DYSTOPIA [hs] |Complete|

xxii - The End of the END.

chapter song; stupid decisions - FIDLAR

     The simplicity of it all was unnerving, to say the least. After a few weeks spent furnishing and adjusting our guarded new home were we finally able to unwind and just enjoy the life of freedom. But now after several months and mid-way through June did Spring take its full effect. The air was a lot warmer, the harsh winter was a challenge but with the powered windmill providing sufficient electricity, alongside the filtered water from the dam, everything was almost normal.

     Almost.

     The cottage was a safe haven, but also a nightmare during the night. But regardless of location it would be the same no matter where we were.

     At first it began with small and quiet murmurs from Lark, unintelligible mutters of words neither Harry or I understood. But gradually overtime those tranquil nights turned into being jolted awake from screams or cries from Lark, and on the occasion; Harry.

     Sometimes we would find him crouched in the corner of his room, cradling himself as he cried in his sleep. With mouthfuls of sobs only one word was able to be deciphered. 'Ash'. It was Harry who tended to his best friend during the vulnerable state, any attempt I would make only resulted in a shove from Lark so Harry decided it would be best if he tried instead. The walkers didn't see to be our biggest fear anymore; it was the night terrors.

     The woodlands that sheltered our cottage was an advantage, acting as a barrier to keep our location hidden from both humans and walkers. But with varieties of trees there was only one kind that stood out from the rest. The realisation only occurred when Lark had gone missing during the darkness of the night, when the luna rays of the moon were hidden and the stars were completely out of sight.

     Harry was quick to throw on any item of clothing he could find and with only his socks on his feet did he run out with a flashlight in hand, calling for his friend. I was right behind him but with a weapon alongside my flashlight for precaution. And it was then that all senses had vanished from Harry when he was shouting Lark's name into the open area where the unknown would linger.

     We don't remember how long it had taken us to find him, but with sweat running down Harry and I's cheeks did we find Lark sitting against a tree, vigorously shivering with clattering teeth. His feet were bare, dug into the leaves and wet bark for an inch of warmth but unable to find any. His eyes were shut, head laying against the trunk with the repetitive mutters of words.

     When light had come that day we retraced his steps back to the tree and my heart shattered when Lark had told us that the overgrown viridescent tree with flowers sprouting from the spring was an Ash Tree. A few were scattered around but this particular one was the largest and most prominent of them all.

     Harry's expression was guilt-ridden and he didn't bother trying to conceal it from us because we knew, we just knew that he blamed himself for it. But it wasn't his fault. The countless nights I would stay up with him, just reassuring him that nothing is his fault, that because of him we're finally safe and away from danger. We have enough food to last us as well as vegetation and fruit we had planted as soon as we arrived.

     It was our distraction. Gardening. Tending to our 'chores'. Lark had set himself a makeshift workshop just by the tree and over the course of many hours during the day he would spend his time crafting whatever he can or desires. Over two whole days we were deprived of sleep due to Lark's hammering in his room, but he wouldn't allow us to see what the fuss was all about or even see what he was crafting.

     But right now, disregarding all the hardships, I sit with a pair of sunglasses that belong to Harry in a tank top with dark blue denim shorts, that once belonged to Savannah (the thought of burning it crossed my mind, however), as I watched Harry and Lark in the shallowness of the water tossing a Rugby ball back and forth to each other. With my legs spread on the grass and my forearms behind me I admired the both of them laughing at one another and shouting discouraging words like 'your aim is shit' followed by 'I've heard that one before'. I watched Harry in his light blue trunks and shimmering wet, tattooed torso as he jumped slightly with his arms raised high and caught the ball. Standing side-on, he caught my gaze and winked before tossing it back to his friend with an audible grunt.