They say in this world, it's easy to lose your humanity. But what is humanity anyway? Can it be gained as easily as it can be lost? How does one define the amount of humanity another possesses? Can humanity be measured in ounces and pounds? I mean you don't just walk around saying, "you sir, you have 7 pounds and 3 ounces of humanity." It just doesn't work like that. Humanity is so much more.
After breakfast I say goodbye to my dad and his crew, who are joined by the new guy, Bob. Dad tells me to be good while he's gone and do whatever Carol tells me, he says he'll be back before sunset. One must hope, right?
After the dust settles I go back up to the pavilion and help Carol scrub the dishes with Patrick. He scrubs and I dry. When almost all the dishes are on my right instead of my left I see Carl walk up out of my peripherals. His cheeks and forehead are smudged with dirt and his fingers are stained with earth and chlorophyll from weeds pulled up. He's wearing his flannel shirt too and his hair is damp with sweat against his forehead and neck. It's even longer now.
"Hey Patrick, Sam," he acknowledges me, "when are you gonna get outta here?" He's talking to Patrick again, he doesn't care when I'm done or what I do. Which if he actually asked me, I'm probably just gonna go back to my cell and read. I'm reading the third Harry Potter now, for the fourth time.
Patrick hands me the final dish, I wipe it down, "Right about now." He says. Patrick puts the brush down and wipes his hands dry on his pants. He looks at Carl for a moment, asking a silent question, and then Carl gives a silent answer, then Patrick looks back at me, "Hey Sam, you wanna come with us?" Getting invited to do stuff? This is a first.
I think about it for a moment, "What are y'all gonna do?"
Carl picks up a ball at his feet that I hadn't noticed before, "Well, my dad wants me to be a good kid and play, so we were gonna go play soccer out in the field." He tosses the ball at me and I catch it with ease, probably more than he expected, his eyes start to crinkle in the corners, "It'd be cool if you'd join us. Patrick's good and all, but we could use some real competition." It takes a second to realize he means me. My eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Oh really?" I smirk slightly, "Is that so? Well I guess I'll just have to come since you're desperate," I roll my eyes dramatically and Carl smiles so his teeth show, I like that smile the best. I set down the rag and make sure Carol doesn't need anything else done, she doesn't. She tells me to go have fun and be a kid. Right, because that's a thing anymore.
"So, you think you can take me and Patrick?" Carl asks
I chest pass the ball back to Carl and I can tell he is caught off guard. He catches the ball, but his eyes widen and he looks at me like he can't believe what I've just done, "I can take you." I'm not sure how the hell this conversation is coming so naturally to me, nor where my sudden burst of confidence came from. But I like it, it's better than stuttering every time I come within fifteen feet of Carl. I also don't understand how we haven't talked to for an entire month and yet he acts like this is an everyday occurrence.
"Wanna bet?" Carl's expression is dead set on mine now. His eyebrows are slightly pointed downward but his eyes sparkle with the idea of a challenge. Every word he speaks is competitive and he's eager for this kind of interaction, while Patrick's good and all, he's just not the assertive type- I didn't know I was either, but today I am.
"What am I gonna win?" I chuckle, I cross my arms and lift my chin confidently.
Carl narrows his eyes a bit and laughs slightly, he raises his eyebrows, "Wow, really stepping out there, I see." He bites his lower lip slightly and studies me a little more, like this is what he's been missing out on. Ha, is he sure wrong.
"Why not?" I shrug. Patrick is just standing there, eyes darting back and forth at our poor shot at witty banter.
"Alrighty then," Carl steps forward, to shake my hand, "Winner gets Michonne's next candy haul."
I consider the deal and stretch my hand out to meet his, his hand is warm and dirty, and as we shake on it, the dirt spreads to my hand, but I don't mind, "It's a bet. But you're gonna be sorry when I get the Big Cat." I taunt him with a singsong tone.
"Oh it's on," I hear Carl mutter and then, we all unanimously burst out sprinting to the field, without any previous discussion otherwise.
