James stood there, and he stared.
He stared at the limp body that littered the floor and soaked the ground.
He stared at the dark hair that fanned away from her pale face.
He stared at the blood pooling under her head.
He looked down.
And he stared at the pistol still clenched in his hand.
It really is a fascinating thing, pain.
The way it can take control, and become every part of your every moment.
James could write a book about the stages of grief. He remembered the words scrawled on the board of his civics class. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Five fleeting words couldn't contain the amount of pain he felt.
He lost track of time in his search. He travelled back down the highway, not knowing which way to go, or what exactly he was looking for. All he knew was that he had to find her. She was waiting for him, he knew it. She was lost and helpless and needed him to hold her and protect her, like always promised himself he would do. He would keep searching and he wouldn't stop until he dropped dead.
He dreamed about her often, too. Not as much as first, but the dreams came more often, now. Sometimes while he was still awake. Her voice wreathed through his ears and he saw her clear brown eyes, smiling at him, always a step ahead, coaxing him on.
And James couldn't say no to her.
She was all James saw, now. She spoke to him, kept him company. James was glad she was here with him. She always talked about the most interesting things.
James stopped paying attention to where he was going, at some point. He didn't eat or sleep. He just kept walking, following the fleeting image of a girl that danced in front of him.
He kept walking until his head swam and his vision went fluorescent and he couldn't walk anymore.
Until he stumbled to the ground, gravel biting into his palms, and cold freezing his joints stiff.
Until unconsciousness claimed him and pulled him away.
Pain, pain. Everywhere. Everything.
And when he woke up again, the beautiful dancing girl had completely vanished from his mind.
When James came back to his senses, the first thing he felt was a sharp twist in his stomach. He hadn't eaten in a long time.
James sat up and looked around, confused. He was in the middle of the highway. It was early morning, the sun just starting to rise, causing shadows to stretch out. He couldn't remember where he was going, or why he had left the house in the first place. He struggled to remember what had happened, but there was a strange empty void in his memory.
James pulled his bag off and fished inside for food. His hand closed around another can of dehydrated potatoes.
Delicious.
When James had finished stomaching the food, he packed up his stuff and holstered his machine pistol. He started walking back the way he had come, hoping to find his friends, and hoping to find some kind of civilization.
His arm was getting better, he remarked. The skin was becoming more pink than red. He retied his bandage as he walked along the highway, keeping to the row of trees that stretched along the side. Hours went by slowly.
It must be almost Christmas, James realized. Some distant holiday from a different lifetime.
The thought upset him; walking alone on a deserted highway, lost, in an apocalypse. At Christmas. The reality made him sad.
