Warning. Self-harm advisory.

Another inevitable setting sun begins its descent, bleeding profusely across the distant horizon. Undeniable beautiful swatches of red and pink staining the darkening night sky. Reminding the lonely Alice, whom is sitting atop a dusty rock, of the blood that is running down her forearm. It pools at the base of where the wrist meets her palm, then lazily dripping on to the warm desert sand, with a plop. The drop of blood sinking immediately into the dry thirsty sand. The unwavering humidity of the forsaken desert evaporates all traces of any moisture, leaving a wondering Alice, if there ever was a blood drop to begin with.

A gentle wind flows through her hair and caresses her cheek, making her wonder if someone else's hand could touch her just as gently. Just as lovingly.

A singular form walking unsteadily out in the desert landscape catches her eye. At first it is hard to make out amongst the swirling sands being blown by the desert winds, but soon the figure hobbles into focus. Alice can tell by the way the man carries himself that he's one of the infected even without his missing left arm. They usually travel in herds like the violent flesh hungry beasts that they are but this zombie is like her...alone. It stumbles a few feet further, it's still a good 300 yards away from Alice before the desert heat finally makes the lone infected collapse to the ground. Rotten muscle and tendons, no longer able to hold the former human upright.

Alice shifts her gaze from the undead attempting to crawl on the ground, back to her arm. Dried blood trails indicate there was some form of trauma, but wiping away the dried flecks of blood reveals no scar tissue. It's as if there wasn't damage in the first place.

Sighing in frustration, she places the knife-edge in the exact same place where the dried blood begins, and slowly drags the blade across her skin. Watching the skin spread open like a dropped book whose pages fall open. Exposing the stark white meat underneath several layers of dermis, which slowly fills up with blood. Like overflowing liquid in an inadequate sized cup, the blood spills over and weaves its way down. Lifting her hand up the watch what unfolds, the blood travels towards her elbow, leaving a dark trail of blood.

Another drop of blood falls into the waiting hands of the thirsty sands.

Alice doesn't mind the pain, for it dissipates within seconds. It isn't that she enjoys the pain, either. Alice thinks of an old cliché that eerily fits the situation. Because of what she is, there is no rest for the wicked.

Especially, not her.

For she is a monster. A former human that was created in a laboratory and she deserves no less in her self-inflicted punishment. Umbrella Corporation gave her the gift of life, but at the cost of her humanity. They gave her abilities that she didn't ask for. Alice feels nothing more than a tool, or a weapon that's meant to destroy at the hands of whoever wields her.

Gripping her favored boot knife, she quickly draws the knife across her arm, three times in quick succession. Each parallel cut begins to bleed profusely, but within a few minutes, the cuts have healed up and the scar tissue already have mended, disappearing completely. Several dried blood trails crisscross Alice's left arm, from her elbow to her wrist.

Alice thinks her arm, with the myriad of dried rust colored trails, looks eerily beautiful.

The thought of, if only the veins at her wrists wouldn'theal as quickly. She might find her own corner of heaven from the hellish world that Umbrella created, all thanks to the sharpened edge of her favorite boot knife.

Such grim thoughts are swept aside along with the dried blood that Alice tries to clean from her forearm.

She can sense someone approaching her, looking for her.

Hastily putting back on her duster and putting the knife back in her boot, Alice tries to appear as if she wasn't doing something that would certainly cause concern. The long sleeve of the duster will cover up any dried blood she might have missed. The approaching figure won't know what she was up to.

"There you are." An emerging Claire casually steps up to Alice. "I was wondering where you ran off to." She gives a lazy smile to the peculiar recluse, hoping that Alice might see the barely hidden concern in her features and tone of voice.

"I just wanted to get away for a little." Alice offers. Hoping that Claire won't pry any further. "I enjoy watching the sunset. The colors remind me of... happier times."

Sensing that Alice wants to be alone, Claire decided to change the subject. But she doesn't want to leave the brooding woman alone, so she invites her to dinner, with the rest of the convoy. "Otto said he's whipping up something nice for dinner. Are you hungry?"

"No."

Claire knows Alice hasn't eaten in several days. Unbeknownst to Alice, Claire takes into account the well being of everyone in her charge. Including Alice, who prefers to stay away from everyone else. She doesn't know why Alice prefers her solitude, but she respects her enough not to pry.

"Ok." Gently walking backwards, Claire gives the lone woman another soft smile. Pushing wayward hair out of her face and up behind her ear, she turns around and walks away.

Alice doesn't mind the gentle, almost loving, prodding of the convoy leader. Seeing the concern etched on the redhead's beautiful features, pulls something in Alice. She doesn't like to be the cause of the worry in the already overburdened convoy leader, but it's better to remain obtuse. It's just safer for everyone if she doesn't let anyone in.

