Sliding in from the twenty-second lincoln log.
The man with the rifle dropped his head then slowly turned it from left to right. Knowing that you’re dead and shouldn’t have so much motor function or such fine control of it was not easy to comprehend fully. The girl in the argyle socks had been packing for hours and scuttled by every now and again to announce their departure in “ten more minutes.” When she came by a few minutes ago, he’d told her that he was beginning to remember a few details. She’d nodded and continued with compiling and organizing supplies.
The girl in the argyle socks saw more of his memories than she’d let on but also knew that in order for him to ‘reunite’ with his physical self, he would have to recall what had happened to him by himself. She couldn’t give him hints, she couldn’t guide his train of thought. She could only take him to the places he’d been before he’d come across her all those months ago. Although she’d wanted to travel light, she was well aware of unpredictable terrain or changes in weather. She would get hungry quickly and often, thus, she needed to bring enough food. As much delight as she took in the taste of his ‘non-dead’ body, the girl in the argyle socks was not about to feast on the flesh of a man who wasn’t really there. Not corporeally at any rate.