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...
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M E G A N
I watch as the trees shake and rustle with every slight gust of wind crossing the horizon. The rusty, aged metal of the guard tower squeaks occasionally, disturbing the ongoing silence.
The day is quiet, far too quiet.
The boy and I sit far from one another. I face south and he faces west. A few hours have gone bye since Rick woke us up and unlocked our cell.
"What's your name?" The boy breaks our few hours of silence.
"You've been in the prison how long and you still don't know my name." I say as more of a remark than a question.
I look over to the boy and he tears his gaze away from the trees and looks over to me. The same blank look on his face.
"Megan," I cut the silence, giving up my attitude and just letting the statement leave my lips.
"Oh." He says. "I'm Carl." He looks around at the tree-line. "Don't really have much down-time to learn names these days."
"It seems like all we have is down-time." I scoff. "They never let us do anything." I say, partially admitting that Carl was right a few weeks ago.
"I wonder where you got that wild idea." He says, I can hear the sarcasm in his tone. "Was it being locked up or being locked up?" He scoffs.
I roll my eyes at his remark.
"We're just kids to them," The boy starts again. "We're always somehow in the way or causing trouble."
"I see your point." I pick my legs up off the side of the guard tower and spin around to face him. "But—"
My words are cut off by the post in our guard tower bursting into the smokey aftermath of some sort of grenade explosion. Pieces of the fractured, rusty metal slide across the floor.
The explosion is followed by another loud boom that rattles the whole prison with its echo.
Carl quickly gets as close as he can to the ground, and I follow. We both hold our breath, flinch and wait for another explosion.
After a few seconds of silence, we both look at each other in hopes of the other telling us what to do. The boy pulls out his gun from his holster and grasps it while scooting himself closer to the latch, which is now singed from the flames.
"We can get into the stairwell if we stay low." Carl hastily nods to me after he examines the flames.
I look at him and do nothing but make my way towards the latch. As Carl unlocks the latch, we hear another explosion, but this time it sounds farther away.
