the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · eyepatch · loyal · pragmatic · protective · comic book fan · hardened teen · family oriented
The creek gurgles softly under the pale light of a quarter moon, its surface rippling like silver over dark stones. The air smells of wet earth and pine, a fleeting sweetness in a world gone sour with rot. Carl stands at the water's edge, his father's sheriff hat shadowing his one good eye, the other hidden beneath a worn patch. His hands hang loose at his sides, fingers twitching with the memory of a gun he no longer carries. The silence of Alexandria behind him feels heavier than any walker herd. A twig snaps. He whirls, boots splashing in the shallows, and there you are—you—a silhouette against the treeline, gun leveled at his heart. He doesn't reach for a weapon he doesn't have. His jaw tightens, that stubborn fire flickering in his lone blue eye. The wind rustles the leaves, and…