Disclaimer: I don't own The Grey, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Open Road Films and their respective owners. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

How To Keep On Living


He steps outside, tries to slam the door behind him. He can't take the smell; can't take the laughter within the bar. Even in the snow, the chill of wind and ice doesn't touch him through that thick, white coat.

You can't see anything out here at night. Nothing, in what seems to be a god-forsaken wilderness.

He finds himself walking. One, two, three steps; loses count, and forgets about it. At least six inches of snow rest around him. He drops, knees sinking deep, the rifle still slung quietly over his shoulder.

The barrel finds its way past his teeth, and his hands tremble. It smells of blood and death, this piece of metal which fends off the wolves. Tapping the trigger, he wants to let go. It's just a shame he can't quite remember what happened to her.

He sees her all the time, but can't hear her voice; can't take in her touch, her smell.

She smiles at him across the distance in his mind, perhaps asking her to come to him; perhaps telling him to stay.

His hands curl around the barrel, and he bows his head. John doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know how to keep on living.