AN: KEITH IS NOT DEAD NOR DO I INTEND ON KILLING HIM. Okay. Now that I've gotten that out... Sorry this took so long. I recently started my Spring quarter college classes and have been extremely busy. Also, because of that, sorry if it sucks art all... :I In this chapter, I'm introducing a past sequence/flash back. Let me know what you think.

Of Curses and Blessings

I must be the most unlucky son of a bitch in the world. Though sometimes I thought I was the luckiest. It was always one extreme or the other, never anywhere in between. When I was younger, I had always assumed my bad luck was natural and that I was meant to live in an unloving environment.

My parents were constantly fighting while they were together in our tiny, broken down home on the edge of town, and when they weren't, they would take it out on me. Mom was by far the worst, having the mindset that my dad and I were both useless piles of shit that she had gotten stuck with. She was also one of the most unfaithful things you'd ever meet, having at least two different men a month to cheat on my father with. When they would leave her, it was always my fault and any excuse was good enough for her to take her frustration out on me. Even if she wasn't angry, she would find reasons to punish me, including boredom.

Dad's worst demon was his drinking. Either he was drinking at home or drinking at a bar. His addiction might have started when my mother started to become abusive, but I was so young at the time, I don't even remember it being any different. He wasn't as much physically abusive, but emotionally, giving me the title of any offensive, dirty object he could come up with in his drunken stupor. Granted I would get a bottle or a plate thrown at me once and a while, but he never really touched me. Most of my early scars came from my mother.

Just when I began to loose hope, a miracle happened and I made my first friend in the whole wide world. I had been walking back from shopping at the grocery store for my mom when I came across a whole lot of people bringing boxes into a house from a big truck. People were moving back and forth, too busy to notice anything else and I was watching one of the burley moving men when I noticed a kid standing off to the side. They looked about my age, but no matter how long I stared, I couldn't figure out of they were a boy or a girl. With a thin frame and wavy black hair that rested on their shoulders, it was really hard to tell.

I hadn't realized that I had been staring until they looked over with their bright emerald eyes and called out, "Hey!" They must have seen me jump from the sudden noise because they smiled and ran over. "That looks mighty heavy, carryin' all that," they said, looking over my load.

"Y-Yeah... Yeah, it is," I replied, stuttering slightly. "I'm used to it though... Bringin' it back for my mama..."

"Lemme help you it, anyhow. I ain't got nothin to do since they won't let me help bring stuff in." They moved forward, taking two of the bags from me before I could pipe out any form of protest. "Which way you live?"

"Um..." I stared at them for a moment longer before nodding down the road. "That way. I can assure you it ain't as pretty as yours though..."

They just smiled and started walking. "So? It's not like you can go around judgin' someone by the way their house looks. Just like their own appearance. My name's David, by the way. David Jones. Just moved here from Kansas with my parents. You can call me Dave, though. Not Davey. Don't want no one callin' me Davey Jones."

I just nodded and stared at them as we walked down the dusty road. So they were a boy; good to know. "Keith Taylor," I said after a moment. "I just turned eight about a week ago."

Dave's smile widened at that. "Guess that makes me about seven months older than you."

Giving a small smile, I nodded, stopping a bit down the road from my ramshackle house. "Uh... That's my house down there on the left... I can take it from here."

The black haired boy blinked, looking at the house. "It's still a way away, though," he objected.

"Yeah, I know..." I took the bags from him, shaking my head. "Don't want my mama to see. She gets mad if anyone helps me with my chores." I smiled, shrugging. "That don't mean I can't come hang with you some other time."

He grinned, his green eyes lighting up. "Yeah, deffinately." Turning, he waved. "Seeya some other time, then, Keith."

"Yeah, Seeya." I was smiling like a fool as I watched that boy run off down the road. It was against my mama's rules to have help or any friends for that matter; I didn't deserve them. Though as I thought about that trip back, I couldn't help but be filled with joy and not care about her damned rules.

The TV could be heard blaring from its place in the living room as I pushed myself through the front door. "Keith! Keith is that you?" my mom's voice bellowed from the same room. I swear, she had the ears of a cat.

"Hi, mama," I muttered, walking past her and into the kitchen. I could feel her glare daggers in my direction as I kept my own eyes forward, still unable to hide the smile on my face. My mother was an overweight woman with a full head of firey red hair like my own, unlike my father, who was balding and relatively skinny for how much he drank.

"Where the hell've you been, boy!? And get that damn smile off your face!"

"Just getting groceries, mama." I said calmly, putting things in the fridge.

That woman moved far too fast for what her body shape should have allowed. I swear she was in the kitchen within a second, smacking me to the ground and screaming in my ear. "Like hell you were! You expect me to believe you were just taking your grand old time with a stroll!?"

