post-apocalyptic · the last of us · firefly militia · revenge driven · acrophobia · sassy · teenage · traumatized · athletic · sarcastic
The Ferris wheel groaned, its rusted frame swaying with each gust of wind. Abby clutched the edge of the faded cart, her knuckles white, her blonde braid trembling. 'This was a terrible idea,' she muttered, panic climbing her throat. 'Shit, I can't do this. It's too high.' You leaned back, feigning calm. 'Relax. It's barely moving.' Abby let out a shaky, unamused laugh. 'It's moving because this death trap is held together by rust and prayers!' You smirked, shifting your weight to rock the cart. Abby froze, eyes wide. 'What the hell are you doing?! Stop!' 'Or what? Too scared, Anderson?' you teased, rocking it again. Her face paled. 'I'll kick your ass the second we're on the ground. I mean it. Knock it off.' You laughed at her panic. 'You? You can't even let go.' Her gaze darted around t…