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IT WAS ANOTHER DREAM. One about wisps of blonde hair. Determined blue eyes. Then, the bullet. The small ball of iron hastening through the hospital halls, into the girls head, forcing my eyes open.
I heard once before that we woke from these dreams, because our brains didn't know how to respond in death. We knew of nothing of the afterlife - or if it even was truly there. Alive was all our minds were capable of grasping the concept of. We knew not of death.
Eyes adjusting to the new front of darkness, I propped myself on my elbows, taking a shaken breath of air. All the others were asleep. Carl, Noah; nobody to console in. It was better that way, anyways. None of us talked about her anymore. Beth was a topic nobody wished to brush on. Still, the dreams came occasionally. Never good ones. They always replayed her death. Each time, I couldn't save her. Nothing was enough to stop her blood from spreading on the tiles.
Sick. Oh, how unbearably sick I felt - again. What was wrong with me? The same feelings continued to wash over me each day.
Courtesy of the light illuminating through the moonlit window, I found my way easy over the nestle of sleeping bags, and people we had fit into the living room alone. Bringing myself up and through the hallway, the floor of the small bathroom became a new home for the current churning in my gut. I propped myself against the porcelain seat, my eyelids scrunching together in an attempt to rid myself of the feeling. This only brought on a new inducement of pain - one of which was utter torment, provoking at my insides and scorching my throat.
My mind was busy, thoughts jumbling together in the dim light of the clean cut bathroom. Blood. Her blood, spreading towards my feet. The faces of denial once Daryl had brought the girl outside. Alexandria was supposed to make these things go away, but instead, everything here was worse. I didn't want to keep pretending our lives were back to how they used to be.
Nothing was the same.
All at once, I was wrapped in the conundrum I was fearing the most, - as, in one fast paced motion, the rise of burning stomach acid, and the stale bit of food my stomach hadn't previously rejected, escaped my lips; into the reflecting pool before me. It was a repetitive motion, as my insides curled in on itself, caving in my already thinned stomach, ridding of the necessities I had been in desperate need of, yet had rejected, in full entirety.
