etc. He sighed when he opened his eyes again. Yeah, he preferred solitude. But 'loner'... it made him crunch his body up more. The fetal position is the favorite of anyone going through a rough time.

Readjusting his position, he stared up at the ceiling. More like to the ceiling, because he ignored a lot of details in said ceiling. His eyes just happened to be looking up at them as he thought about his near-death experience. Or whatever popped in his mind. There was a lot to think about. He still didn't care a whole lot that he'd almost died, because the mission was more important.

But something funny kept happening.

He should have died, no question about it, and he thought that no one would care if he died. But now, whenever he closed his eyes, he could see them. They were actually blank, blurry images, but he could make out people being sad. Why were they sad? He reached out to get their attention, but his hand passed through them.

The images gradually came into focus. He kind of recognized them, but he still couldn't see their faces. It wasn't good enough. But, since he wasn't in control, he floated in between them like a leaf in the wind. Or something like that. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get their attention. There were five of them, all clad in familiar colors; black, pink, blue, yellow and green—oh, no.

He quickly realized that the figures were his teammates, and they were all in mourning. But they rejected him! Why would they be sad? I'm not dead! I'm not dead! He called out. No one heard him. He waved his arms to get their attention, but all he did was wave himself away.

And then he woke up again, kicking and flailing.

He sat up, groaning. "Dammit," he quietly groaned to himself. Another stupid dream. He was back in his room—the lights were now off and he was still alone.

He flopped back down on the bed and once again, let his eyes close.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Glenn's heart raced. Zombies were one thing, but this was something completely different.

The Saviors had captured them. They'd played games with them all day and night, and now they had them right where they wanted them. Glenn felt especially guilty, since Maggie wasn't going to get the treatment from Dr. Carson. He, she and the rest of the Alexandrians could only kneel on the ground, surrounded by armed Saviors and headlights shining in their eyes in the head of night, as their leader, Negan, rambled on and on about honor and such. Worse still, he threatened Rick that he either surrender everything they'd built up to him, or he kill them all.