The night felt endless. The once familiar sounds of life had long since vanished, leaving only the groans and shuffling of the undead. Yet in the quiet of the camp, it wasn't the walkers that kept Otis awake—it was the nightmare. His mind replayed the events, a terrifying vision from which he could not wake.
It had been a long time since he'd dreamt this vividly. He could still feel it—the suffocating weight of failure pressing against his chest, thick like smoke.
In the nightmare, he was back at home, safe in the world before. His wife, Patricia, stood beside him, laughing as they prepared for a quiet night. But the world around them began to twist—shadows crept along the edges of the room, and the air became thick, like it was suffocating him.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open, and they both froze. Walkers, their eyes hollow, their rotting limbs jerking and twisted, flooded through the door. Otis reached for Patricia, but his hands were too slow, too heavy. His body betrayed him, his muscles sluggish and uncooperative.
"Patricia!" he screamed, but the words were choked in his throat, a whisper in the storm of chaos.
He lunged forward, but the ground beneath him turned to mush—his feet sinking into it, dragging him down like quicksand. He reached out for her again, his fingers grazing her hand as she was dragged into the darkness. Her terrified scream filled the air, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull her back.
Why can't I save her? He thought, desperation clawing at his chest. He struggled, but his body refused to cooperate. The weight of his own failure, his own weakness, was a physical presence, dragging him further into the abyss. He was nothing. A useless, broken man.
Patricia's face twisted in agony as she was pulled away from him. Her screams pierced the air, a haunting, guttural sound that tore through Otis' chest. And then, a voice. His voice. Coming from the darkness. "You failed her."
Failed her. Failed them. Failed everyone.
The words echoed in his mind, louder and louder until they became the only sound he could hear. You failed her.
The scene shifted. He was outside now, standing in the middle of the street, watching as walkers tore through his neighborhood. There were people everywhere—people he knew, his family, his friends. All of them were screaming, but it wasn't their voices that chilled him. It was their faces. Their eyes, hollow, empty. Not alive, not human. Just… dead.
And then he saw it. The wreckage. His own body, broken, bloodied, and covered in dirt. Stretched out in the middle of the street like a lifeless puppet. A mockery of who he used to be. This is what you're destined for. The thought reverberated in his head like a mantra. This is what you are.
Then Patricia's face appeared again, but this time, it was different. She looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief, as she stepped over his lifeless body and continued to walk away. She didn't look back. Didn't even hesitate.
Otis felt his chest constrict, a crushing weight that left him gasping for air. He couldn't breathe. His mind was unraveling, a mess of guilt, shame, and helplessness. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her disappear into the horizon, leaving him behind. Alone. Useless. You failed her.
The ground beneath him cracked open, and the darkness swallowed him whole. The sound of walkers—hundreds of them—closing in on him, their gnashing teeth echoing in the blackness.
And then, he heard the voice again, but it was colder now. The words dripping with contempt. "You weren't strong enough. You'll never be."
Otis awoke with a start, gasping for air. His heart raced as sweat poured from his forehead, his body drenched. He tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving, but it felt like he couldn't escape the weight of the dream.
His limbs were heavy, like they were made of stone. His stomach ached from the pressure of his own body, and for a moment, he didn't know if it was the nightmare or his own weakness pressing down on him. The nightmare was over, but it was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, like a shadow that wouldn't leave him.
This isn't me, he thought, the realization hitting him like a hammer to the chest. He couldn't be this man anymore. He couldn't let himself be this weak, this useless. The guilt of that nightmare—the helplessness, the failure—stung in a way that words couldn't explain.
But the most terrifying thought of all came to him as he lay there, gasping for breath: What if I am? What if this is who I really am?
His eyes burned with exhaustion, but there was something else simmering inside him—rage. A desperate need to change, to do something. He couldn't let this be the end of his story.
Without thinking, he pushed himself up from the bed. The cold, hard floor felt real under his feet. His body screamed in protest as he forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he didn't care. His mind was set.
He moved slowly, painfully, but each step brought him closer to a truth he'd been avoiding for far too long.
The mirror was his first stop. His reflection stared back at him, a bloated, unrecognizable version of the man he once was. Fat. Weak. Pathetic.
I can't be this anymore.
He gritted his teeth, a bitter resolve settling in his gut. This wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.
Otis grabbed the nearest weight he could find, a rusted metal bar from a broken-down cart. His hands trembled as he tried to lift it. It was harder than he remembered, his muscles sluggish, unused to any kind of strain. The strain wasn't just physical—it was mental, emotional. But he didn't stop. He pushed through it, even though every fiber in his body begged him to quit.
By the time the sun began to rise, he was sweating, his arms shaking. It wasn't a victory. Not yet. But it was a start.
This is just the beginning, he thought, as he set the bar down with a grunt. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath.
Otis wasn't going to be the man in the nightmare. He wasn't going to be the man who failed. Not this time.
