Philip sat in the corner of his tent, the night was cold, silent, and dead, and for some reason it reminded him of memories he wanted cleared.
It reminded him of one of the nights him and Milton had to cram next to each other with Penny in Philips arms during the first week everything went down.
He remembered it was cold and they were hiding inside of an old storage room, outside was Woodbury still filled with the dead.
He remembered how Milton always kept him up with his thrashing in his sleep. How he'd have to tuck Penny in and tend to Milton.
The few times he had to keep Milton under one arm so he wouldn't be so scared. At the time it irritated him to think a grown man was like his little girl.
Philip squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head lightly; he wanted the memory to go away. But it only changed to a new one.
Now in his mind played the day Philip had tried to teach Milton how to defend himself.
He laughed every time Milton nearly yelped when the gun fired, how he would give him a lecture of not to drop the knife and run when confronted with a biter.
Philip had his head in his hands now; no matter what he did he couldn't shake the thoughts. He'd tried thinking of what to do next, fiddled with anything in the tent. Tried to think of how much he hated the prison. But it all lead back to all he had left, the memories that haunted his mind and reminded him of what he'd done.
Now in his mind played the last memory he used to cherish before things got bad.
It was the time Milton had come to Philips place in attempts to cheer him up. His friend's attempts to comfort him after he'd lost Penny.
He remembered how Milton stood in front of him after he realized he couldn't cheer him up or comfort Philip. How he looked him up in the face, for the first time the smaller man's voice didn't hesitate as he swore he would do anything necessary to find a cure. How he would keep trying till Philip could have his little girl back.
It wasn't the happiest memory, but he cherished it because he knew his friend would try his hardest for him.
Philip sat there in the silence of his tiny tent. And in the dark of it he could feel a wetness form on his hands. Lifting his head, he gazed down at his hands to see wet streaks covered them. He felt the same on his face; they burned against his skin as he only continued to stare down.
He knew what he was doing, and he wasn't in the least impressed with himself. He did what he had to do and it was done, but why was he now sitting in the dark, crying.
It wasn't in The Governors nature to let such vulnerable emotions out, but rather it was Philip Blake's.
And in return he only let out an angry filled scream, disappointment in himself and regret carried along with it.
He'd let himself get lost in something he was never meant to have; power.
Now he remained alone with nothing but mere memories, never to experience another with the ones he once loved.
Philip returned to silence as he regained a little of his composure.
Staring in front of him, he imagined Milton and Penny sat in front of him now. He tried to imagined how they would smile at him with reassurance and love, how he'd return the same smile.
Instead he lowered his head and shut his eyes. "I'm sorry."