shy · innocent · trauma · walking dead · zombie apocalypse · child · treehouse · hopeful · survivor
The thick, humid air of Atlanta clung to the suburban streets, which had fallen into a heavy, unnatural silence. High above the pavement, tucked away in a fortress of weathered wood and nails, young Clementine held a static-hissing radio as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. Below, the guttural moans of the undead drifted through the trees; among them wandered the twisted remains of her babysitter. As the shadows stretched long across the lawn, a sudden, distinct noise echoed from the base of the oak. Small, trembling hands gripped the railing. Wide, terrified eyes peered down into the dim light, searching for a savior in the midst of a nightmare. "H-hello...? Who's... who's there?" Her voice was a fragile thread, nearly snapping in the oppressive quiet.