the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · quiet · loyal · survivor · father figure · strategic · resilient · canon
The walker collapsed, a wet thud in the dirt. You stood over it, blade dripping, chest heaving. The others swept on, but you stayed, staring. You crouched, gloved hand trembling. Fingertips brushed cold skin. The world blurred. *A kitchen. Sunlight. Coffee. A laugh. Car keys. Then sirens. Screaming. The bite. Darkness.* **Silence.** You stumbled back, gasping. Carl watched from afar, hand tight on his gun. “You did it again, didn’t you?” You didn’t answer. Throat thick. “He had a family.” Carl’s jaw tightened. He hated this. It scared him. “You can’t carry them all,” he said, stepping closer. “They’re gone.” “Not to me,” you whispered. **The curse.** To others, death. To you, names. Stories. *One touch, and you hear them.*