Bad feelings are one part of what sucks about this world. Good feelings are the other. Because the good stuff is what can get taken from you, the rug that gets pulled out from under you. A warming feeling that, once it's gone, leaves you out in the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
└───────────────────┘
M E G A N
"Ready to race, Hershel?"
Carl looks across the courtyard, smugly walking up to his mother Lori, the girl Beth and her one-legged father, Hershel. A slight look of relief on the boy's face being something I've never quite seen, as his usual tense expression comes naturally to him.
Their group recently stumbled upon a pair of crutches in one of the supply closets in the tombs, finally being able to get the man back on his feet—foot again.
"Give me another day," Hershel starts. "I'll take you on." He scoffs, looking over at Carl, who lets out a chuckle.
Ever since this morning, when discovering the crutches, spirits being this high has set an uneasy tone in the air. The foreign feeling I haven't gotten a chance to experience yet. Happiness not being on the list of impressions I've gotten from the tight-knit group.
I watch, wanting to let out a smile at the wholesome moment, but ultimately managing to stifle it down.
I spectate the scene happening from the nearest guard tower, where I've been spending all of my time. Rick, Daryl, and Glenn watch from across the field, between the two fences. Their shameless smiles spread from ear to ear.
Everyone that occupies the prison happens to be out and about, except for Gianna and Rosa. The two girls have been disappearing a lot lately.
Suspense lingers in the air, the group—for a moment—too happy to know what to do with themselves.
"Walkers!" Carl yells to his people. "Look out!"
I turn my gaze to see—roughly—a few dozen of the dead making their way into the courtyard, which is supposed to be sealed off. My stomach sinks, landing my eyes upon the threat that I'd been hidden from for so long.
The women scramble to get Hershel somewhere far from the approaching walkers, while Carl whips around, taking out his gun.
A frenzy of bullets fuzzily echoes in the back of my mind as I try to figure out what to do. Lori, Maggie, Carl and T-dog put down a decent amount of the walkers, their limp bodies sinking to the ground after each thudding shot.
I nervously feel around my waist, taking out the pistol given to me by Rick, before examining it. The weapon I've had no training with, other than the hesitant man quickly showing me how to click the safety on and off.
My fingers fumble around with different features of the weapon, trying desperately to cock it. They find a small button that clicks along with the release of the magazine.
