Ꮇ𝑦 ℤօｍ𝘣ⅈ𝖊 𝗕օ𝑦𝚏𝔯ⅈ𝖊𝖓꒯ ||Parkster

Nourish; Feed On The Dead If As One With The Flies

"What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature." ~ (Warm Bodies - Isaac Marion)

~~~

Never before has he felt such deadened panic until this very moment.

"DON'T SHOOT!"

Chester can't get directly infront of Parker to protect him without running up the stairs, not without losing precious time, so he can only hope words will be enough.

"Listen to me, he's harmless-"

"Wait.." The boy glances between the two. His scrutinizing gaze lands on Parker, taking in his state of appearance. The spotless clothes. The fresh haircut.. his gray eyes narrow in suspicion.

"He looks well taken care of for an infected," his voice is accusatory, lip curling in disgust.

Chester doesn't like what the other might be implying. To him, Parker is one of the many inexplicable things that no one could begin to understand, and trying to explain to a total stranger who is predisposed to their own suppositions is nearly- if not completely impossible.

"Look, whatever you're thinking- it's not like that. He really isn't dangerous.."

"What is he your boyfriend or something?" He sneers, "He's a zombie!"

"He's my friend!" Chester snaps.

The boy looks at him as if he's lost his mind. "Do you hear yourself? He's clearly not the same person you knew. He's a mindless, brain dead, walking infection and he'll kill us all if given the chance!"

That's not true.. That can't be true. Chester's fingers curl into fists, and realizes they're shaking. The words land like physical blows to the gut and something happens.

An accretion of intense feelings and emotions harbored deep within the darkest corners of his mind are rising to the surface at an alarming rate. Something primal and desperate, equipped with talons and teeth. It's as if a flip has been switched, with tape above written in big bold letters: 'Don't Mess With'.

Never before has he felt such murderous rage until this very moment.

And he's terrified. Terrified he might act on it, which would be really, really bad.

For a split second he imagines Parker being shot and then him begging the boy to use it on me because you killed the only fucking thing I care about. A surge of grief strikes like lightning.

Chester blinks away the redness from his vision, a premonition of spilled blood?, and replaces it with fresh tears.

He hates crying infront of strangers, especially without the shield of his sunglasses, but it's either he's swept away by the tsunami of grief and sorrow, or the raging inferno of hatred and rage.

"Please," Chester pours every ounce of emotion into that one word, and he cringes when it comes out more like a mournful cry. But it works, because the gun in the boy's hands waver, his confused eyes now trained on Chester's pained expression.

"Let me take him upstairs and lock him in the bedroom until you guys leave. He won't hurt anyone. Please just.. let me do this." He burns with humiliation as he resorts to begging that only worsens with every passing second.

He sighs in relief when the boy's shotgun finally drops to his side and gives an awkward nod.

Chester can feel judgemental eyes burning at his back as he leads Parker up the stairs.

He practically shoves Parker into the bedroom and slams the door before sliding to the ground, face flushing pink from embarrassment. He presses his palms into drying eyes, making kaleidoscopic patterns, wishing he could disappear into them.