desolation

|two|

desolation

copyright 2015 ©

   I found myself awaking to a new stinging sensation crawling up my arm. My hand had gone numb earlier last night, long before I ever fell asleep, but now it seemed the pain was beginning to return. I groggily managed to peel my eyelids open, sunlight pouring in from the windows overhead causing me to instinctively shield my eyes with my arm, making a huge mistake. I hissed in pain at the sudden movement in my hand, slowly trying to lift myself up with my left side, avoiding use of the right arm entirely. Surely the cut was going to become infected. I didn't have anything to sterilize it with and I only had enough gauze to rewrap it one more time. The cotton had already become drenched in blood overnight, signalling the wound hadn't exactly began to clot like I had hoped.

   I huffed, frowning slightly at the sight. I was a wreck. A total wreck. I used my finger to pick at the edge of the Scotch tape in order to peel it all off, slowly unraveling both it and the gauze. The cut had began to clot-thank God-the blood now darker in color and sort of sticky to the touch, but it was still far from being healed. But I knew that I had way more to worry about than the risk of infection or the rate at which the wound was healing. My fingers could barely bend without the tight gauze wrapped tightly around it like a straight jacket, so once on, my right hand was as good as gone.

   Reaching out for my duffel bag I grabbed the tape and gauze, preparing to wrap my hand again. I could feel my head throbbing, and I wasn't sure if it was from a bad nights sleep or if it was because of the pain in my hand slowly spreading to the rest of my body. Perhaps it was an infection and overnight it made its way into my brain and now it is slowly killing me. Rather far-fetched, but an interesting thought. The former was the most likely idea, seeing as though my duffel bag could hardly compare to a real pillow. I forced myself to rewrap my hand, trying to ignore the painful stinging that came from the cotton as it touched the wound. I began to wonder if it would be less painful to just kill myself now instead of letting the walkers or humans do it, but the thought was quickly excused as I heard a crash from the back of the store. I jumped up off the floor, my left hand going from the handle of my knife, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to fight as good with my left. If I survive, I better become ambidextrous from the experiences I'm sure to be faced with. Otherwise, the whole experience was a total bust.

   "Dammit!" It was a mans voice, that was obvious. He sounded pretty pissed off, so I instinctively grabbed my duffel bag and quietly flung it on my shoulder, preparing to run if necessary. "Someone's already cleared this place out." I assumed since the man was talking that he wasn't alone, that or he was terribly insane, in which I wasn't sure which was worse.

   "I think there's a gas station a couple miles from here. It would be worth it to check." A woman. And hopefully, they were all that were here. I was thankful they didn't see me sleeping when they came in, or if they did maybe they assumed I was dead. Either one was fine with me, because it kept me breathing.

   I heard heavy footsteps, pretty close by so I ducked so they couldn't see me, "Or we could stay here."

   The woman laughed, "Glenn. No! We need to find the stuff we need and head back to the prison."
"Come on, Maggie! We barely ever get any alone time and do you really think they'll care if we're gone an extra hour? Dayrl is still hunting anyway, so he won't come back to meet us for a while. They won't even notice we're still gone." He countered, and I wanted to gag. I needed to get out of here, because something told me I wasn't going to enjoy staying and listening in on their conversations much longer.

   I began to crawl my way across the floor, trying to be careful not to make any noise. The door would still be unlocked, so I'd just need to run straight for the trees. "I don't know," Shit. "Glenn what was that?" I was mentally cursing at myself and the piece of glass I had so stupidly stepped on. Damn busted picture frames. I curse you and the dead families within. I stayed very still, hoping they wouldn't know where it came from.