To The Grave

Chapter 24. Marty. Day 112.

"You call Slater and Dad dying, just fine. What about Molly? That's just fine, too?" The words burst out of my little sister.

I turned around to look at her, feeling the hatred in her voice. I couldn't think of a response, nothing words could do to correct it.

"I'm not walking away from a chance to live." Ferris moved his gun into his make shift holster.

They walked inside leaving Randall and I in the parking lot. "Aren't you going to go, they have mattresses." I sighed, turning around to kick rocks.

He sighed, a small laugh leaving him. "You're right, a decent sleep is way better than you're sarcastic, rude ass. They might have fresh food too, which is a bonus."

I laughed, looking back to hotel. "Aren't you allergic to fish."

"Deathly." He stood beside me staring at the large sign above the door.

I shook my head, walking to the doors. "How fun." I moved into the building, looking at the lobby.

"You're just in time for the grand tour." The front desk woman called to us. I followed behind her and my family, lost in my own thought.

-

I looked around, finding myself in alone in a bathroom. I looked at the tired, hungry, dirty, bruised kid in the mirror. I opened the bathroom door a crack, hearing Randall and Ferris talking about the hotel. I closed the door again.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub, pressing my hands against my face. I pushed my greasy hair away. I stood up, pushing the sink on without thinking about it. Water ran out onto my hands, washing away the grime that'd built up. I turned it off, pulling my shirt off, instantly

I turned the shower on, feeling the warm water hit my dirty body. I traced my finger tips across the scars across my arms. My over grown fingernails scraped at the small scabs on my arms, releasing a small flow of blood down my arms. The water ran clear, no more bits of dirt and blood running off my body. I sat down, letting the water run down my face.

I buried my face in my hands, thinking about the events of the past few months. I could still taste blood in my mouth, feeling it running down my face from the large bruised cut on my cheek. I brushed my fingers against the scar across my nose, still able to feel it slamming against the floor. The sobbing cries of my mom and the scared whispers from my sister. The sound of a knife breaking the skull of my older sister, the groans from her reanimated corpse. The echo of guns clicking inches away from my head. I found myself struggling to breathe, the sting of a rib breaking forever embedded in my brain.

"Marty, are you okay?" Randall's voice asked from behind the bathroom door. I could hear it opening. "You've been in here for like two hours. Is there even still hot water."

I realized I was shivering under the water. I stood up, grabbing a towel from the rack above the toilet. "Do you have any clean clothes left?" I asked, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

"I think I have a clean pair of shorts that will fit you, but I don't have any shirts left." The door closed. I pulled my dirty clothes off the floor, seeing dirt and blood fall to the clean floor. I set the shirt and my jeans into a small pile, grabbing the dirty flannel and pulling it over my scarred arms. The door opened, a pair of cargo shorts flying in.