Jonah

He ran. Ran until his lungs hurt in his chest, till each breath was a painful stab and as desperate as his grip on reality. The bags weighed heavy on his shoulders making his back ache. Finally it was too much, the world blurring past making him dizzy, so he stopped; collapsing in a crumpled heap, nestled between the roots of a tree. He wretched, his stomach turning.

You have to live. Carl turned as he heard Jonah's voice, expecting him to be there, resting on his crutches, looking at him the bemused way he always did. The wind blew through the trees, and the leaves shivered, brushing a melody into the air.

But no Jonah. Nothing and no one.

All alone.

He'd sat there for some time, watching as they feasted on his friend, expecting to feel something, anything. But nothing shifted within in him, there was no gut wrenching guilt, no stab of loss. He was hollow, as hollow as a living breathing person could be. But he didn't feel living, and he really didn't feel like breathing.

I'm not really here, I can't be.

You're in shock. Get up. You need to move. Walker blood or not they'll know you're there eventually. At first he'd ignored his dad's voice, staring at the dirt gathering round his knees, but the he'd got shakily to his feet. He placed the bags on his bag, alerting a walker to his presence. It snapped and snarled at him, the fence bowing under its weight but not giving way. Others began to take notice.

Carl ran. He ran for no other reason than to make sure he still could. That there was somewhere to run to; that the world wasn't small and he wasn't the only on left. He'd started to cry. Tears dripped onto his feet, they fell down his cheek and onto his chapped lips. He tasted them and cried some more.

You need to get a grip. His dad's voice growled at him, from the depths of the darkness. Carl clawed at his head, trying to take deep breaths. They shook through him, but slowly he calmed. The world stopped blurring, and his chest didn't burn.

All alone.

He opened up his bag, taking stock of his items. Ropes, black out curtains, a small stub of a candle, food, water. The book weighed heavily in his hands. It was pointless and it made him angry. So he threw it. It cartwheeled in the air, pages opening to catch the breeze. It landed with a small thud, and Carl screamed at it.

Next was the dog, he threw that in much the same direction he threw the book. Swearing and screaming at the sky. Judith wasn't alive, she couldn't be. There was nothing and no one in the world; no hope, there was no safe place waiting. There was just him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it anymore.

The gun was cold again as he held it. He put the barrel in his mouth, hands still and ready. He pulled the trigger. It clicked at him. He tried again. It clicked again.

Just in case, just in case, just in case. He repeated over and over again each time he pulled the trigger, and each time it clicked at him.

Minus one, Carl. He screamed in anger, his saliva coating the metal as he pulled the trigger over and over, desperate to die, he was ready, he wanted it. He hurled the gun.

'I WANNA FUCKING DIE. YOU HEAR ME.' No one answered. Carl sobbed, curling into himself.

After a while he got up. He picked up the dog, picked up the book, brushing off the dirt. He placed them back in his bag. Then he sorted through Jonah's things, he took the razor, took the small mirror. Then after some deliberation took the picture of Jonah and his wife. He tucked it into the pages of the book, enclosing the smiling pair in the safety of Nine's words.

Then he started to walk, in no particular direction, he just walked hoping to find someone or something to kill him.

I miss Jonah.

Sometimes I think I see him out of the corner of my eye, or hear him laughing. But when I look he's never there.

I miss the fighting, I miss the dancing. Miss the way he'd talk about his wife, keeping her alive for himself, but making her real for me.

I want to tell him that I got away, that I manged to get away from them and all they did to me. My back still hurts, and my head is sore, but I'm alive, and I'm real. It's difficult to keep hoping, to keep dreaming, when there's nothing to look forward to.

Jonah tried to save me, tried to help me. It's because of him that I'm here, sat beneath this tree writing. Jimmy used to say that my writing was just a way to escape the world, getting away from reality. But he was wrong. Writing is my reality, it's my sanity. It's the world I live in all the time. I never leave these pages. What I am without this book is hollow. I feel like a stranger has grown around me, and they're crushing me. I don't know this skin, don't know this world. But when I write, when I think about how things used to be, and write it all down, it makes sense. The world within my book makes sense.

I look back and Jonah is alive within it, he's alive and we are together. It's fragile I know, but what isn't in this world, what isn't fragile. The man that carved my back, he was fragile. His neck snapped like a twig when he fell awkwardly. Then I bashed his head in. That was fragile too. Like cracking open a melon and watching the mushy centre paint the floor.

I wish I could talk to Jonah about it. I wasn't wrong I know that, but I loved it. I smiled at the blood, smiled at the death.

Where is Jonah? I hope he's alive. If there is anyone that could survive it's him. I hope we find each other soon. I'll keep walking and he'll be there waiting, that bemused smile on his face, the stories of his wife behind his eyes. I'm sure I'll see him again.

But I miss him.

Miss his fighting, miss his dancing, miss his unwavering optimism. Without it I don't have much.

Carl read and re read her writing, his tears painting the page with his sadness. He clung to the book, drawing it close to his face, as if seeking some sort of comfort from the words, but they gave him none. They were just words, and he was small and insignificant.

'I miss him too.' He blubbed. The weakness making him cry more. He was weak, he was weak and ready to die. Ready to end it all. He couldn't be alone anymore, he didn't know how to do it.

But he was alone

All alone. And he missed his friend.