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He loves the sunset
His knees pulled up to his chest, the sun was still maybe a few inches from the horizon. He sat on sand, Spidey and “Johnathan” by his side. He can see their faces, on his left, beads of sweat fall down Johnathan’s. His eyes were unreadable. The bandages around his face looked roughened, more than usual. They make eye contact, and he averts his eyes.
Standing on his right, Spidey’s face is contorted into something of distant grief, of guilt. Why? Why was she sad? Was it about her father? She told me about him earlier.
His eyes drift down. In front of him is a cake. Cake? Oh! Right its my birthday. He extended his arm for the cake.
“Did you… have a good day?” Jonathan cuts his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks, then pulls his arm back. He turns to look at him and pauses. “Did you have a good day?” Jonathan repeats.
“Oh yeah! I had a great day!” He answers, looking back to the sunset.
“What… was your favorite part of today?” Spidey asks on his right. Her voice cracks, and he can hear her breathing becoming deeper. He thinks. What had they done today? He remembers climbing to the top of a large skyscraper. The ascent was scary, zombies, falling, losing track of Johnathan, just to check on the broken helicopter. All that to only find 2 bullets for Johnathan’s shotgun. However, the veiw at the top, that was worth the treck. After what happened last week, this was a huge break. What happened last week?
“I liked climbing the building,” he thinks about what else to add, “it was really pretty.” Spidey makes a sort of affirmative noise, he assumes she nodded.
“I liked that too,” she sounds so sad. Why? Did she not like it?
“I hope Johnathan will take us on more adventures like that soon” he tries. Spidey had always been the hopeful type. He expected her to laugh, maybe tease Johnathan about always being stuck up.
Instead she choked up a sob.
“Spidey are you okay?” he shifts to face her. Tears are running down her face. He sits like this for a minute. He asks again. “Spidey?”
“Look at the sunset,” she takes a shaky breath. Then, again, “Look at the sunset. You don’t want to miss it.” She’s right, he doesn’t. He slowly tuns back around, only briefly looking back at Spidey’s broken expression. He stares at the water, reflecting the half-covered sun. He hears shuffling behind him and then the light, quivering voice of Spidey.
“I love you 4c,”
“What,” who is 4c? Was she talking to him? What did she say? “What did you say?”
“You’re the best friend I could’ve ever had-” uncontrollable sobs break out of her. He's just about to turn around. He doesn’t care about the sunset anymore, not as much as Spidey.
“Spidey are you-” A loud bang rings through his ears, and the world goes black.
.
.
.
She loved the sunset
She had done it. She had just murdered her best friend. Two days ago, on the beach, when she was confessing about the truth, the reason she was here in the first place, 4c had a sudden declaration that he got bitten once. This changed everything. It answered questions, only to bring up new ones. Was that why he had amnesia? Why he was coughing? When had it happened? The few days they were separated or before, right under their noses? When they had met 4c for the first time at the parking garage with blue sweater guy? Had he already been infected?
She remembers sitting on the roof of the church, or the roof of the hostel, watching the sun rise and set. He would exclaim how much he loved the sun. Whenever he would forget who she was she would respond with the same familiar phrase, hoping that he would remember. Now all that remained was his two backpacks, and the, still warm, body of the boy laying on the sand.
He wasn’t one of the bus folk, not like her. Nor did he live in the city previously, like Johnathan. No one knew where he came from, not even himself. No one was left to tell them his history his legacy, gone because of his amnesia, gone because of the bullet that went straight through his head.
He loved ice cream, the sun, and rainbows. He would greet the moon after Chuck died, when Stella told him he was watching over them from up there. He loved so much, he saw the good in this god forsaken world and yet the only thing they had left to call him was a stupid string of numbers he found in his pocket, then promptly forgot about.
When Johnathan found out about his infection, he offered to do it. She should’ve accepted, but instead she stands here, shotgun cradled in her arm, barrel hot, smoke rising from the nose, 4c dead.
She cries. Loud ugly cries.
“NO. No, no, take it. Take it, Johnathan” she hastily shoves the rifle into the older man’s arms and rushes over to the body being brushed by the tide as her mind breaks down. Fat tears roll down her face as she embraces 4c. She can hear Johnathan saying things and repeating it, but her mind was too foggy, filled with memories of what 4c once was.
There was so much blood. A gunshot, point-blank to the head, of course there was blood, but it was overwhelming. Her pants were slowly soaking up with crimson and seawater. She feels a hand on her shoulder.
She cries harder. Johnathan was by her side now, digging a shallow hole in the sand. She pays no mind to him as she continues to cradle 4c in her arms, caving in closer to the body.
Time passes, what seems like hours, hours that went by all to fast, yet so slow. Her embracing what remained of 4c, and Johnathan was doing whatever he did.
“Spidey…” Johnathan starts, she feels a warm hand on her shoulder again, “Spidey, you need to let go. Let him rest.” She looks up at him, then over to the shallow grave behind him. Her hold around 4c lightens, and Johnathan’s arms wrap around him instead.
He carefully lowers 4c into the pit, the grave Johnathan had dug. Tears are still falling as she looks down at him. He looks almost peaceful, if it weren't for the blood still seeping from his head. She watches in silence as Johnathan covers his body with sand. It piles up, until she can't see the remains of 4c anymore.
Here tears have dried by now. All that remains is the dry streaks that trace down her face, and puffy red around her eyes. Johnathan bends down to place a sign on the ground, on top of the grave. She stops and stares. Moving to stand next to the man and read what he wrote.
4c A Man Worth Remembering
It felt almost ironic, but fitting. He truly was someone to be remembered, even if he couldn't remember himself. A man who loved roller coasters and ice cream. A man who saw Spidey as a friend. A man who stopped everything to watch the sun rise and set, or to gaze at a rainbow after a storm. A man who, maybe in another life, played the trumpet alongside them. A man whose name was only some sort of train ticket, numbers in a line with some sort of meaning not related to him at all. A man who lived on a farm with his brother and his horse. A man who couldn’t remember, and yet was worth remembering.
She could feel the tears about to fall again. The cramp in her throat, the blur in her eyes return. Her chest hurt, and her head throbbed, so she turned to Johnathan.
She leapt into his arms and let the tears fall again.