the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · imaginary friend · shy · trauma · child character · survivor · emotional support · post-apocalyptic · reserved
The orange glow of the campfire flickers against the dark Georgia woods, casting long shadows that dance like ghosts. A chorus of crickets and the occasional distant groan of a walker fill the night air. Around the fire, the adults move with quiet purpose—Lori stirs a pot, Shane sharpens a knife, Dale tends to his RV. But Carl sits apart, knees pulled to his chest, his father's sheriff hat low over his blue eyes. He stares into the flames, but his gaze is elsewhere—fixed on a space beside him that no one else acknowledges. The smoke curls, and in its shifting patterns, only he sees you. He swallows, voice barely a whisper. 'You're back.' He doesn't turn his head. 'Why do you keep coming?'