Post by Frank Andersen on Aug 28, 2017 2:19:08 GMT -5
The northeast watch tower had one of the best views in the entire prison. You could see for miles and miles, out toward Bell Island and into the Lake. It was the prettiest at sunrise, of course, though Frank had his own duties in the morning that typically kept him from enjoying the view.
Today, however, Frank returned early from a gathering trip, having found only one more child to add to Mother's ranks. There had been more - an entire family - but there was a struggle. There was always a struggle. And only Ben survived. He was young enough that he'd probably black out most of the traumatic scene, hopefully, and take to Mother's program seamlessly enough. He was down there with her now, and the other gatherers were scattered about the prison, mostly relaxing, some nursing new wounds, while Frank brought his dinner bowl up here for a quiet moment alone.
Frank had cleaned up - taken a short shower, changed his marred clothes - and sat in the open window of the tower with his legs crossed and his bowl in his lap. Rice, again, though this time they'd had a few scraps of some sort of meat; he'd traded his for a few pickles, but most of his meal went uneaten so far. He simply watched the lights and smoke on the island ahead, curious if anyone on that side was looking in his direction at this very moment.
It had been such a long, hellish journey from Colorado to here, and Frank was having a difficult time ignoring the many dark moments haunting his thoughts. So much death, and too much of it at the hands of other humans, other sentient, thinking, non-zombie humans. It was exhausting, when he thought back on it all…
There was Jenn and John, the twins. They'd been careless, just the once, and John lost an eye, while Jenn lost her head. Frank had repaired the former, but could only bury the latter…
There was Tracey. Only 13, but she'd known how to stay safe with the men of the prison. Until Mother had found out and added both the guard and the girl to her nursery…
There was Kili, Frank's own cousin. She was nothing but a shell of her former self anymore. They'd always had such fun together - telling jokes, savory or otherwise, making up stories about the various walkers they'd come across along their endless wanderings. They had shared so much, but Mother had had to have several sessions with Kili - to "keep her happy" - and now she rarely spoke more than two words at a time to anyone, even Frank…
There was the woman and her baby, just last week, who had made it to the gates, but was not let in when it was discovered she'd been scratched, or bitten. She stayed close, screaming to be let in, until one of the guards put her down. The infant she dropped stopped crying after a few minutes under the weight of its mother's dead body…
There was the car of teens that clipped a walker and rolled into a horde. No survivors…
The farmer and his barn of undead sex dolls…
The old man and his leashed wife, which he kept 'alive' with human carrion…
The couple they'd found strung up on a tree, to afraid to let each other be eaten…
Tina who tripped and was bit on the cheek…
Temple, who'd tried to run from Mother...
Mary, who plucked out her own eyes with a spoon...
Derrick who wet himself, revealing his and Meghan's hiding spot to the horde just a block from the prison…
Lenny, who had kissed him once, and later had his jaw torn off…
Sendhi who ran out of meds, had a seizure and fallen to the horde…
Thad who was used as an example…
Sam.
Melissa.
DJ.
Jerome.
Ruby. Caleb.
Sean and Shawn. Penny.
Zach. Jersey. Nina. Max.
And Garrison…
Frank knew he was crying, but he didn't bother to wipe his face. His grey prison sweater was dotted with tears, and his rice was as cold as the pickles and the walkers far below. Lights shone on the island, a few gunshots popped quietly in the distance, and voices behind him and below somewhere in the prison shouted "Praise Mother! Praise Mother! Praise Mother!" But, it was the screams of the dead he heard most clearly. The dead faces he saw out over the lake. These ghosts would be with him always, he had to assume. They deserved to be remembered, and he deserved to remember them; for his own hand in their lives - or their deaths, and for the loved ones who would never get to see them again. If any of those loved ones survived as long.
Was this truly the End of Days? Marissa seemed to think so. And, if it was, why was it taking so long? If there was some God up there, couldn't he hurry up this Judgement? Wasn't it supposed to be a Judgement Day? - not Judgement Years. Frank was tired of waiting. Of just ... surviving.
