Nathan Cohan (notcoping) wrote in undeadsiegeic, @ 2015-01-19 22:37:00 |
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Shame. That’s what had initially driven Nate out into the jungle. But after shame had come regret, and where regret went anger always followed. The first day he had found himself in the jungle between the resort and Haven, he had been looking to avoid facing anyone, but especially Lydia. While he had never once thought about the repercussions of going on that damn boat, it had been his friend who had thought of his daughter - secured her a place to stay when it was assumed he was dead, and frankly at every turn continued to prove just how shitty of a parent he truly was. She didn’t do it on purpose, and yet Nate knew he couldn’t face her that day. And now it was a habit. Each day like clockwork he would find his way out here. Find some zombie wandering around and take out all the pent up anger, regret and shame on the undead. It didn’t make him feel better, not really. In truth in only made him feel like he was inching closer and closer towards becoming his father - a man who had used his hands to express how he was feeling. The only glimmer of hope that Nate had was that he was out here, attacking the dead and not the living. Nate wasn’t drinking, not yet anyway. He was fighting like hell not to pick up a bottle - but was this any better? That thought crossed his mind on repeat. Was he simply trading in one shameful trait for another? Nate had feeling that until he could answer that question he would find himself out here. He sat at the base of a tree, his hands fisted in his hair as his head rested in his hands. Nate’s breathing was heavy and his hands were splattered with blood - left over reminders of his latest outburst. Minutes passed as he he weighed heading back, cleaning up and rejoining the resort dwellers. But he wasn’t calm enough yet, or he couldn’t face anyone, not yet. Not like this. As if fate knew he wasn’t done yet. Nate heard the tell tail signs of another zombie heading his way. Lifting his head out of his, he grouped for the knife that he had tossed aside, his fingers wrapping around the hilt as the groaning grew louder - a clear indicator that the infected would be on him in mere moments. With practiced ease, Nate rose from the ground and lunged at the reanimated body, his knife sneaking into the skull easily. A normal person, a calm person, someone seeking survival would have stopped there. Would have been content with the way the body sunk to the ground, truly dead now. Not Nate though. No. He crouched next to the body, his knife finding it’s mark repeatedly - only stopping once the zombie was well and truly unrecognizable as once having been a person. “Fuck,” Nate cursed as he sunk back on his haunches, heart still racing as he wiped the blade of his knife on his pants leg. “What the hell am I doing?” When had he turned into a barbarian? |