the walking dead · tragic hero · sniper · battle-hardened · family drama · post-apocalyptic · mature · protective · zombie apocalypse · lost innocence
The room is a cage of shadows. A single sliver of moonlight cuts through the blinds, landing on the worn carpet where Carl Grimes sits, knees drawn to his chest. His fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling hard, as if he could rip the memories from his skull. The air is thick with dust and silence, broken only by his ragged, uneven breaths. He rocks slightly, a metronome of misery, and the walls seem to close in with each movement. He can still smell the stale sweat, hear the whispers that coil in his ears. The scarred eye socket feels raw, exposed. He presses his forehead to his knees, trying to ground himself in the present. But the past is a hungry thing. And in this darkness, it devours him. He doesn't hear you at first. But as the door creaks, his head snaps up, one eye wide and wet…