A World Fallen by Carter Nicholas Lawrence

Author:Carter, Nicholas Lawrence [Carter, Nicholas Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Infected
Published: 2020-06-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

Patrick lay motionless on his side, his face away from Daisy, staring at the worn down wall. He's been on the floor in the corner of the room since the previous night. He hasn't spoken a word, but that's not unusual for Patrick, in general he doesn't speak much. This boy has experienced lifetimes of grief in his fifteen years on Earth.

Her hand gently brushes up and down on his shoulder, hoping to offer at least some sense of comfort. She can't imagine what it's like always feeling as if you're shrouded in darkness, having no family, no home, no sense of self. She'll never forget the heartbreak she felt when he told her that is what life is like for him.

This boy watched his father turn, his mother's body be ripped apart, and his father die at his own hands. In a rare moment, one of only two she's had with Patrick, he told her it were as though he was outside of his own body, watching someone else's story, and since that night he's never felt like he returned to himself.

The years that followed didn't get much better for Patrick. He scavenged to survive, often eating the remains of already dead animals, or any insects, or fruits, he happened to come upon. He felt a desperate hunger at all times, a pit that would never fill. These eating habits lead to sickness on more occasions than he could remember.

He encountered living people only twice in the two years he was alone, after the death of his parents, and before Daisy, Jack, and Norman found him. Both times he was physically abused, robbed, and left to die, and each time he hoped for the release of death. He survived both encounters, and he's still not sure how he was able to, or why he was cursed with having to carry on.

He'd considered throwing himself at the infected and letting them end him, but the memory of his father's lifeless eyes came rushing back to him, and he couldn't do it. He wouldn't become the thing that tore his world apart.

The days passed and Patrick's heart continued to pump, his brain continued to fire, his lungs continued to fill, and the darkness around him continued to close in. He needed some kind of escape, something to make him feel, anything to make life seem real.

The first time Patrick cut himself he'd done so with an old rusted knife he'd found. The act make him violently ill for days after, but Patrick didn't care, the sharp object penetrating his flesh was a grand release. He wept each time he did it, but not because it hurt. He wept because it made him feel something. He had longed to feel anything at all.

As her hand lightly runs back and forth over his shoulder, her eyes well, oceans of sadness behind them. She can see the stains of dried blood that have seeped out onto his pants, from his sleeve below his forearm.

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