seventeen. pushing up daisies

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seventeen
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pushing up daisies

seventeen⋇⋆✦⋆⋇↳ pushing up daisies ↲

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EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT AFTER ATLANTA'S EVENTS

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EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT AFTER ATLANTA'S EVENTS.

The girl, we hadn't even been able to bury her body for closure. Maggie begged to find someplace safe for her sister, but it was an unrealistic wish. Beth's body was left lifeless under a small milita tent, a tarp placed over the cot she was left to rest.

Then, after finding nothing left in Virginia besides a bitemark on Tyreese's arm, the group lost the willpower to move forward for days.

A service was put in place, but only one body was able to be placed beneath soil, forevermore pushing up daises.

The remainder of them stood outside, putting Gabriel to use for once, with a bible. I was left, unmoving from the empty car pulled to the side of the road. My head rested against the glass window, my skin tingling from the heat it gave off. A pocketknife twisted in my fingers, making a click each time the blade swung out.

It had been hours of this, listening to the sound of shoveling, and continuous prayers.

I knew it was selfish of me to stay in the car, and push reality away. It was difficult to wrap my head around death, and what it meant. Death became too much of a casual occurrence to find it as a frightening matter anymore. It was just an event, that would sooner or later happen to all of us. Because of this, it felt worthless to let ourselves grieve every time we lost someone. The graves, the crosses, it all became too much to handle anymore.

After my sister, all I wanted was to bury her, but much like Maggie, I couldn't. At least, not alone. Believe me, I had tried, but digging with my hands in the state of desperation had no effect on the ground. I wasn't near strong enough, not even to lift her into one. At the end of it all, she did not rest six feet under. Her corpse was left above ground, the wind and rain to wash her away, slowly. Her hands, her face, until her soul was carrion fueling the earth below her.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 | 𝘤. 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴Where stories live. Discover now