The song that played in the car was muffled by the lousy noises of the dodge black charger 1970 as the driver revved the motor engines speeding up as he left the only route, snaking the classic car into the dry wilderness. The driver, Rick Grimes, wasn't in the mood of hearing Christopher Cross on the radio because the song brought back painful memories:"And I'll never be the same without you here! I'll live alone, hide myself behind my tears! No, I'll never be the same without your love! I'll live alone, try so hard to rise above!" Irritated, Rick took out the record player from the audio system, and picked it up Never be the same disco, smashing it to pieces with his bare hands and then he threw it out of the car, amidst the red sands. He was a Kamikaze behind the wheel. The car went full scale speed, sliding over the dunes. He changed gears in order to go faster as he put his left arm out of the window feeling the atmosphere. His fingers felt the cold but dry presence of the desert winds. The hot, soul-scorching heat was unbearable as he felt his clothes stick to his skin. Passing closer to dry bushes, giant boulders and a smattering of green palm trees scattered in the surroundings, he felt a switch in the temperature. The air was damper. He could almost taste the salted and humid air on his dry mouth. As he sensed he was getting near the beaches, Rick grabbed harder the steering wheel, clutching the pedal and changing the automatic gear shift lever onto full scale, like a speed racer. Although, it was supposed to be a smooth and calm car ride, it felt like a wild chase from law and order. His eyes wandered, not looking in an exact direction, nor was he thinking reasonably and clearly. His thoughts were like endless labyrinths because Rick was so confused that he didn't know what to think next. Not knowing which way to go because all the locales seemed the same, he decided to drive straightforwardly, hoping to hear the sounds of the sea tides soon. With a nervous streak while he gripped the steering wheel with his right hand as he was driving the car, with his his left hand he starting to hit himself: he slapped his own wrinkly white face and pulled his curly gray hair, smearing his nose, chin and neck, leaving crimson bruises all over his face. His eyes, bluer than the Mediterranean Sea, reflected a savage rampage of madness and desperation as tall as the high peaks of the Himalayan mountains. The feeling of emptiness, guilt, of his misery and impotence before God, just accentuated his humility, his remorse and his humiliation. He remembered those that he left behind and the ones that he lost. Above all, he remembered what he didn't do in every situation that life threw at him. All of his actions were not, in any way, the right one. The right decisions he was supposed to make. Tears came out of his blue eyes made of aquarium tiles, as if God glazed the sea, framing the waves into two marbles and sculpting into Rick's azure orbs. And his hair. Lori loved his hair. The tone of his hair were of a mucky color as if God's angels painted them with the earth's soils. The bright sun was high on the skies, flashing its rays of blazing energies below the horizons. He drove for hours but still, no view of the bay. Making his car do a 360 spin drift, he, later on, got out of the car, still the motor was on, opening the trunk taking from there a shovel. Afterwards he took off his blue jacket and threw it on the car's back seat. His cowboy boots hit hard on the gauzy grounds as he walked on and on looking for the right spot on the picturesque landscape. He was gonna dig the ground. Maybe he would be digging his own grave or he would be digging an underground tunnel that led all the way to China seas. That was up to fate to decide. He started digging the sands without any hopes of finishing and he prayed that the next day would never come.