I know what comes after death.
Most people think that there is one of two places they go after they kick the bucket. They go up, to heaven, some glittery white palace in the clouds, with big gold gates that keep out the riff raff like me. Not like they have to, I wouldn't want to go there anyways. No Dixon ever got themselves inta heaven. Cept maybe Daryl...he mighta had a fightin chance.
The other assumption is down. Hell. Fire and brimstone, and the devil, pokin at ya with a pointy stick forever. Screams and cries of agony and despair echoing off some great cavernous walls or some shit like that. I thought if I was going anywhere it woulda been hell for sure.
But neither of those places fuckin exist. There's only one option, one place that few truly believe in, but everyone ends up here, no matter if yer Christian, Jewish, chinese, white, man, woman, good or fuckin bad. Including me. It called fuckin limbo. Purgatory. The middle of butt-fuck nowhere.
An immense, endless in between. It's basically identical to the real world here. Got tree, grass, clouds and shit. Cept it's grey here. I never thought I'd miss colours, but fuck. I'm forgettin shit like... what sunsets looks like. I know they're red and orange and yellow. But for the life of me I can't remember what those colours look like. I can't stand runnin into people and not knowin what colour their eyes are. Sound ridiculous, but it fuckin bugs me beyond belief. Anyways, that ain't even the worst part.
The worst is bein attached to yer old shell of a body until it dies properly. Maybe before this shitty apocalypse it was different. When you died, you were stone cold dead. I think it has something to do with those prayers that they say at the funeral. Like proper rights or some shit like that. But now it means yer around till someone puts your flesh-eating, pox ridden corpse down and buries ya.
Yeah.
I was in there when Daryl found me.
Just a little shred of me, way in the very back, trapped in my own mind. Nearly killed myself trying to take control of my damned body, and even then it was completely pointless. It wasn't me anymore, not really. It still killed me that it had to be him. Outta all those assholes, they let him find me.
The look on my baby brothers face...that is something I never wanted to see. That vulnerability. That terror. That fuckin heartbreaking fuckin despair. Never knew Daryl could come apart at the seams like that. Not over me.
I always called him a pussy fer being weak like that, fer feelings that weren't spite and disdain and hatred, but it was really just jealousy. I was so jaded, I couldn't even feel anything that wasn't those things anymore.
But I felt...somethin when I saw Daryl lookin like that. It was almost...real. Almost. Somethin...like sorrow. And regret. I think that's what they were. And anger. At myself. Fer fuckin everythin up, and fuckin him up so thoroughly. He deserved better than me, although no one could love him more than I did. Not ever. The one solid truth of my life.
And my stupid ass corpse wanted to eat him.
Every fiber of what was left if me cried out for him to run. Run Daryl, run! Don't just stand there and cry! I thought I taught you better than that boy! Don't let me tear you apart, eat you up like so much meat.
In contrast, even as I was saying these things, I was begging and pleading, don't go little brother. Please don't go! Don't leave me like this, anything but that. Kill me, please just kill me so I don't have to suffer being a monster again, once in a lifetime is more than enough.
And still, an even smaller part of me broke completely. Because of the tears pouring down his face. Because of the whimper that he tried to choke back. Because I knew I was leaving again, and I wasn't ever coming back and I was abandonin him completely and totally.
I didn't feel anything when he stabbed my corpse...no that aint true. I felt relief. I was relieved that he did it. And that he was safe. Even as my spirit floated over him, lying in the fetal position, sobbing, I was just relieved. Relieved he put me down. And that he was still alive. And that he could feel.
I don't mind going so much now. Time in limbo goes by differently. I mean, it only took me roughly two hours to die, come back and be found by Daryl. It felt like 2000 years. So honestly, I don't mind that Daryl poured lighter fluid all over me, and set me on fire. I appreciate that he made the time to burn me. He had to have had better things to do.
The fact that he dug a hole for my ashes as well...
Christ, that just floors me.
I musta done somethin right in life, to deserve sharing blood with Daryl. But I suppose I'll never figure it out. Most of limbo is waiting, especially now that the dead don't really die and most of them who do, aren't buried properly to let them leave.
But I'm leaving. Don't know what's next, and I don't really care much to be honest. I'll be able to finally stop worrying bout Daryl though. He'll be fine.
As fer me...hell I don't know. I suppose I'll just wait for that little shit to kick the bucket. He just better go down swinging, or an old man, or he'll have one hell of a lecture to listen to.
I'll have had plenty of time to get it all worked out after all.