Dead Man Walking | Rick Grimes

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"Open your eyes, sweetie," I moaned, the heaviness in my head overwhelming, "Come on, June. Open those eyes of yours," The voice got stronger, sounding oddly familiar. I couldn't decipher it or put a face to the voice, but the calming tone made me feel safe.

"Oh, come on, you drama queen," A new feminine voice barked, annoyed. Again, like with the first voice, I couldn't put a face to it, but it was eerily recognizable.

"Be nice to your sister," A manly voice berated, with a slight Spanish accent. It was faint, but if you paid attention, it was there. The heaviness in my head started to lift, and my eyes began to fight to open.

"I'm just saying," The second feminine voice sounded defensive, "You'd think she got run over or something."

"She got stabbed," The first voice explained. It was soothing—motherly. It made me feel warm inside, "That, mixed with panic for the baby, is enough to make someone pass out."

"I beg to differ," Woman number two chuckled, "Try being crushed by a car and having hands rip you apart,"

"Don't talk to me about being ripped apart," Motherly voice woman chastised, "I know how that feels like,"

"Alright, alright," The man spoke up again, his voice sounding tired, "Let's just agree that we each had it bad, okay? It's not about us, though. It's about June." Large, warm hands caressed the top of my head, pushing my hair back.

"I still think she's being a baby," Woman 2 groaned.

"She's going through a lot," Motherly woman spoke softly, and smaller, warm hands gripped my left one, "Her body is going through a lot of changes, and she lost a bit of blood."

"Yeah, well, no one told her to get knocked up," With each passing word, the voices started to ring a sense of familiarity with me, and blurred images of faces began to flood my mind, "Like, who has a kid when the world is literally ending?" Someone clicked their tongue, the action bringing all sorts of memories to the forefront. I've heard that sound hundreds of thousands of times in the past.

"That's your niece or nephew, Summer Gomez. You can at least be happy for your sister."

It hit me like a wrecking ball. I must be losing my mind if I hear these people I know to be dead converse. Finally, the blanket of weight lifted entirely, and I slowly opened my eyes. Three figures watched me intently, two with smiles and one with an annoyed expression. Am I dead? I have to be, right? There's no way!

The man had pointed, angular cheekbones, brown gelled-back hair, a crooked nose, and brown eyes—eyes I inherited. The woman nearest me smiled widely, her full lips stretching over her pearly white teeth. Her hair was brushed back into a high ponytail and looked like the sun had kissed it, shining its light on her. Her nose and eyes scrunched like they always did when she smiled. Finally, the third woman gave me a pointed look, but I still felt my breath escape me, making my chest hurt as I stared at her. Blonde hair, much like the woman before, pointed angular cheekbones, full lips, brown eyes. I could feel tears in my eyes as I looked at my family. I'm definitely dead. There's no other way I could see them now—it's impossible.

"Hey, June," My mother greeted me with a broad smile, "How are you feeling," My dad reached forward and brushed a stray strand of hair out of my face.

"You scared us," He whispered, "I've always told you to be safe and think things through, but you're just as stubborn as your mother."

"Well," Summer chimed in, "I still say that you're a drama queen about all of this. I mean, you were only stabbed! And in a spot that wouldn't kill you." I let go of my mother's hand and rubbed my belly; panic started to build in my chest again. "Little nugget is fine. The knife didn't go that deep, missed the uterus by an inch," I felt a chuckle escape me involuntarily, and I let my hands fall to the sides.