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Keeps us coming back for more.

Time is a delicate thing. It takes some serious mental horsepower to make any kind of coherent sense out of it. It's really not straightforward at all. I can remember days that felt longer than a week. Hours that seemed longer than a decade. A year, truthfully, doesn't seem all that long. A year goes by just like that. Blink and it goes by. A year.

Hell, I've seen twenty of them.

But it is a long time. A lot changes during that time. Things change. Situations change. People change. I'd like to think that people don't change, but they do. And it's nice to see how much we change over time. How much we grow up. Mature. It's all for the better. I'm glad I've changed.So I guess we'll see what things are like in another year. But in the mean time:

“I killed a man, Charles. I killed a man when I was looking for you.” Isaac cut him off. “I got this—,” he pointed to his bruised eye, “—and shot him in the head. I don’t kill people, Charles. I’m not a killer. I'm not a damn murderer. I’m supposed to be saving people.” He could hear his voice rising. He was becoming hysterical, but he couldn’t stop it. His heart was pounding in his throat, suffocating him. Throttling him where he stood.

The old man narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to blame that on me, son. I had nothing to do with you killing people. I’ve killed plenty of people in these last few weeks—more than I’d like—but you don’t see me pointing fingers at anybody else, do you? See this?” He pointed his finger in the air. “This is my trigger finger. This is what killed those men.”

“You don’t understand—,” Isaac started.

“No, you don’t understand.” Charles interjected. “Violence is a choice. It’s a choice that a man makes for himself. You chose to kill those men and I think you’re better off for it, Isaac.”

Isaac stood in the doorway, tears welling in his eyes. The old man was right, and he knew it. And Charles knew it. And Lillian knew it. “Charles,” he whispered, leaning against the door frame. “We can’t compromise our humanity. Not even in the middle of the apocalypse. It’s the only thing that separates us from those things out there.”

Charles took a long sip from his tea. “You’re preaching to the choir.” He said. His voice was low. “But we have to become a little more selfish to survive. You can’t save the world if you don’t save yourself.”

I've got a story to keep writing.

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