CLUELESS ➭ THE WALKING DEAD

009

ੈ♡₊˚•. ˖⋆ ━━━━━⠀CLUELESS !
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ⋯ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ˓ 𑁍ࠜೄ
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 NINE ・*:·. ⇌ ஜ  .·:*

Maisy was never sentimental.

    And it wasn't that she was never given anything that meant something, she just...never got attached. Objects to her, that's all they ever were. She found it odd the way people would carry around an old baby blanket, or a necklace from their grandmother. Even as a child, she never kept a stuffed animal for more than a few months at a time. Blame it on her mother who got rid of things faster than they came saying 'clutter is like a dirty mind.' Whatever the hell that meant.

    Which is probably why she got so attached to other things.

    And the end of the world (give or take a few) only proved how stupid physical items were, they only ever got lost or destroyed. Things never came back after you lost them– neither did people. Maisy and everyone else in the world had their fair experience with loss– things were always being taken away from them. People, blankets– hope.

The one thing Maisy wouldn't let her ripped away from her was her sense of joy. And she knew all too well how people felt these days, believing there was no reason to enjoy things anymore. But if there was no reason to keep going– was there a point to it at all? I mean, if all you felt was pure darkness, was it even worth it? What separated them from the biters?

Maisy hopped over the fence, landing firmly on the ground. The box tucked in her back pocket was pushed back down, and Maisy emerged from the tree line and strolled back into the streets. Pitch black now– somewhere between midnight and two am. Maisy used to be able to sleep like a baby, now her mind raced far too much for simple things like sleep. It was like her body didn't even register her exhaustion anymore– purely high on adrenaline that always kept her moving.

The heat and the crickets– Maisy was glad she didn't live in Canada, or any other northern states.

She swung around a lamp lost, finding the wooden bench that was typically occupied– empty. A small flicker of a smile, and she went bounding for the bench. She took the box out of her pocket, putting it on the gras next to her. She spread her feet across the bench, putting an arm under her head.

The stars hung above her, as if strung in the air by invisible strings.

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, and leaned up for a moment to shrug her jacket off. She put it under head, providing much more comfort than her bony arm.

Nathan had always been a space buff. While others flicked channels for soap operas and drama, he planned the best locations for any given weather pattern. As the daylight faded his car was packed with telescopes, a folded chair and a flask of tea. Nothing would keep him from the stars; they were his relaxation, his obsession. Maisy traveled along with him a few times– but she'd been so young then, she never really understood his need to look at the stars.

Now, she finally could.

The aroma of the tall grasses were an intoxicating perfume and the starry night above was a painting more sublime than any man could create. The black before them had a velvet quality, like the air had been thickened somehow. There were lighter patches, clusters of faint and bold light.