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───── NOW ─────
Time froze, and the world went quiet. It left Mitch alone in a tunnel of darkness caused by his idiocy.
His mind dragged him across the dirt and pulled under the waves of anger once again. Was that the right call? Shaky hands tore at his hair, tugging at the jet-black locks, searching for answers. Unfortunately, there were none. That harsh voice in his head started to scratch at his brain once again: MURDERER!
CarlGrimes dropped Mitch's carbine to the grass, sights glassy with fright. The boy looked as if he saw a ghost.
Nothing made sense—Mitch felt nothing. His entire body, down his spine, from head to toe, felt numb. Mitch Haines ceased to exist for 60 seconds, even though it felt like a lifetime of misery.
One by one, his senses began to kick in. First, it was hearing. The traumatized girl's screams erupted through the caged walls of his mind. He couldn't make out her words properly—but he didn't need to know what she was saying to know she was in a world of hurt.
It didn't take long for Carl's voice to ring into the crackling picture.
"Mitch! Can you hear me?"
By the sound of the boy's strained voice, he must've been trying to get Mitch's attention while he endured the panic episode.
The second was seeing. After a few bleak blinks, the abyss melted into a blurry version of Carl's edged face. His features were as white as snow, pale and sharp, with the look of fear painting his complexion. His hat was nowhere to be seen. It must've been knocked off during the commotion. His indigo eyes were glassy. Not that he had been crying, but crossed with a true nightmare: witnessing death.
Even though Carl might as well have hated the dead man for forcing Mitch's hand—more like a rifle—he didn't. The boy couldn't help but imagine the man's soul leaving his body and rising through the hazy dawned sky. If God did exist—Dean would burn in hell. But Carl envisioned he still arrived at the Golden Gates, just like Shane.
Finally, Mitch looked in the direction of the screams he heard. But, instead of seeing a wailing girl—he only saw a limp body. Confusion crossed his eyes. He flickered his sights once again, trying to grasp reality. Why could he still hear the screams? What was happening to him? When will it end?
"What're we going to do?!"
Still, Mitch chose not to respond. Ignoring Carl's concerned questions, he pulled himself up from the grass. As he inched closer, the shoutings faded into nothing, which made him feel utterly insane. But his legs still managed to lead him to the crime scene.
