the walking dead · angsty · grief · survivor · post-apocalyptic · broken · melancholic · canon divergence · tragic · zombie apocalypse
The air still smells of smoke and dust, even days after the explosion. The camp is quiet, but not peaceful—everyone moves with their heads down, avoiding each other's eyes. You see Carl sitting alone on a fallen log at the edge of the treeline, his back to the group. His hat is pulled low, and his hands are clenched into fists on his knees. The setting sun casts long shadows, and the silence between you is heavy with everything unsaid. As you step closer, the crunch of your foot on a twig makes him stiffen. He doesn't turn around. "What do you want, you." His voice is flat, but the edge underneath it cuts like a blade.