No one tells you that the grim reaper takes on a different shape and form for each person. The ever-present figure that morphs itself into the only certainty in life. Katrina had been preparing to meet that illustrious silhouette for years; in some moments praying for the rumored chill to take over the air surrounding her, the shadowed figure beckoning her forward in silence. It was within those few moments that her lava cooled, the once fiery lifeblood slowed in desperation and hopelessness.
Now was not one of those times. Fury burned beneath her skin and eyes, pissed that her body chose now to betray her, once agile muscles ridged with phantom paralysis. However, if this was her end she would accept it with dignity. There would be no desperate pleas for her life, no thoughts or prayers to a rumored higher being to grant her some sort of miracle in the last seconds. No; if this was her end she would greet it with the same stoic yet febrile expression she’d worn for the majority of her life. She would not scream as they tore into her flesh, she would only think of their faces, a coveted delusion that only existed in her mind.
The figure stalked closer and closer, Katrina helpless and forced to watch every hesitant move. It was in those movements that the truth was revealed, this was a human and not a walker. There was no relief, only images of a different end. Humans now were just as violent and vicious as the ravenous creatures that infected the earth; though one could argue that humans had always been this way, using the apocalypse as an excuse for their viciousness.
With one step closer the illusion was shattered. Dull sunlight illuminated the face of her supposed grim reaper, revealing a man so familiar to her that it immediately filled her lungs with a sadness much heavier than the oxygen that usually occupied the space. Doubt came crashing like a wave, momentarily delaying the hell consuming rage that was reserved just for Otto Falkenrath. Was this real? Was this not some cruel trick her mind decided to play during her last moments as a physical being on the earth? Was it another delusion, another frightening real vision that had jarred her from her sleep in the past with ear piercing screams? No, oh no she was never that lucky.
As his fingers pulled back the fabric that disguised her face, suspicions were confirmed, time stopped, hearts shattered for a second time, and a singular tear betray its host by slipping down her cheek. He was real, he was alive. Every bit of his tall figure stumbled back into the underbrush, a look of disbelief present on that stupid beautiful face that haunted her regardless if she was asleep or not. He spoke a name she hadn’t heard in years, her title rolling off of his tongue laced unfathomable doubt. Seconds of silence rolled by, her body still paralyzed and unable to answer his most basic call.
The emotions that were coursing through her veins were numerous and volatile, ranging from sheer unadulterated anger to self-consciousness and despair. He represented an entirely different form of herself, one not filled with fire and assurance, but one of brokenness and doubt. In all of their quick glory, she never was sure that he had loved her just as much as she loved him.
It began slow, first her fingers stopped their ungodly twitching, second her arms followed suit; the woman’s entire body seemingly thawing like trees in winter. An attempt to stand was proven disastrous, her legs not quite receiving the memo fired from her brain. They remained noodle like and sent her tumbling to the ground beside Otto, her breathing heavy and fire consuming the look of heart ache that had momentarily filled her eyes. Stability was gained, her body maneuvering itself to a once familiar position; legs straddled on either side of him, encasing him in the presence of her.
A fist was raised and just as quickly, it shot down to connect with his face. The crack was loud and violent, the motion sending shock-waves through her hand but damn it felt good. She had dreamed about doing that for years and now that the peak was fulfilled, other pressing matters had to be addressed. She prepared herself for him to throw her off, a normal reaction to being punched in the face, but still her foundation was solid, a low yet familiar fiery voice calling out for the first time in months, the German language at home on her tongue.
“Where is she? Where is Evony?”
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He was a piece of dust inhaled by her.
Trees towered above making him small and insignificant. His knife was dropped beside him and the grass that he now clutched at was dry and disintegrated in his palm as if it rejected him. Time stood still as the world spun around him but his heart beat so fast he could feel his jugular throbbing and pushing up against the corner of his jaw as though to drown him in blood. His throat was dry and sandpaper lined its edges. As he panted, the oxygen doing nothing to calm him, the cloth over the lower half of his face felt suffocating. His left hand released the earth he'd been digging his fingers into and pulled the cloth down with little grace. It hung at his neck, his woollen hat now askew.
Through wide eyes he watched a single tear glistening in the twilight of the forest. It rippled over the contours of her face. Hers was a face that he could practically feel holding in his hand — her skin soft as she would lean into him. He had wiped tears from her cheeks, looked into her eyes and told her he loved her. Now, his uttering of her name unanswered, no further words came to his tongue and his muscles had forgotten how to twitch as she slowly moved towards him.
If it wasn't for the tear and the look in her eye Otto would never have believed she was a physical presence before him. She'd been in his dreams, in his nightmares, and in the day he had envisaged her ghost walking beside him on the search for their daughter. She'd killed him in his sleep; she'd loved him in his sleep. This woman before him now was not a ghost that his subconscious had conjured. She was not something he could wake up from.
He blinked and she was on the floor next to him. He blinked again and she was pinning him down, legs either side of him. Hazel eyes filled with confusion and sorrow fixed on hazel eyes that drowned in wrath. His own began to pitifully brim now. She'd looked at him with anger before, her brow had creased in exactly the same place, but now the dent was deeper. Never before had he felt so small under her. Never had he felt like she had a hatred for him that wouldn't be shifted. His mind raced at a hundred thoughts per second, and not a single thought helped him to move or make a sound. Even if a single thought had grounded itself in his whirlwind of a brain it wouldn't have made a difference as Katrina's movements were swift.
Her fist connected with his left cheekbone.
In moments of violence people often respond in one of two ways; fight or flight. Getting hit in the face was not an uncommon occurrence for Otto, even before the war he was accustomed to brawls and stabbings. His father had taught him that if someone hits you, you hit them back twice as hard. His knuckles were scarred from hitting walls and hitting bodies. His body was scarred with the wounds dished to him.
As he lay there on the forest floor, his vision blurry and skin on his cheekbone prickling red, he did not swing the metal pipe in his right hand, but neither did he try to escape. His fingers released it and let it roll a centimetre in the dirt. To the woman that had scarred him, he held out his palms that were covered by dirty fingerless gloves. He was unarmed, and the wound in his heart that she had left was torn open as her question fell off her tongue and landed heavy on his chest. He could feel it slicing him, tearing him to pieces one capillary at a time. The question had taunted him since the day he couldn't find her, since the day he failed her. Face to face with Evony's mother he crumbled. He could see Evony's face in Katrina's.
The question now stained his skin, making visible marks of anguish across his face as he forced the words out, "I don't know." His voice cracked and he tore his gaze from Katrina, his arms dropping to the ground. Turning his head to the side and staring into the forest he knew he was vulnerable. Weapons out of reach and a tear dropping onto the forest floor, Otto didn't care.
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