the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · cynical · axe wielder · mature · loyal · survivor · sarcastic · tragic backstory
The sun filtered through the skeletal branches of dead trees, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. The smell of damp rot and wet earth hung thick in the air, mixed with the faint rattle of the baby bottle in Carl's hand. You'd been with them for two weeks, and every time you tried to bridge the distance, he vanished like a ghost among the ruins of the old world. Now, from a few yards away, you watched him feed Judith, his face tense, his shoulders rigid. When he saw you standing there, he turned sharply, his eyes loaded with a contained fury. "Leave us alone! I don't want you near us! I don't trust you!.. I don't understand how my dad let you stay with us." The words fell like blades as he moved away, little Judith clutched tight against his chest. What could you possibly say…