storywalks | everything is going to be okay

[He feels a little bad for the lie, but he lied to start with by claiming he wasn't dead. Telling the truth now would just confuse and overwhelm her, whether with fear or false hope. She doesn't need that.

She nods, so he moves closer, shuffling over the floor so he can sit down at her side. He's just a stranger, but he would've given anything for this when it was him dying.]

It's okay... You don't have to... hide it...

[Pretty soon, there wouldn't be the chance. The fever took so much, so fast. She should mourn while she has the chance. And while he has the chance, he asks--]

What's... your name...?

[There's a fight inside her to move closer or away. She wants to bury herself in someone else, let her tears soak their clothes instead, be held, but...this is a stranger. There's only a little piece of her detached enough from the everything that's happening to wonder if he's feeling the same way. He wanted to be by her side, after all. He came into the shed. It would be so much nicer if she wasn't used to pulling away. Her compromise is to keep her face in her forearms, curling up even more to hide further, actually, as she relents and lets herself lean her shoulder against his. This sucks. This fucking sucks, even with someone else to commiserate over how much it sucks with.

She makes a sound that might be a scoff of laughter, if it wasn't drowned in snot.]

Doesn' m-mmatter.

[They would both die before they knew it, and knowing each other's names now wouldn't suddenly make them not strangers. She really can't imagine there being any point to it, no matter how much joy her name, after all this time, brought her.

...Shit, she's being really ungrateful, isn't she? She attempts to dry her face again and swallows hard before looking over and up a bit to him. He might be nearer, but there aren't any more clues to be found because of it. With her good hand, still shaking and unsure, she moves to slip her arm around his to hug close. Ryder has to be there for him, too.]

'm -- s-sorry.

[She tries to swallow again before clearing her throat and blinking like that might get her eyes to stop leaking all over the place.]

Kind of -- ssstuck. W-with a -- bitch.

[It matters to him. It would have mattered. He would've wanted someone to know who he was, that he'd been a person once. But then, he's already given her the impression that he's fading away with her so maybe by that view, it is pointless. He decides not to press, but he still carries on.]

I'm Teo...

[He shakes his head at her apologies. And again after that.]

It's fine... You're fine... Think you've... got a right... to be a little... upset...

[Given everything. He gestures around at the space and at both of them. He kind of wishes he hadn't because it draws his own attention of her and back to the shed around. It makes old memories pull at him and he wants to draw back away. Or maybe have some stupid convulsive kind of panic attack in so much as a dead person can.]

Got my crying out... beforehand...

[Way beforehand.]

[Teo. His name is Teo. She wants to snap and insist even more that it didn't matter, but it...must matter to him. So he's Teo. Teo, who understands what she's going through even though he has his shit together way more than she does, and who just wants for the two of them to not go through this alone. In a whisper that just barely qualifies as a voice, she murmurs,]

Ryder. Ryder M-Morris.

[What a way to meet a guy, huh? She wonders for a moment if someone would find them in the future and think they were one of those romantic couples that spent their every last breath together, going out like Romeo and Juliet after something that was probably only slightly less stupid. Instead of a laugh, what comes out is a sigh, and she quakily brushes her bangs away from her face with her remaining fingers. There's no chance of a breeze in this shithole shed, but she's still begging for one, and her own hair isn't going to ruin any relief if by some miracle one did pass through. Ugh, this is part of why she hate crying. Always makes you so warm...but she can't pull away from Teo, now.]

S-so you'll...probably go first. Huh? [As she tries to suck some of that snot back in only to cough.] Ugh. I've nnn -- n-never -- seen it. Never even -- to a funeral. That's -- dumb.

[To bring up, or even just to think about. The adrenaline focusing her must be wearing off, now that she has something else to turn to.]

[He repeats after her.]

Ryder Morris... That's a cool one...

[He should be able to remember that, he thinks. Ryder Morris...

He stiffens a little at the sight of her missing fingers, at the scent of blood wafted his way, and hopes she doesn't notice.]

Maybe not... you're smaller... less time for... full infection... [He doesn't know if that's true, but he might as well run with the lie since he's not turning before she is either way. She's not going to see him die.]

