Re: Log, TWD: Clementine M & Shane A
Everything stunk like rotting meat left out in a Georgia afternoon, and Clem couldn't tell there was stench coming from the bag in his hand. It was real impossible to pinpoint rot, and the only real change was the smell that came out of the mouths of the dead as their jaws went open-clamp at the smear of blood on the hinges. She wanted to tell him not feed her damn blood to think godawful dead things, because there was something horrid about watching those things lick her off the metal bars. It made her shudder deep in her gut, and she didn't get what the heck he was even doing at first. She was slow some, and she just wasn't made to think about tricking dead things.
Truth was, she just wanted to back the hell up and let the curtain drop, because they smelled worse with their mouths open than before, like everything putrid inside them was seeping out into the air. Which it probably was, and her stomach turned over and produced a whole lot of nothing as she bent over onto the cell floor.
And that was all before he handed that bag through the bars.
She figured there was something good inside. Shoes made for running, or a gun instead of the knife he'd tucked into her Valentine's Day present. Maybe there was something he could wash himself off with, because no way was he coming in looking like that. If she was dying in this cell, she was planning on dying clean. Man was welcome to come in and die with her, but not smelling like that.
She took the bag unknowing, and it was only when she dragged it to herself that she noticed the drip of decay. Drip, right onto her bare toes, and she threw the damn bag clear across the cell. He was gesturing out there, and she finally got what he was on about, but she was scraping at her toes like they were on fire, or like that putrid dripping might eat through her skin right to the bone. She looked up partway through that scrubbing, and she shook her head no until she hurt from it. "I can't. I can't, Shane. Don't you make me do that."
But even she could tell that it was getting more frenzied around him, like licking at her on the bars had just made the things out there realize they were starving from the inside out. The blood at her knee trickled slow, on account of hydration not being a thing her cells were having any of just then, and she retched and sobbed as she reached for the damn bag and tipped it out in front of where she was standing. Even if she put the damn things on herself, she wasn't sure she had the gumption to open that door and walk on out into the middle of that herd.
She looked scared as could be, and she knew he couldn't say a thing to make it better. So, she closed her damn eyes, and she knelt in front of the innards. She reached, not looking at whatever slimy and foul thing her fingers touched, and she lost what bile she had left in her stomach, acid and blood from being emptied out, and she draped whatever the heck it was over her shoulders.