Rick sat down on a nearby rock, not the most pleasant seating, not the worst. Giving him a view of the tiny stream and its small clearing. A view of trees, grass, rocks and water. A scene he’d seen many times before, this time feeling different, this time feeling like he was a foreigner in his own body. He stared at the scene as if looking at a painting, not through his own eyes. He watched the scene as if he could not connect it to reality. It was weird; it was strange. It was foreign.

He took a deep breath and breathed out. Once again, twice more. Breathing in and out, staring while shivering. Staring, while not thinking, or at least, trying not to think.

It was weird; he knew he couldn’t stay, knew he had to keep moving. But he didn’t want to, didn’t feel like it. Didn’t move.

He pushed the recents memories away, memories to heavy to think about. Feeling himself drawn into himself, drawn deep into his mind. Finding memories, both old and older. Older than he felt comfortable diving into, but still did.

The first coming blurry, unfocused and rather weird. It was a memory of him carving, carving with a knife different from any he’d used after. A knife made of skin and bone, used to carve meat rather than wood. Remembering how little he liked doing that. Remembering how he shaped his first carving after that first animal he'd slain.

His eyes drew towards Bob, seeing him looking back, smiling at the attention. Rick leaned forward, cringing at the pain in his right arm and stomach, forcing through it. He grabbed Bob and put him on his lap. Bob clapping away while it happened, sitting down as he was let go, staring up at Rick with his head lopsided. His world slanted up-side-down as he stared up at Rick, something that was apparently worthy of silent laughter.

Rick stared at Bob, flashes of the monsters he’d killed going through his mind. Trying to ignore it, failing miserably. Flashes of emotions following. Fear, fright and horror. Followed closely behind by shame and guilt. Horrible, horrible guilt.

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He understood the fear, understood it completely. He wasn’t a warrior or a great soldier. He was just a normal person. He understood his freight and horror too. For they, like fear, came normal to someone as normal as him.

Then he thought on his guilt. And he remembered the little girl, a girl he didn’t even know the name of, bloodied and empty on a vast grassland. A girl he could have saved if he’d just rushed straight for her instead of seeking help.

Then he thought of a boy, a boy he dearly didn't want to think about, but did. Hard not too.

Bob stared up at Rick and stopped smiling. He stopped smiling, for Rick looked to be in pain. Rick had closed his eyes as his chest started hurting. The pain in his arm and stomach but a mere distraction, oddly comforting as he clenched his hands tight around his knees, clenching hard.

He tried ignoring the pain in his chest, tried avoiding it, pushing it away. But the more he tried stopping it, the more it hurt. The more he thought, the harsher his breathing got. He grabbed his knees even harder, pushing in nails, straining the muscles in his painful right arm, leaning his body forward, straining his stomach, anything to distract him from the actual pain.

It didn’t work.

It hurt even more, it crushed him even further, breathing growing harder, even harsher. Rick felt it, felt that he couldn’t breathe, that he was stuck, trapped in a prison. He tried to escape, closed his eyes even harder, pushing even harder.

But nothing helped.

It was overwhelming; it was devastating; it was crushing. It was like standing underneath a waterfall. It was like falling down a cliff. It was like drowning in the deepest depths. It was like standing in a dark room. It was like sleeping without your parents.

He felt it growing; he felt that this was it, that this would be his death. That he couldn’t go on anymore.

Then something touched him, meek yet comforting, barely pressing against his bare cheek. He opened his eyes and noticed Bob hugging his face. Something he'd done many times, this time feeling different. Rick's face crunched up, contorting as if sucking on the sourest lemon. Grabbing Bob as he brought him down to his chest, pulling him hard as if pushing away the real pain. Bob just continuing his hug, not bothered by the tight embrace.

And the two sat. Silent and voiceless.