The sprint is good and hard and Carl and I are nearly tied, with Patrick at the back, probably something to do with his asthma. Carl throws the ball ahead so he can run better. I speed up chasing after it and he's on my tail. My feet pound the concrete and pound softer as we get to the grass. Carl passes me for a moment and then I give one last big push and I get to the ball first. But he steals it out from under my foot an instant later.
"I win," his smirk is killer and I have to bite my tongue to make sure I stay focused. He is victor, but only for now. The game has yet to begin.
We wait for Patrick and he walks up a few minutes later, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Carl and I exchange a serious glance and we both agree that Patrick should serve as mediator instead of playing.
"Shall we get you another partner to play against me?" I ask, nodding toward the younger kids over by the fence.
Carl shrugs, "Whatever, maybe we can get a real team going."
"Bet's still on though," I remind him.
"Well duh, I'm not missing out on that kind of opportunity," he elbows me slightly, and I elbow him playfully back and we head over to the other kids. Patrick catches up, he's breathing easy again.
As we get closer my skin begins to prickle, something is very wrong here, the kids are near the fence laughing, at the walkers. Laughing. There isn't anything funny about a flesh eating monster.
"Nick look over here!" Lizzie calls and the others laugh and cheer.
"Nick! Nick over here!" shouts Luke. They're all smiling and waving and it makes my gut wrench.
"Hi Nick!" they all cheer on and off, not in time or in rhythm, they just do over and over until I just want to scream at them all to stop.
"What the hell are they doing?" I mutter under my breath
Carl shakes his head slightly and pushes past me, the soccer ball settled into the crook of his arm, "You're naming them?" Carl's lip curls up in disbelief. I can't say I blame him.
Little Mika speaks up first, she's only ten and might just not know better. But that's a far shot, "Well, one of them has a nametag, so," she gives a slight, innocent shrug, "we thought all of them should."
This is why it can't be this way. This is why we can't shelter them and ourselves from this. They start believing they aren't monsters anymore. That somehow, these brain dead freaks have regained some humanity even after passing. And it's absolutely ridiculous. Impossible. There are enough living humans without the humanity and morality in this world, they've gone cold like the walkers. Soulless and impartial to who they kill and why. We just live among monsters now. Dead and alive. That's why sheltering is impossible, because you end up like this. Naming walkers. Unbelievable. I roll my tongue over my chapped lips. I cross my arms uncomfortably and pop a disapproving hip.
Carl is quick to correct Mika, "They had names when they were alive. They're dead now." He reminds her. He reminds all of them.
Lizzie curls her lip at Carl like he's the sick one, "No they're not." She shrugs one shoulder, "They're just different." There's no hesitation to the execution, no remark that what she's saying is wrong. She wholeheartedly believes the words she speaks.
Carl's eyes widen for a moment, "What the hell are you talking about? They don't talk, they don't think, they eat people. They kill people!" he grits his teeth slightly, furrowing his brow.
Lizzie is quick to counter him, "People kill people. They still have names."
Carl lets out an angered sigh, I want to step in, but I don't know how. I just watch, I watch like Patrick. I just do what I'm best at, observing.
He goes on to ask Lizzie if she's watched the change. And I shudder remembering my own experience. Lizzie sets her jaw and her eyes go cold to Carl's, "Yeah. I have."
Carl still won't let up from his lecture mode, and I can see him breaking out, from his farmer mold that he was put into so unwillingly, he knows the truth. Like I do. Carl and I see eye to eye that way. "They aren't people, and they aren't pets, so don't name them." He chastises. Ok, they've had enough. I grab Carl's arm, and pull him back towards the empty field. We won't have a team but there's still a game to be played. I have to look on the bright side, right?
Carl looks at me, and then releases another sigh, "Come on," I say quietly. He stares at me for another moment and then we leave. Lizzie mutters something to the others about reading and they go in the opposite direction.
Halfway back to the field area, Carl hands me the ball, "I, I don't want to play anymore." His lips draw tightly together. And I know what it is. It isn't a want, it's a can't. He's as sickened by the idea of playing kid as I am.
"You can have the candy." I tell him, trying to give a small reassuring smile. But he just nods and fumbles at his waist for the gun that isn't there. I look at that boy that walks back towards the prison and realize he is trying to win back the humanity that he tried to hide losing in the first place.
