Walking Dead A Letter of Defiance

You know. You simply have to know.

Is it possible that you don't? Is it possible I've been running, on foot in front of the other after you, and you still don't have a clue? Not a single clue. You idiot. I thought I was being rather conspicuous. But I guess, that's how everyone thinks they are. But, on a serious note, you're supposed to be able to read people. You were supposed to read me.

Too late I guess, too late to think about any of the foolish childish hopes when I'm here. Particularly since you are not here, in fact you could be anywhere in the world right now but not here where I am and where I want you. And it's cold and bleached and- and human. Yes, human. That's the worst part. We ran around Georgia looking for humanity, trying build it ourselves and save what we missed most. I woke up to it and I can't handle it. I want the walkers back. I want the struggle back. I want you back. Because in our world we fought together to survive, here you owe what you have. Maybe it took the world to turn for me to see the consumerism of humanity, how everything has a price- even basic human rights.

You're probably safe. Alive, definitely.

And I bet you think I'm dead.

When I woke up, here that is, all I saw was blinding light. And I hurt all over in a hospital gown and clean room. I thought I was crazy, that it had all been some ridiculous dream. Like in those horror films where the person is hit by a car and makes up a world to cope- perhaps I invented the walkers to entertain me as I healed. God, wouldn't that make me sick. I wondered where I was hit by the car, and then I was hit in the gut by the strongest feeling of all. Loss. I wanted to go back to sleep, I wanted you to be real because you don't exist without the walkers. I needed danger and squirrels and you. It's so, so lonely without your silence.

On the bright side, you do exist. And so do the walkers. The death, the devastation and bloodshed- all quite real. I'm selfishly glad. That doesn't stop the sinking feeling of being trapped. Maybe being with you too much has changed me, leaving me to pick up your dirty habits. People scare me and four strong walls are the worst thing I've ever felt. Claustrophobic. I can't breathe in here, and I can't settle the feeling in my stomach that I used to associate with seeing a walker.

I need out. I want out. I will find a way out.

There are people who are good, people who are changed and people who are bad. This woman's bad. It follows her around like some sort of reeking pheromones, even when levelling with me about her plans and reasoning- there's just something missing. A streak of compassion of sorts. She doesn't care for me, I think she knows I don't buy her bullshit, I think she knows nobody here does. But hell can she slap, worse than Maggie ever did, or perhaps I'm out of practice.

No one here would care if I died. But that doesn't mean they'll let me go. They won't. I think you'd care, and ironically you let me go too. Did you want to? Did you try and find me at all, or just accept it and mope for a day before moving on? I'm still alive. I don't care if you think of me, but I talk to you in my head sometimes to keep myself sane. If I see things how you do I have the greatest chance of trying to escape again.

But I'm determined to get out. I don't care for the trickery of wen my good friend the doctor, he is pathetic as I once was. He's too busy being a tragic figure to be free. I don't care for the police officers either, patrolling the wasted humanity as if it will ever be the same. That's the scary type of delusion. You have to sue people's eyes to see their soul, and everyone here have eyes that scream 'let me out' but they're all too afraid to try. Or rather, they're too afraid to try and succeed. Except for Joan. Poor, poor Joan.

He touched me. This fucking police guy put a hand up my top and tried to touch me. I should've been disgusted, but I felt nothing at all. Just daggers coming out my eyes, not my anger, yours. A little bit of you is still in me, the surviving part. The part that let the walker get the police man for me, the part that took a minute to watch it tear him apart a little bit satisfied inside. Don't you see? I'm not that primal, that's not me.

I took that little bit of you and jumped down that elevator shaft. Channelled the great spirit of hostility into killing walkers and running, nothing was important to me, nothing but freedom. And I was caught. But Noah, Noah got through the fence. Pavement against my chest, pain all over my exerted body and my mouth fell to a smile. If he can get free then it's possible to be free. Noah has every chance to find his people, to survive on his own merit and live. It's possible to live outside these walls. It's possible. Possible.

I'll tell you what I know.

1) These people took me.

2) They healed me.

3) They want me here to pay my debt.

4) She hates me.

5) The doctor isn't bad.

6) The police man is dead.

7) Noah is free.

These are what I have to make a plan. And I will make a plan and keep on fighting and fighting and fighting. Because you're a person who is good. Because I am a person that is changed. Because she is a person that is bad.

If I don't make it, which is a probable ending here- if I don't see you again, just know that you are the most special person I know. I'll fight my way back to you.

And then I saw her.

It's so, so lonely without your silence.


End file.

Walking Dead, Hurt-Comfort, Tragedy