I picked myself up, not daring to rub my sore cheek. "A stroll, yeah, mama. And I made a friend along the way." Her eyes widened with a surprise of anger as I continued to put the food away, trying my best to keep the smile from growing too wide.

She grabbed me by my shirt, shaking me violently. "Don't you ever go see this little friend of yours, you hear me boy!? You ain't never allowed to have any friends 'cause you're just a pile'a trash! Got it!?" Throwing me to the floor, she retreated back into the living room, turning the volume of the television up even more.

Slightly dazed, I stayed on the floor with stars in my vision for quite a few minutes, pushing myself up to lean against the counter cabinets. I stared off in the direction she went slightly confused and still slightly dazed from hitting my head on the linoleum floor. That kind of reaction was rarely seen from my mother; that hidden fear of being denied. She had threatened me, yes, but that was a daily occurrence. This was different.

I broke out into the largest smile that had ever crossed my face.

For the first time in my life, I had beaten my mother.

If it was even possible, the relationship between my mother and I became worse after that day. She would come home less and less, but when she was, the punishment would be more frequent and harsh. My dad also began blaming me for my mother's absence, saying I was driving away a loving mother by being so disobedient. It seems his eyes were even more clouded than I originally thought.

Any sane person probably would have broken under such pressure, but luckily I was able to escape my prison on occasion and find solace. Dave was always there for me, be it day or night, and I was always able to find him.

Soon enough, my mother started coming up with reasons and ways to keep me from leaving the house, going as far as breaking my left leg in my bedroom door and telling the doctors I had jumped off the roof of our house. I stuck to the stories but none of it stopped me, and her lies began to give me ideas. There were things more dangerous in the world than my mother, and if I could face them, I could face her. Dave hated that idea.

It was about a month into my second grade year at school and I had started picking fights for the sake of picking fights, thinking it would make me stronger. That didn't sit to well with my mama when she got word of it from the school. I had barely made it through the front door that day after school before she grabbed me and threw me to the floor. She had said that if I wanted to pick a fight, I would pick it with her. That was probably the worst beating she'd ever given me, going to school the next day black and blue from head to toe. I think that was the first time Dave understood the full extent of my relationship with my mother.

"You gotta tell someone, Keith..." He'd said to me that day after school. My momma went around telling everyone that I had gotten into a fight with a neighbor's bull, but Dave knew better. "It ain't right what your mama does to ya..."

"Yeah, it ain't right... But it is how it is. I can't tell nobody, like they'd ever believe me."

Dave had nodded solemnly, wanting to argue further, but unable to find anything to counter with. And so the beatings continued and I still had no courage to speak up. My marks would vary anywhere from cuts and bruises to burns, and my mom would go around telling everyone that I did it do myself, looking for attention. Unfortunately, most seemed to believe it, which is why Dave was really my only friend. Parents would tell their kids to stay away from the bad kid with the red hair and bandages. Dave got a lot of fuss from it from the other kids too, but he stuck up for me. He was the only one who did.

A day about a week from then started like any other. I met Dave on the way to school and we walked the rest of the way together. He would also usually end up sharing his lunch with me since my mom never packed me my own and would hit me if she ever caught me taking food with me. I was sitting with him against the school's fence, nibbling on carrot stick when I heard shouts from across the playground. There were two third graders there, closing in on a first grader who held his lunch box to his chest protectively.

"I know what you're thinking," Dave said, watching me. "Don't you go doin something stupid, Keith."

I smiled, pushing myself off the ground, brushing myself off. "When do I ever do stupid things?" Shaking his head, Dave watched as I walked towards the conflicted trio. "Hey!" I shouted, putting on an angry face.

All three looked over and one of the older kids, a rather over weight boy, scowled, asking, "What do you want, psycho?"

"What do I want? I want you to lay your hands off my pick, fatso." I gave the younger boy a sort of look, hoping he would catch my drift. "Man, I picked this twig out this morning so you better lay off."

Before the other two could say anything, the smaller boy pushed himself forward, putting on a frown. "Hey, I ain't no prize for you to claim, man." He gave the briefest of smiles before suddenly pushing me. "Go find someone else to pick on."

I stumbled back before grinning wildly, shoving back. "Ya wanna fight, boy?" The smaller boy lunged at me, getting a clean punch at my jaw. Without hesitating, I returned the blow, and the cycle continued, the two bullies staring and eventually walking away, muttering something about crazies.

Dave ran over, frowning as the other two boys left. "What in the hell is goin on over here?"

Falling backwards as the last punch was thrown, the two of us broke out into laughter, the younger boy now sitting on top of me. "Man, that was the darndest thing," he said with a giggle. "You got a funny way of rescuin' people, but ya did it all the same. Thanks very much." He took his hat off, revealing a head of dirty blond curls and held up the lunchbox that he never let go of. "My name is Ellis. Those bullies were tryin' ta take my lunch that my mama made special for me. No way I was gonna give it up, but you guys can have some if ya want. She always makes me too much. What're your names, by the way?" Ellis looked down at me with those big blue eyes and gave me that little lopsided smile he took kindly to and my heart nearly broke.