I've seen it... people turning... It's a fever... [He almost says that it's going to suck which, for one, no shit, for two, he shouldn't be acting like he's been through it.] It's... not too long...

Oh. Maybe.

[Is that how that works? Fuck if she knows. She's not a scientist. The closest thing to this immune system shit she knows about herself is that apparently her bones are going to suck more than everyone else's as she gets older? That's stupid. Well, she doesn't have to worry about it now -- especially since Teo continues and she isn't sure anymore if that warmth is from crying.]

Oh... [Ryder blinks several times, both fighting back tears and wondering if she even has anything left in her.] Okay.

[Okay. So she's close. Well, she knew that already, so it shouldn't feel any more real now than it had ten seconds ago. She swallows again.]

[That was probably not the best thing to say. Sure, she's forwarned now, but it's not exactly making her feel better. Not that feeling better is much of an option.]

What I meant... to say... I've seen this... I know I'm... just a stranger... and... I can understand... not being... comfortable...

[He turns a hand over on his knee, palm up. Open. It's up to her, but for once, he doesn't have to be afraid he'll infect anyone.]

But... I promise... I can manage... and be with you... the whole way...

[Her inhale is so shaky that she chokes on it and coughs all her breath back out, making her instinctually turn her head away and cough into her elbow to spare him the germs. Good to know that her dumb ass has basic decency while she's fucking dying alongside someone else that was, too. How pointless...

But his palm turns up and she's breathless for two reasons, then. Ryder twitches, hand jerking in the direction of his, but there's some rule in her head that says she has to get her breathing under control before she can indulge in that. It's the fakest shit ever, and a small part of her brain throws a tantrum about it that makes her dizzy, and it really is important for her to breathe in, breathe out, it's okay. She rests her hand on his and cautiously laces their fingers together. She holds it a little too tightly.]

Mm-mmhm.

[He was what she was going to get, and...she's grateful, really. As much as all this fucking sucks.]

...What did you w-want -- to be? [She scoffs a little and shakes her head at herself.] I guess y-you're -- n'adult. What did you do before -- all this?

[Even after the correction, it feels too silly to be asking right now. "Oh, Teo, right? What's your favorite color? You like dogs? If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be? Don't you just hate icebreaker games?" He thought their names were important, though, and maybe in those minutes where their brains were cooking too hot to function much longer, they'd get to think it worked -- that their dreams came true. Like a neat little bow of an epilogue.]

[He stiffens a little, wondering, Now? Is it now? But no. Not yet. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved when it's just a postponed inevitability, not a halting miracle.

She laces her fingers with his. He holds on tight right back, like he can hold her here. I'm sorry for what you're about to suffer. I'm sorry you'll be alone in the end.

He hums over her question and shakes his head.]

Amnesia... don't remember... This is... the only life... I know... [At least as far as details about himself goes.] But... I've thought about... kitchens... Big dinners... lots of people... friends... I'd like that...

[It'll never happen, but it would've been nice. He wonders if it ever did happen.]

And you...?

[Ryder looks over at him, and it hits her that she...isn't the main character. Like, obviously. All her life purposely avoided being the main character, but in that jaded teen YA novel protagonist way where she was making her own story happen, not following what's written, and all that shit -- which was, in the end, just another way to be a main character -- but she figured that in her death, she was going to be center stage. Epilogue, like she said. Not a best-seller or anything, but something that was her. Now here she is, going to become the zombie formerly known as Ryder, and the guy that joined the party has amnesia? Talk about a protag flag! Maybe she shouldn't be surprised, since he's got that gentle kindness about him and a unique fashion sense that sort of stands out even these days. Part of her considers jealousy, but...]

...A writer...

[That's what she'd wanted ever since she was little. Driving the story in a completely different way. She pushes her free, chewed hand against her eyes and does some of that laugh-crying thing when it occurs to her that she would have loved something like this. A tender moment at an inappropriate time with unlikely subjects? Fuck yeah. Even now, she kind of wishes she had her book here to project the scene onto, or maybe even finally, finally commit words to the paper. Sheet after sheet of white finally getting some ink to prove she existed, along with the blood to explain that she didn't, anymore.

