Future Ghosts • TWD

63. The Good Out of the Bad.

Bob Stookey was particularly good at dying. He wasn't leaving this world like Ivan Ilyich, he was leaving this world happy. Rosie was sitting outside the door, curious and listening. She wasn't sure how it would happen.

They left Jim on that hill, tied to that tree. They didn't know how long it took for him to die or how long it took for his body to come back to life. Maybe he was still tied to that tree, struggling against the rope. Or maybe his rotting body broke apart against the force of the rope, and the upper half of his body was body was laying in the grass while the bottom half of his body was still slumped up against the tree. Or maybe someone had come along and put him to rest. Or maybe Jim had done it himself. They wouldn't know.

Jim accepted his death, but not until he went through all five stages of it: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Bob didn't go through all five stages. He just accepted it, as far as Rosie could tell.

Lots of people ask themselves the age old question: Is there any meaning in life that wouldn't be destroyed by the death that inevitably awaits us all? But Bob Stookey wasn't asking that question. He saw things in a simple way. Bob Stookey believed the meaning in life was just to be alive. And he'd done that for a long time, and now it was finally his turn to rest. Bob Stookey was happy to be alive, but he was happy to die, too.

Bob Stookey was wise, Rosie thought. Bob Stookey was sick. Bob Stookey was dying. But Bob Stookey was finding the good out of the bad.  Rosie wanted to be like Bob Stookey. But she wasn't. She wanted to live. If she were to be bitten, to have a chunk of her flesh ripped out by the teeth of one of those lifeless monsters, she would be so angry. Perhaps it had to do with her father. She was alive for ten, almost eleven years, but, somehow, she was only alive for one, almost two years. She didn't want to die.

We'll all die, nothin' to be afraid of, Rosie reminded herself.

"They think they're in control. We're in here and they could be anywhere. But we know exactly where they are," Rick's tired, scratchy voice started speaking.

Rosie closed her eyes, still sitting on the ground outside of the door to the back office. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but she couldn't. Not even if she tried. Nightmares haunted her mind every time she was finally able to drift off, and Daryl wasn't there to say, I'm right here, nothin's gonna happen. And now Terminus, the cannibals, were waiting outside, hunting their next meal, and Bob was dying, and Maggie and Glenn were going to leave, along with Eugene, Rosita, and Abraham, and Carol and Daryl were still missing. How could anyone sleep at a time like this?

"Plan's got stones, I'll give you that," Abraham said. He was sitting on one of the church pews, incredibly incorrectly. His feet were on the seat and he was sitting on the back of it. Rosie didn't mention it, though, because it didn't matter. Nothing but the problems at hand mattered right now.

"Make our move before they do," Glenn agreed, nodding along.

"That's right," Rick said, now nodding, too. "They're not counting on us thinking straight."

"Are we?" Rosita questioned. She was sitting next to Abraham, but she was sitting on the pew somewhat correctly. No one answered her question. "I'm just making sure. It's a big play," she added on.

Rick stood up. He had a crazed sort of look on his face and in his eyes that sort of scared Rosie. She couldn't blame him, though. People were trying to eat his family. "Remember what these people are capable of," Rick reminded them all. Everyone nodded, and Rick turned to Tyreese. "Tyreese."

"Yeah?" Tyreese asked quietly and solemnly.

"You up for this?" Rick asked him sympathetically. Tyreese didn't answer. Rosie heard footsteps coming out of the office, and knew it was Sasha, because, well, it definitely wasn't Bob.