I had decided to be a hero for this kid today, but here he was sitting on top of me. My second savior; I could feel it. Dave gave his name as I continued to stare and I heard him say something about me needing to breathe. Ellis nodded energetically, getting up off of me, allowing me to sit up. I smiled, looking at him. "My name's Keith."

"Well, Keith, I'm thinkin' the three of us're gonna be the best've friends from now on." Both Dave and I nodded in agreement.

He was right.

I cried out as a sharp pain in my side brought me back to reality. Suddenly, I was back in that burning apartment building, not the Savannah of my childhood. The fire had begun to eat away at the living room and I could hear the walls cracking from the heat. Sharp claws continued to dig themselves into my side as I winced and looked at the Hunter that had crossed the room and was now on top of me. It bared its teeth and growled, seemingly annoyed with my daydreaming.

Staring at the thing, I couldn't wrap my head around why I wasn't dead yet. These things just aim to kill, right? Yet these two seemed to be taking their time, like they were toying with me. The Smoker behind me adjusted the tongue around my neck as if to remind me it was there, causing me to shiver. There was no one to save me this time; I needed to get myself out somehow.

Moving as quickly as I could, I brought my knees up to my chest and kicked the Hunter in the face, causing it to fall back with a yelp of pain. I grabbed the tongue around my neck with a hard yank, loosening its grip. Forcing myself up, I made a mad dash for the window. If I could make it to the fire escape, I was sure that I would make it out alive.

Unfortunately for me, they had other plans Just as I reached the window, the Hunter screeched in anger, pouncing on me and knocking me through the three story window, shattering the glass. The only noise that came from me was the sound of something cracking as the wind was knocked out of me on the hard cement below.

Blackness and stars swelled in my vision as I tried to pull myself back together, noticing first how cold and wet I was suddenly. Rain had started to pour down, slowly waking me from my spinning daze and alerting me of the immense pain in my back. I pulled in an agonizing breath as my mind began to race with questions of my safety. Was anything broken? How bad were the cuts from the window? Where were the special infected?

My answers came in the form of a low growl behind me and a wracking cough from somewhere above. Pushing myself up to rest on my elbows, I ignored the pain that shot up my spine and looked for the Smoker. It stood on the fire escape, looking down on me with its blazing yellow eyes.

I grinned up at the special infected and wrapped my hand around a larger shard of glass laying to my left, feeling its sharp edges cut into my skin. "C'mon, ya stupid things... That all you got?" It was probably not a good idea to taunt either of the zombies watching, if they could even understand, but when had that ever stopped me before, right? Besides, I needed to get going. The more time I spent here, the father away Ellis got, and there was no way anything these to did would stop me.

Surprisingly enough, the Smoker only seemed annoyed as it dropped down from the cast iron balcony with a crunch as broken glass ground under its boots. The Hunter, on the other hand, seemed genuinely peeved as it leaped at me with a threatening growl. I turned despite the pain, slashing at its face with my piece of glass, causing it to retreat with a yelp. Two muscular tongues shot out at lightening speed and wrapped themselves painfully around my chest, alerting me that now the Smoker was pissed. Gasping painfully, I grabbed at the moist tendrils as they wrapped farther and tighter around my chest and abdomen, applying a crushing amount of pressure to my insides.

The Hunter growled, hurt and angry, as it crawled back over, a long gash across its darkened eyes. Its claws found their way to my lower back, digging deep into the already scarred flesh. I bit down the pain as much as I could, refusing to scream as the pouring rain thinned my flowing blood, and tried my best to wriggle free, though every inch of my body screamed in protest at the movement. Seeming once again amused by the situation, the Smoker walked idly over to where it had me bound. It clawed at one of my arms, making me cry out from the sudden increase in pain and release my hold. Giving a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter, the Smoker tightened its tongues around me and slammed me into the nearest wall, causing my head to crack against the ragged brick and stars in darkness to burst in my vision once again.

I desperately tried to recover as the blackness faded in and out, bright flashes of lightening breaking through the haze. "C'mon...freaks..." I muttered through my pained fog. "Do your god damned worst... Ain't nothin' gonna stop me from findin' him..." My slurred invitation was answered by a searing pain in my right arm that forced out a short scream as another pain was introduced to the crook of my neck. I struggled the best I could as strength and consciousness continued to leave me. In a time of hopelessness, though, I never really lost hope. As darkness swallowed me completely, I forced out a small, raspy laugh.

I had meant what I said.

They wouldn't stop me.

NOT DEAD.