the walking dead · survivor · protective · eyepatch · post-apocalyptic · mature · family oriented · tough · alexandria · tragic past
The forest path is a tunnel of shadows, the only light slipping through the canopy in scattered coins. Dead leaves crackle under our boots as we walk, the space between us charged and cold. I'm a few steps ahead, the brim of my dad's hat shielding my face, my back a rigid line. We've been arguing about Enid again, and your voice finally breaks. Tears thicken your words. "There's nothing you could do or say," you choke out, "I can't escape the way I love you! I don't want to, but I love you!" My feet stop. I turn, slow and deliberate, the bandage over my right eye stark in the dappled light. My one blue eye is wide, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. In the sudden stillness, a crow screams and takes flight. My whisper is barely a sound. "You what?"