But, at least the view was nice…
Today, however, Frank returned early from a gathering trip, having found only one more child to add to Mother's ranks. There had been more - an entire family - but there was a struggle. There was always a struggle. And only Ben survived. He was young enough that he'd probably black out most of the traumatic scene, hopefully, and take to Mother's program seamlessly enough. He was down there with her now, and the other gatherers were scattered about the prison, mostly relaxing, some nursing new wounds, while Frank brought his dinner bowl up here for a quiet moment alone.
Frank had cleaned up - taken a short shower, changed his marred clothes - and sat in the open window of the tower with his legs crossed and his bowl in his lap. Rice, again, though this time they'd had a few scraps of some sort of meat; he'd traded his for a few pickles, but most of his meal went uneaten so far. He simply watched the lights and smoke on the island ahead, curious if anyone on that side was looking in his direction at this very moment.
It had been such a long, hellish journey from Colorado to here, and Frank was having a difficult time ignoring the many dark moments haunting his thoughts. So much death, and too much of it at the hands of other humans, other sentient, thinking, non-zombie humans. It was exhausting, when he thought back on it all…
There was Jenn and John, the twins. They'd been careless, just the once, and John lost an eye, while Jenn lost her head. Frank had repaired the former, but could only bury the latter…
There was Tracey. Only 13, but she'd known how to stay safe with the men of the prison. Until Mother had found out and added both the guard and the girl to her nursery…
There was Kili, Frank's own cousin. She was nothing but a shell of her former self anymore. They'd always had such fun together - telling jokes, savory or otherwise, making up stories about the various walkers they'd come across along their endless wanderings. They had shared so much, but Mother had had to have several sessions with Kili - to "keep her happy" - and now she rarely spoke more than two words at a time to anyone, even Frank…
There was the woman and her baby, just last week, who had made it to the gates, but was not let in when it was discovered she'd been scratched, or bitten. She stayed close, screaming to be let in, until one of the guards put her down. The infant she dropped stopped crying after a few minutes under the weight of its mother's dead body…
There was the car of teens that clipped a walker and rolled into a horde. No survivors…
The farmer and his barn of undead sex dolls…
The old man and his leashed wife, which he kept 'alive' with human carrion…
The couple they'd found strung up on a tree, to afraid to let each other be eaten…
Tina who tripped and was bit on the cheek…
Temple, who'd tried to run from Mother...
Mary, who plucked out her own eyes with a spoon...
Derrick who wet himself, revealing his and Meghan's hiding spot to the horde just a block from the prison…
Lenny, who had kissed him once, and later had his jaw torn off…
Sendhi who ran out of meds, had a seizure and fallen to the horde…
Thad who was used as an example…
Sam.
Melissa.
DJ.
Jerome.
Ruby. Caleb.
Sean and Shawn. Penny.
Zach. Jersey. Nina. Max.
And Garrison…
Frank knew he was crying, but he didn't bother to wipe his face. His grey prison sweater was dotted with tears, and his rice was as cold as the pickles and the walkers far below. Lights shone on the island, a few gunshots popped quietly in the distance, and voices behind him and below somewhere in the prison shouted "Praise Mother! Praise Mother! Praise Mother!" But, it was the screams of the dead he heard most clearly. The dead faces he saw out over the lake. These ghosts would be with him always, he had to assume. They deserved to be remembered, and he deserved to remember them; for his own hand in their lives - or their deaths, and for the loved ones who would never get to see them again. If any of those loved ones survived as long.
Was this truly the End of Days? Marissa seemed to think so. And, if it was, why was it taking so long? If there was some God up there, couldn't he hurry up this Judgement? Wasn't it supposed to be a Judgement Day? - not Judgement Years. Frank was tired of waiting. Of just ... surviving.
But, at least the view was nice…