Pulling out the knife again, she runs calloused fingers over the re-sharpened edge, eliciting old familiar urges to cut, and tear open her own skin to draw blood. The more blood the better. Releasing the endorphins that cover her body from head to toe in delicious shivers. The more beautiful the skin will look when painted with the brushwork of vivid blood-red paint.

Something in the air causes Alice to look up. To point her nose up to the sky and sniff the air. A faint hint of... something that smells... edible. Alice wonders what it is, and draws in a huge breath through her nose. It smells like cooked meat and something that must be a vegetable. Perhaps potatoes?

Alice isn't at all surprised. Claire is notorious for her temper and her stubborn ways.

Alice should've known she wasn't going to be let off the hook so easily.

Sure enough, Claire comes within sight, carrying two plates.

"Alice, you take one of these plates of food, or so help me..." Purposely leaving the threat hanging the air.

Alice can't help but smirk at the idea of being brought food by the leader of a ragtag group of survivors, knowing that she herself, is still relatively a stranger to the group. Only being amongst the survivors for about a week.

The brooding woman looks at the sun-kissed hands, holding two very worn and very obviously cracked porcelain plates, containing food. Steaming food. It appears to be some kind of pink meat with string beans and sliced carrots. All out of whatever canned goods Otto stores in his truck. She actually loves the look on Claire's face. Pure determination with some layered concern underneath. She knows she is not getting out of this. Might as well enjoy what's been brought to her, and the beautiful lady who won't back down.

Standing up and dusting herself off, Alice takes one of the plates and utensils rolled in a napkin. Realizing Otto must keep a secret stash of paper napkins somewhere. Or this is a special occasion if Claire brought actual paper napkins to dinner.

"Please join me, your grace." With a sarcastic sweep of an arm and a bow, Alice motions for Claire to join her on the dusty rock. Enjoying the opportunity to tease Claire a little. Watching a little bit of a blush appear on the cheeks of the convoy leader, is very much worth it.

"Oh my, but of course. You are very kind." Plopping down on her butt, Claire seemingly can't resisting teasing Alice as well. Grabbing her spork, she hesitantly starts eating. She knows she won't enjoy the meal, because the guilt will kill her appetite. The convoy shouldn't waste the food in these large proportions. But Otto insisted having some semblance of a real dinner to help lift the deflating morale. Plus, Alice in her stoicism, refuses to eat. Claire doesn't want Alice to starve herself. So bringing a plate full of food and a refusal to take no for an answer, is what it would take to get Alice to eat something. Even if that means Claire has to lead by example. Forcing herself, even though she doesn't want to, to eat her own rather bland plate of food.

The ladies enjoy the quiet time to finish off their dinner.

"Um...thank you for the food, Claire. "

"No problem." Not wanting to overstep any bounds, Claire is hesitant to say what she really wants to say. Deciding to go through with it, she takes a deep breath. "I know that you haven't eaten in several days. There a reason you starve yourself?"

"I just... don't need as much food as everyone else. I don't want to waste it."

"What? That's bullshit, Alice. You have to eat, too."

"A little starvation won't kill me. I'm not that lucky." Not wanting to admit the truth to Claire, that she already starved herself several times to see what would happen to her body. She becomes physically weaker, more lethargic, but death isn't to be found that way.

"Well... like it or not, you're part of this convoy. So you ARE my responsibility, and that includes eating whenever the rest of the group eats."

Alice couldn't help but smile at the fiery Redhead. Slowly losing herself in the returning smile.

Several seconds pass before Claire realizes she's staring at the mysterious shaggy-blonde loner. Her eyes rebelliously travel to Alice's plush looking lips, wondering how soft they might feel.

Looking back up, meeting Alice's eyes, realizing Alice is feeling the same way. The same darkening semi-hidden lust is evident in her eyes.

"Claire-"

"Alice-"

Both women snicker at each other's simultaneous name calling.

"I should go. I have... duties to attend to." Claire sheepishly mentions.

"Of course," Alice politely answers. "I'll... see you around?" Hope laced into the question.

"Of course."

With a smile, the redhead grabs Alice's plate and utensils and walks off towards the rest of her group.

Watching the convoy leader walk away with a bounce in her step, Alice rolls up her sleeve, and looks down at her wrist. Watching the jerking rise and fall of the blood being pumped through her veins.

Looking back out into the distance, the fallen man hasn't covered much ground in its attempt to crawl towards a food source. It's shoulders bob up and down, attempting to crawl, but with one arm and the sluggish nature of the things, it must be having a very difficult time. Not that Alice feels anything even remotely sympathetic to it. It deserves its fate.

Alice watches the wind blow sand over the undead, slowly covering it. Soon enough, it'll be completely buried. Buried and forgotten, where it won't harm any of the remaining survivors.

Alice realizes its grim fate reflects herself. Dead and buried but unable to find peace in the afterlife.

Pulling the knife out of its sheath, Alice wonders if she should sharpen it again.

Biting her lip, Alice presses the knife as hard as she can, across her wrist and pulls violently.

To be continued...