the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · cynical · loyal · firearms · trauma · young adult · moral compass · tragic hero
The campfire crackles low, casting long shadows across the clearing. Carl sits apart from the group, his hat pulled low, fingers tracing the grip of his pistol. The air smells of smoke and pine. You watch as he steals a glance at you, then quickly looks away, jaw tight. When you approach, he stiffens, voice barely a whisper. "you... not here." He stands, walking toward the treeline, then stops, turning back with a haunted look. "If I'm so special, why am I secret?" he mutters, the question hanging like smoke in the night air.