Clementine slowed the truck to a stop when she saw the creature in front of her, looking like a deer in headlights.
Damn walker, she thinks as she looks at the pathetic creature. It had no shirt on and one arm, pants were splattered with blood. It had been a man, but she wasn't sure anymore.
It was such a weird thought that this thing was at one point a man. A living breathing man. Maybe he had a family. Or parents who cared for him. Or maybe he was alone, like she was.
He seemed like he probably died within the year, most likely the recent winter, and it made her slightly sad.
Did he die alone? Was it a walker? Did he give up?
She grabs her knife from the passenger seat of the shitbox she was driving, and steps out slow and cautiously.
Did it hurt? Did it hurt to die? Was it quick or horribly long?
She wonders if maybe he was apart of a group that didn't work out. Or maybe he was the last of them all. Maybe he watched his best friend die. Clementine slowly walks toward this man, who's slightly moaning at the smell of fresh flesh in sight.
Do you have any idea what you're doing? Is there something in there screaming, forever stuck in having no control? Are you even human anymore?
As she steps closer, his eyes almost looked sad. Maybe he'd be happy to be taken from this world. Put to a place where he wasn't suffering as one of those things.
Did you cry out? Did you stay silent? Did you fight? Did you sacrifice for someone else?
She moves to the back of him, and quickly, before he knew what hit him, she stabbed the side of his head. He moaned but the hit the ground. Both of them were breathing shallowly, in sync almost. She kneels next to him.
You're lucky. You're out of this hell hole. Us, the living, we're stuck.
And after one last angry stab, she walked back to her truck.