Henry Olson is dead.

You know this. You, Henry Olson, are dead. Or Hank Olson, as you came to be called in your later days. The only people who would actually call you Hank were the guys on the Walk. The guys at home would just look at you like you were an idiot.

Which you were. Still are, probably. It's not like you really know; you're just dead and all alone. On a road, stupidly enough. But maybe all of the Walkers are here. You. Baker. McVries. Garraty. Barkovitch. Harkness. Abraham.

You really hope that's not true. Who the hell would want to see Abraham again? You think you can probably deal with Barkovitch; he's just an annoying little shit, but Abraham? You've never hated someone as much as you hate Abraham. He's too tall, he's too stupid, he thinks he's funny and, to be honest, so does everyone else, but you just hate him. He can make friends with the guy that you should've made friends with, because if you would've been friends with Collie Parker you would've been set for life. Despite his stupid-looking polo, Collie Parker is (was?) undoubtedly the coolest guy on the Walk. He's a badass. He's the kind of guy you wanted to be.

But Abraham got to him first, and you got the queers. Sure, you had Baker at one point, too, but then Abraham stole him away, too.

There was the problem. Abraham was just too damn charismatic. Too damn attractive. Too damn Abraham.

You shake your head free of this and decide to start walking. You don't want to stay on this godforsaken road forever, after all. Maybe eventually you're run into a town or something and then… well, then you can stop walking. Stop this motherfucking walking.

You pass many other Walkers, but nobody you really care about. There's Scramm – you faintly remember him saying something about being married, but by the time he was talking about that you didn't really care anymore, and there's Barkovitch, and there's Collie Parker…

And there's that goddam Abraham.

He doesn't see you. He's too busy playing on the playground like a goddam kid. You wonder if, when Parker makes it this far – most of the guys are just sitting on the ground, looking disoriented, you fucking ran here – he'll join his stupid ginger friend or roll his eyes and swear at him.

Earlier, you would've guessed the latter, but, then again, you never expected to see Abraham hanging upside-down from the jungle gym.

He sees you and pulls himself up to sit on the top. Maybe he thinks this is intimidating or something; you don't know. You just cross your arms and look up at him. "What do you want, asshole?" he asks. There's another thing you've never liked about him. His voice. It's too damn deep.

"Nothing," you say, faintly remembering him puking when you died. Serves him right.

(To be honest, you probably would've puked if you'd seen someone walk with their guts hanging out, too. But he's never going to know that.)

He makes his way down with way too much caution – seriously, the guy's so tall he could just slide off of the top bars and only have a little bit to fall – and stands in front of you.

Let's get this straight. You're of average height; about five ten and a half. This guy's at least half a foot taller than you. Six three, six four, somewhere along there. Despite this, you feel that if it came to it, you could probably beat him in a fight. He probably weighs the same as you do.

"Wow," you say, smirking. "Intimidating."

"Shut up," Abraham says, and once again you wince at the voice. There's a stereotypical villain for you. If Abraham's the villain – you suppose that would be Barkovitch, or maybe the Major, but Abraham is your villain. "Why don't you just fuck off?"

"Nah," you say. "Don't feel like it."

The next thing you do you're sure is a mistake. You think you can beat him in a fight, but you're not sure, and what if Parker shows up?

But you hit him anyway. You hit him in the jaw, and he looks surprised for a moment, then like he's about to kill you.

Maybe that was a bad idea.

You're not going to run, though, you're going to stand there, cross your arms, and wait for him to do something. He's been in fights before, you're sure of it, because who the hell hasn't?

"What the hell was that," he says, and his voice is dangerously low. Seriously, he sounds like Satan at the moment. You're caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to get the hell out of there. He takes a step toward you. You stand your ground. You're not going to give this bastard anything.

He hits you back with more force than you were ready for. You end up stumbling back a few paces, tasting blood, and to hell with it, you're just going to go for it.

You leap at him, driving your shoulder into his ribcage and knocking him over and into the jungle gym. There's a small tussle that involves him using his longer limbs to an advantage and you using the fact that you've just knocked him into a jungle gym to an advantage. You're busy trying to bash his face in while he is apparently trying to break all of your rips when someone pulls you off of him by the back of the shirt. You yank your way free and spit blood onto the ground, turning to see who it is.

Well, shit.

You're fucked now.

i start too many multi-chaptered stories

but i sort of felt like writing a second-person not-so-depressing story sort of? and abe and olson just have a great rivalry and i don't know how often this'll be updated but

i

i don't know