God. What a piece of shit.]

I would've th -- woulda thought your thing s-s-sounded like a nightmare. H-heh. The typical dreaded, uh, Thanks -- giving scene in shows n'stuff. [Ryder shudders, pushing her wet sleeve up through her hair to push her bangs back.] When it's like -- this. Like this, I can -- s-see how. I'd miss people, if I were you.

A writer... Ryder the writer... I would've liked... to read your stories...

[It wouldn't matter much to him what they were. Maybe she's more of a blog writer or a writer of non-fiction, he doesn't know. But still, it would be fun to delve into someone's world for a while. It would've been nice if that part of her could remain despite everything.

Her comment makes him laugh. It's a horrible sound, but hey, it sells the dying angle. Still, his words come out wistful and melancholy.]

I do miss people... I miss them a lot...

[He wishes so bad he could remember the specifics, but even the loss of the whole makes him ache.]

I think... thanksgivings... on shows and things...are meant to be... a little terrible... makes the story... interesting... or... caps it off... with something cheesy... But a real thing... mm, I guess it would... depend on the people...

[She might have blushed, but she thinks it would be pretty hard to tell, with her face already being puffy and red from crying, not to mention all the smears, and...is it warmer? She doesn't...think so, but she thinks she might be sweating. It was hard to tell, with everything. Maybe she should just focus on the painful but reassuring pressure on her hand. His hold is helping to keep it steady, but it's not enough to stop her completely.]

...Yeah. It was jus' -- me an' -- my mom. [Fuck, there she goes again, crying. This has to be shortening her time, if it's about fevers. Dehydration, and...stuff. Ugh.] We'd go out to -- a place we could eat noodles. A-any place w-with noodles. Always...

[Until all this.]

I miss mmmy mom. I miss -- spaghetti.

[His thumb runs circles over the top of her hand which he hopes is reassuring, not creepy. These are the last human tears she'll ever cry. If she cries again, she won't understand, won't even really feel it there, streaming black because an overflow that can't be explained as anything but hunger and pain without consciousness, an awful parody of human grief.]

Spaghetti... would be really nice...

[It might sound silly, but it's a simple thing and simple things are so, so very rare now. Same with families left unbroken.]

And... a mom hug...

[He doesn't remember his mother. He must have had one though. There's a definitive pain there that tells him he must have had something. If nothing else, surely everyone wants to be enveloped in that particular way, where they can be safe and protected no matter how small or helpless they feel.]

Sounds like... you were close...

[He doesn't tell her she's stupid for letting herself say something like that out loud, which is almost more comforting than the hand in hers. Even that...has found a way to be unpleasant, making her more aware of the changes in his pulse. It was weird. It makes her want to squirm away. It makes her feel sick.

Focus. Ignore the uncomfortable, hot writhing in her stomach.]

Yeah.

[She swallows and sniffles, staring across to the shoddily-blocked door with dulling eyes.]

Sh-she was all I had. I wonder if -- I'll... If I'll see her. Dunno what happened. Dunno if -- believe that stuff.

[He watches the way her eyes change. It's hard to tell if it's her last bit of will withering or if she's just tired from the bloodless. The latter would be a mercy. If she could be unconscious for the worst of the fever her last moments might actually be peaceful.]

I don't know either...

[He's thought about it a lot more than is healthy. Did he have a soul? Did any of them? And if they did, what does say of the undead? Are they trapped or free...?]

But... I don't think... it would hurt... to hope right now... See her... get a hug... ghost spaghetti...

[Okay the last thing is silly but he still wants it to be a thing.]

Ghost spaghetti, [she parrots in a mumble, disbelieving but but still...longing. Is she going to get to eat spaghetti as a ghost? Ghosts can make whatever food they want, right? As long as it's made with love, because ghosts are all about...strong feelings, or...something. She wants to dwell on it some more, but everything hurts so much. It's too hard.

She starts trying to curl in on herself, but winces, a gasp catching in her throat and making her cough again. When her breath settles again, Ryder tips her head to watch him instead. Man. Just looking at him all covered up like that makes her feel even warmer.]

