We’ve been out here a while. And by a while I mean we’ve slept like… six times? So it’s been almost a week? At this point, most of the time we’re just strolling along. He told me which books he likes (Septimus Heap, and the Six of Crows) and what his music taste is (math songs in German is one of the weirder things).

I told him about Beth’s party, and about how much I love to watch my mom do her art. I told him about how even though I’m 17, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. He was very understanding, and honestly I can’t think of anyone else that would handle this endless walking with this much grace. He doesn’t complain, he simply asks to stop. I’ve been tempted to complain before, but I realized that it’s not going to do anything. We’re dead, after all.

At this point, I’m probably closer with him than anyone I knew at school. I guess that sounds weird, but like my mom says, when you go through a traumatic experience together, you become friends really fast. I suppose death wasn’t really that traumatic for either of us. He doesn’t even know what hit him. That’s funny I suppose. He’ll never know what hit him. I wonder how many times people have said that, versus how many times it’s been true. I wonder how many times it’s been true without people saying it. It’s oddly funny in any case.

This morning I’m up before him. It’s not a set thing who wakes up first, and generally we let the other one sleep. Although I’m not really a singer, I have a song stuck in my head. I wander a little ways off, just to sing the song stuck in my head. I’m not a very good singer, but there’s not much else to do but listen to the sound of your own voice. Even the air here is slightly muffling, so even though I can see him lying near the road, I know he can’t hear me. I’m not being super loud anyway.

I sit down in the fine powder stuff that surrounds the road, trailing my fingers through it. It seems like it should stick to your fingers like soot, but it doesn’t. I’ve never even found a trace of it in my clothes after sleeping on it.

“ANNE!” It’s Lian, but he sounds almost… scared? I stand up quickly, making my way over to him.

“Lian?” I call out, realizing I wandered further than I thought I had. I can still see him, but he has his back turned to me. “Lian I’m over here!” He finally seems to hear which direction I’m coming from, and he turns around. I’m almost to him, but I’m only walking fast. He runs, closing the gap faster than we’ve ever walked. Suddenly he’s hugging me, and I’m so confused.

“Anne I thought you disappeared and I was all alone in this… this place…” And I realize he’s crying. I cautiously return his hug before pulling away.

“Lian I’m sorry, I was just trying not to wake you up.” He immediately covers his face as I try to look. “Hey, it’s alright. I understand why that would upset you.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, because I don't know what else to do.

“I was alone for a while and… I don’t want to be alone again.” He says, fighting to stop crying. I feel awful that I made him cry, but what am I supposed to do?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone. It’s okay to feel things, I get it.” I pat his shoulder awkwardly before withdrawing my hand. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, still avoiding eye contact.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you could really go anywhere.” He laughs drily, turning away and sitting on the edge of the road.

“Lian… I’m glad you’re here. You’re a really nice guy, and there’s plenty of people I would’ve hated being stuck here with. But you’re not one of them.”

He gets up and shoots me a crooked smile. “Guess that makes me feel better. Thanks Anne.” He steps past me and onto the road. “Let’s get going, yeah?” There’s nothing left to do than follow him onto the road.