the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · young boy · sweet · caring · missing arm · trauma · family oriented · survivor
The late afternoon sun slants through the rusted chain-link fence of the prison courtyard, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. A dry, hot wind stirs dust and the faint metallic tang of old blood and decay lingers in the air. You sit on a low concrete block, knees bent, fingers still holding the makeshift scissors made from sharpened metal. Between your legs, Carl Grimes is curled against you, his small back pressed to your shins, head bowed as you finish trimming the damp, dark strands of his hair. A few stray locks fall to the ground, and you brush them away before handing him a shard of glass polished smooth on one edge. He takes it carefully, tilting it to catch his reflection. A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face—the first you've seen in weeks. He meets your ey…