What... [He didn't remember things. He only dreamed of people, the way she dreamed of dragons, vampires, and a billionaire paying off student loans at random, catching her in their net of generosity. Nice dreams.] Are you a spagh -- [Hard to tell what kind of noise that was just then. Some kind of cough-choke-gurgle? Something. Is this where she's really starting to short-circuit?] Ss... Spaghetti person? Could ssave -- plate.

[She repeats him and it makes him smile. Only briefly though. It's starting. She's struggling more and more. He keeps rubbing circles over the top of her hand.]

Easy... Take it slow...

[The way he can't do anything but take it slow these days.]

Wouldn't say no... to spaghetti... [Assuming that ghost-land won't keep him like this.] But I've dreamt... of soups... warm... spiced... full of vegetables... and meats...

[It hurts. It feels like something pushing around her bones like a stew, swirling them around to keep them from sticking to the bottom and burning -- but it was still hot. And...still comforting, even with the ache and the way it made her brain swimmy with gross imagery. Oh, soup. He's talking about soup. Was that before or after she was soup?

Ha. The zombie had thought she was soup. Maybe that's all it was. They all just wanted soup, spaghetti, steak, and salad. All the S's. Her eyelids flicker.]

Try t' r'member...

[Soup. Soup, soup, soup. Order afterlife soup for Teo. Chicken Soup for the Post-Apocalyptic Soul. It would hurt too much to laugh at her own joke, but it would hurt too much to cough, too. She settles for panting, which is more like a wheeze at times, and even that's painful.]

Don't wanna -- [Hurt. Forget. Be sick. Cry. Die. Leave. She doesn't want to.]

[His heart aches. Just like that, he's got the stupid urge to cry. But he can't, not now. His goggles will fill up with that black sludge and he'll have to take his goggles off and everything will be horrible and, quite frankly, this isn't the damn time. She's the one dying, the one in need of comfort.

But it hurts, watching this, knowing how it feels, the helplessness, and then to talk of remembering. His breath shudders but he doubts she'll notice.

He shuffles closer. He moves so he can draw her in, bring her to lean against him. Maybe the coolness of him will help her fever, but he doubts that. What he can do is shift his grip, swap hands out so he can bring the other up to stroke her hair and smooth it back.]

I know... I know...

[He knows so much more than he can tell her.]

But you're gonna... find your mom... you'll find her... hug her tight...

Mom...?

[She protests his hold weakly -- just a little, just enough that she can try to look around for her mother. It's been forever since she got to see her. If she tries too hard, she's going to writhe out of her skin. As much as Ryder wonders if that would help free her from this burning, it sounds even more painful than what she's already dealing with, so she slumps into his cradling arm like a tired child. She cant stop trembling... At least someone is there to take care of her. Maybe -- maybe she'd get better. Maybe she'd recover, and she wouldn't have to die. Maybe her mom's okay, too, and they could find each other in this life. There's a heat in her mouth she thinks is sauce for a moment, but when she realizes that she's curled forward and gagging on something that's not there anymore, what remains of her brain suggests that it was vomit. When did that happen? Ryder coughs and, weakly flailing her mangled hand at her mouth in an attempt to wipe it clean, seeks out that soothing blob from a minute ago. Was it a minute? Was it even a second? Has she been here a year? Will it ever end?]

Tehh... Hgkh -- [The strings of dribble on her lips are the only thing wetting them as she moves them, trying to make words. Several other parts of her are wet for various disgusting reasons, but they're far away now, veins stretched and sliced open so they were easier to set fire to. She feels it so much, but she's drifting anyway. It's like she's...above her eyeballs? That feels right, whatever that means.] He-help...

[Her stomach is empty, her lungs are getting there, and her self...? Her arms search blindly for that last one before remembering they're already touching something. Something important that she needs and she's grateful for, as she's burning in hell like too many stupid fucking people said she would. They didn't matter. Fight to cling to what did, and that's--]

Hhh... Teo? Stuh...here?

[She squirms and he tries to compensate for the movement, not wanting to let her irritate things too much but not wanting to restrict. He croons to her.]

Not yet... not yet...