As the days passed, Otis worked tirelessly, his routines becoming more rigorous, more demanding. He could feel the difference in his body, even if it was small. He was starting to feel a glimmer of something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
But despite his efforts, the man he was still weighed heavily on him. The old Otis—weak, complacent, afraid—was still in there. He hadn't disappeared. Not yet.
Otis wasn't sure if he could ever change completely, but he was going to fight for it. He had to.
The camp stirred with the first light of morning. The world outside seemed quiet—eerily so—but the sounds of the group waking, starting their tasks, and preparing for the day filled the air. But for Otis, the dawn brought with it the lingering effects of the night. His mind, still heavy from the nightmare that haunted him, couldn't shake the feeling of suffocating failure.
He sat by the fire, his eyes unfocused, staring into the flames. There was something inside him that had been awakened during the dark hours of the night, something raw and determined. He couldn't go on like this. He couldn't live as the man who failed his family, his friends. He needed to change.
Across the camp, Max watched quietly from the fire. He noticed the way Otis was sitting there, almost motionless, lost in thought. It wasn't unusual for Otis to keep to himself, but today it felt different. There was something in the way he held himself, like he was preparing for something.
Max caught Carol's eye, and she gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. She had seen it too. Otis was struggling, but this wasn't the first time he'd shown signs of pushing through. However, today, something felt more... decisive.
"Hey," Max said softly, stepping up beside her. "You notice anything odd about Otis this morning?"
Carol's eyes flicked over to Otis. "Yeah. He's different today. He's been quieter than usual. But I don't know... there's something in the way he's acting. Something's changed."
Max nodded, not taking his eyes off Otis. "I think he's finally realizing something. Maybe he's ready to make a change. A real one."
They both stood in silence, watching Otis as he slowly rose from the fire, his movements sluggish at first but purposeful. He stumbled a little, his body protesting the effort, but he kept going.
Without a word to anyone, Otis walked over to a broken-down cart and began rummaging through the supplies. He grabbed a rusty metal bar, the weight heavy in his hands. His movements were slow, labored. It was clear he wasn't used to the strain. But he didn't stop.
Max exchanged a glance with Carol, who seemed to be observing the same thing. This wasn't just some fleeting idea. Otis was trying to change, and he was starting right now, in the middle of the camp, in front of everyone. The question was whether he could keep going or if this, too, would be another failed attempt.
The others were starting to notice, too. Rick, who had been checking the perimeter, caught sight of Otis struggling with the weight. His brow furrowed as he walked over. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice more curious than accusatory.
Otis didn't answer at first. Instead, he tried to lift the metal bar once more, grunting with the effort. His arms shook, his body protesting every move, but he didn't relent. His face was flushed with exertion, but his eyes were focused, determined.
"I'm not gonna be this man anymore," Otis said, his voice low but firm. It was the first time anyone had heard him speak about what was clearly weighing on his mind. The others stood in silence, taking in the rawness of his words.
Max, still standing off to the side, felt a deep shift in the air. This wasn't just some fleeting motivation. Otis had made up his mind. He was trying to redeem himself, to become the man he thought he should have been long ago.
But it wouldn't be easy. Max could see that in the way Otis' arms trembled, his body struggling to keep up with the physical demand. It was clear that he was out of shape, and his weight—his physical limitations—weren't going to change overnight. But the drive, the need to push through, was there. That was something Max respected.
Carol stepped closer to Otis, her face softening. "You don't have to do this alone, you know," she said quietly, her voice gentle but strong. "We're all in this together."
Otis paused, the metal bar still in his hands. His breath was coming in short bursts, and his face glistened with sweat, but he didn't drop the bar. He looked up at Carol, then over at Rick and Max, who had silently joined the group.
"I know," Otis said, his voice rough. "But I can't keep being the person I was. I have to change, for all of us."
Rick, usually the practical one, stepped forward. "We all have our moments, Otis. We all have our reasons for wanting to survive. But if you want to fight for this group, for your family, you need to stay strong. This—what you're doing—it's a start."
Otis nodded, then set the bar down, his legs wobbly beneath him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a shaky breath. His body was sore, exhausted from the effort, but there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He wasn't just going through the motions. This was more than a physical battle; it was a battle for his self-worth, his redemption.
Max watched him closely, a slight nod of approval on his face. It was clear that Otis wasn't going to quit. Whether or not he would succeed in the long run was another story, but for now, he had made his decision.
As the group settled into the rhythm of the day, there was a shared understanding between them. Everyone was carrying their own burdens, but Otis had just taken the first step in lightening his. The burden of guilt, of failure, of weakness—it was something he could no longer carry.
Max knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy for any of them. They had bigger problems to face—food, shelter, walkers, threats from other survivors—but for the first time in a while, he felt like the group was becoming something more. They were fighters. They were survivors. And Otis was showing them that even the weakest among them could rise up if they wanted it badly enough.
The fire crackled, the heat from the flames warm against the cool morning air. Otis, now seated back by the fire, wiped his face and let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Max knew, though, that it wasn't just about Otis. The group had a lot of work to do. But for today, at least, they were all here together. And in this world, that was something to be grateful for.