Meant to Live
I could feel everything; I could hear everything. But I could see nothing. I could hear the people talking, clearer now than when I had fallen in front of the fences. They were being pretty loud, well, I thought so anyways. It made my head pound, and a sharp pain went through to the back of my head. It was right in the center. One of them was whispering; another was raising his voice. I heard someone shush them, and the voices reduced to almost nothing. And I couldn't hear them talking anymore. I wondered what they were saying, was it about me? Oh no, please don't let it be some sort of gang. See, Brooke? You're a bad luck charm, nice going. Walking right into some gang that'll probably throw you over the fence.
I lay there for a moment, trying to move something, anything. It was like I was in my body, but my body wasn't cooperating. Oh come on! It's the end of the world, and I can't even move? I hoped I wasn't stuck like this, I really hoped I wasn't. And when I tried to open my eyes for the second time, I could feel it. It felt like a bit of life was returning; I felt my body working with me. I opened one eye, slowly, and only just a bit. Everything was blurry, and my vision was swaying. I shook my head, ignoring the fact that it ached more with each movement. I surveyed the room, dark and tiny. A cell? I opened the other just a bit, flicking my eyes to the doorway, but there was no sign of people. Maybe they were deciding whether or not to feed me to the corpses later. Oh shut up, will you? These people obviously wanted you alive, and they haven't done anything to you! They're taking care of you; stop being a judgmental bitch. You haven't even met them.
I sighed, looking down the bed. At least I was tucked in, that was nice of them. I passed my fingertip over the sheet, rubbing it back and forth. It was soft. It kind of reminded me of my old room; god I missed my house. Strange, how you miss something even though all it brings back are bad memories. The ones you try so hard to lock away, but you never really can. Not entirely. I breathed in, laying my head back against the pillow. As soon as it made contact with the cushion, the sharp pain came back. My head throbbed for a moment. Not until I had laid back did I realize the intense pain in my arm. I hadn't even noticed it was bandaged up until now. I lifted it slightly, ghosting my finger over the gauze that had been carefully placed around my wrist.
I picked at the edge of it; did I really want to do this? Don't look at it! But I found my body betraying my mind for the millionth time it seemed, and I started to lift it from where it had been tucked under in folds. Why I wanted to see it I didn't know, but I felt like a failure. It couldn't have been major, or I would be dead. I wanted to see it as clear as day, I wanted to look at what I had done to myself. To feel remorse for what I had done, but as I started to unravel the cloth, I found that I held none. I wasn't sorry for what I had done to myself, but I wasn't exactly angry that it had gone by without affecting me. I was, in a way, content.
"Don't pick at it," someone said, and I nearly jumped right out of my skin. He was standing in the doorway, watching me before entering the cell. He had kind eyes, and a bushy white beard. He wore suspenders, and he carried a black bag that was tucked under his arm. I laughed to myself, thinking of how Summer would be calling him grandpa, and he smiled, pulling over a chair and setting it next to my bedside. I noticed he walked with a limp, but it didn't seem to affect him as much as one would think. He breathed out, setting down. He held out his hand, and my eyes traced the wrinkles in his palm. I looked at him, scrunching up my nose.
"Let me see your arm," he said and I was about to respond, but I didn't have the words. So instead, I looked like an idiot, stiff as a board with my mouth forming a slight O shape. I closed it, and lifted my arm. He took it carefully, unwrapping the white cloth. I looked away when he pulled off the bandage that had been separating my wound from the air. I could hear him breathing; I was stuck in the worst silence.
"You gave Maggie quite a scare," he said, and I raised an eyebrow. He must have been talking about the girl that reached me first. He looked up, smiling faintly before returning back to his work. "My daughter," he finished and I nodded. He had a daughter. If I was going to stay here I might as well get to know the people that saved me.
He turned to the side, getting out fresh gauze and bottles of medicines. "We almost lost you," he said, filling the silence before it could settle back in. I stared at him, and then to the bottles he took out of his bag, searching for the right one I assumed. They all had weird names, except for one that stood out. Rubbing alcohol. I swallowed and stared at the bottle, hoping that if I looked hard enough it would evaporate. But, of course, with my luck it did no such thing. I shifted uncomfortably, staring back at him.
"Um, you're not gonna use that, right?" I asked, nervously laughing to brush off my embarrassment. He looked at me, taking a cloth and unscrewing the cap.
"What's you're name?" he asked, completely switching gears to try and distract me. But no, that wasn't going to work with me.
"My name is Brooke," I said, looking down at the dirtied sheet as he unscrewed the cap on the bottle.
"Well, Brooke. I have to keep the wound clean," he said and I stared at him, if only looks could kill. I'd be home free if that were the case. He held my arm more firmly, not letting me move it. My other hand grabbed the blanket when the cloth touched my skin. I bit down on my lip, tearing through the first layer of skin on the inside. I could taste the small amount of blood, and I winced.
"So, what's your name?" I said through the pain, faking a smile at him, when in reality I wanted to strangle him for putting that in my wound.
He took a clean cloth, wiping away the excess liquid. "I'm Hershel, nice to officially meet you Brooke," he said, laying a bandage down and wrapping it tightly in, sure it wouldn't move. He unraveled the gauze and twisted it around my arm, tucking the end of it under the rest of the soft white material. "I hope I don't have to patch you up anymore," he added, packing up all of his other medical supplies. I paused, about to reach out to tap his shoulder when he turned around. I poked his shoulder with my bony finger, all the while thinking about his comment. Well, maybe he didn't know what had really happened? But he was obviously a doctor of some sort so I was sure he knew, or assumed anyways. He turned back around to face me and I tapped my fingers on the bed sheet.
"Um, do you have any medicine? For a headache?" I stammered, changing what I was going to originally ask at the last second. He sighed, unzipping his bag to retrieve a bottle with only 20 or so tablets left. He handed me the pill, and got up from his chair.
"I'll get you some water," he said, before taking his bag with him, wobbling out of the cell. I turned it around in my palm, until I heard his steps come back to the doorway. He walked in, handing me the half filled cup, and I swallowed it, gulping all of the liquid down. Manners. He took the cup back when it was emptied and he turned to walk away. I reached my arm up, as if to grab him by the collar of his shirt. But he was already almost to the bars of the door, and I now had had the time to question my words.
"Hershel?" I asked, like a small child asking their parents for a toy they saw at Wal-Mart. He turned back to me, grey eyes shining a smile he didn't seem to wear. "Why did you guys bring me in? Why'd you help me?" I asked, picking at my nails and looking down at my hands. Wow, talk about not only embarrassing but kind of degrading.
"Everyone deserves a chance," he said, and I looked up to see him smiling at me.
"Thanks," I said, and he nodded, turning back to the door and walking out. I wished he hadn't left; he would have been someone to talk to. But he had made his way out of the cell and down the hall, leaving me to my thoughts. And they were not comforting.
Hittin' walls and gettin' scars
Only makes you who you are
Only makes you who you are
No matter how much your heart is aching
There is beauty in the breaking