[She slumps and he's back to holding her, smoothing her hair. He realizes, in a twisted sense, that others would've wished to be in his shoes. Not for every part, but to hold those they cared about it, ease them through this, without worrying they'll be consumed in the aftermath. He bets Ryder's Mom would choose to be here, even for that, because that's what moms do, isn't it? Even for the awful, painful, disgusting parts. Ryder deserves to have her mom here, not some stranger.

He's impressed she can still speak. But at the same time, she's barely here.]

Still here... You're safe...

[She feels like all she’s ever been is a girl full of words, and it isn’t as if she can write them down anymore. Even if she could see clearly or get her hands to stop shaking, would she be able to hold a pen, with her hand like this? She’d have to relearn how to write, and she doesn’t have the time for that...so the words that come out have fought hard for that right, and even then the struggle isn’t enough for everything. It’s the littlest bit that’s left, and of course it would be words. It can't last forever.

She slurs something else, a sss that turns into a shhh, and then a gurgled growl. She can't bring herself to move, but her body still moves for her at times, jerking her head to the shoulder that twitches up to meet it. She can't see him, with her eyes rolled back...but he's still here. And if she can tell he's still there, then she's still there, and he's telling her she's safe. Compared to everyone else, maybe she is... All the danger out there already got her. And he's... He's going to be going through this without her. He doesn't have a cool set of fingers to brush through his hair or a gentle voice to lure out the last bits of his humanity. She's sorry for that.]

Aouuh... Hhhrzh...

[Something. Get close to that. It moves, it makes sounds, it needs attention. Ryder buries herself, unintelligible gargling in her throat as another bout of bile rises, but can't make it out. She needs attention. She's fading. Someone, god, fucking anyone help... Here's someone. Here's...someone. She tries to hold that tight to herself, even if her body can't, to the end.]

[He can't understand her. It makes his breath catch. He remembers so clearly when he'd first tried relearning how to speak. He'd garbled everything. He'd want to shout in frustration only to be left wheezing. He'd want to cry.

Every effort to expell his pain or ease it only caused more, right down to his hunger. It'd been terrible, agonizing, and he'd questioned every day if it was really worth it, if he could really make any of this worth it. It would be for no one else's sake. No one wanted him, at least not as he is. If he was going to live, for a given definition, he had to want to. He had to find a reason to want to, even if, at first, the reason was just fearing that he'd suffered and died for nothing.]

It's almost done... You'll see her...

[He keeps holding her. He doesn't know what else to do.]

I'm sorry... I'm sorry it hurts... that I... can't save you... I don't know... how it works... I'm sorry... I hope... you can rest... I hope...

[It isn't long before Ryder leaves, and sooner or later, Teo has to leave, too, in his own way. When he does, something tries to follow him. A little undead duckling, or perhaps a goose.]

[Her pulse fades. In his arms, she dies. Ryder the writer who loved and missed her mom and spaghetti. It's hardly truly knowing her, but he holds on to the details all the same. Her blood had long gone from enticing to something rancid and now he feels no impulse to harm her at all. Dead, gone, turned.

There's a moment of stillness and in that moment he unravels from her. It feels wrong. It feels like abandoning. But this is the time to move. He needs to clean himself as best he can, both of her and the black ink that's welled in his eyes, now that he's not bothering to fight it back or hide it behind goggles. It's night and the living won't move in the dark, for the most part. They know his kind can find them that much easier.

He should still be thinking about whether she was with anyone else. Travelling alone didn't lend to survival for very long, no matter what some thought. He should be considering the risks of finding others, but he can't, he doesn't, his thoughts are on her, on himself, on all the dead around him who suffered alone. His head is heavy with it, thoughts crammed like cotton stuffing and in doing so subversing themselves by hardly letting him think clear at all.

He's stumbling along and he is being sloppy. He notices the scuffling footfalls far too late, specifically that the noise has followed him and not wandered away as other undead would. He turns and his first stupid thought is that this is hardly fair. He helps a girl pass and so she haunts him? His slightly less stupid realization is that she followed him.

His brow furrows. He stares at the shell of a girl.]

... Ryder...?

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because why not, that's why

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