↳ it's who we are now...
oc x carl grimes
season 4-7
TW: Mentions of death, gory depictions, suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, language, smoking, violence, depression, and other mature topics.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own or claim to own any of The Walk...
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Seeing our friends gives me a conflicted feeling inside, and it's certainly one that doesn't make me feel very comfortable. I was both glad to be reunited with most of the people I had been thinking about so endlessly, but also so disappointed to know that they were stuck in the middle of such a mess like we were, finding themselves to also be in peril. And now, with all of us stuck together and in more trouble than we'll be likely to get ourselves out of, I try to focus on something else besides dying, which seems to be a constant thought recently, as I file away at a chip of wood on the wall using my bootlace.
Rick tells us to be creative with our resources, but I'm starting to think it takes more than just having the ability to come up with a good weapon concept in this empty, wooden box that's going to keep us alive. I lift my head, looking around the train car to survey the ideas of others in comparison to my own. Rosita, the girl with the pigtails, has removed several nails from the floor and has pushed them into her soft, leather belt. I watch in fascination as she carefully loops the supple leather of the belt around her hand, the nails jutting out of her knuckles in jagged angles. She knows what she's doing. I can see the danger radiating off of her from a mile away.
Carl comes over to check on me again, like he's probably done a thousand times today. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. I nod my head, trying my best to get rid of him relatively quickly, so I don't have to talk much more about my well-being.
"You don't have to keep worrying about me," I say in response, trying to hint to him as nicely as possible that he can leave me alone and I'm not gonna die on him - at least not at the moment. Any second from now, well, that's a whole other story.
Carl puts a small, lopsided smile on his face. "I know, but we're friends. Friends worry about each other, remember?" I nod again, putting a smile on my own face.
"I do." I let my gaze finally fall from him, although I admittedly do so reluctantly. I go back to working on my own weapon, something that I'm aware will need my attention in order to complete as quickly as I can. I feel as though we don't have time to waste, and certainly not right now.
Within another minute, I have a piece of sharp wood loose from one of the floor panels and it's a decent size, too, something the others weren't necessarily able to achieve. The only problem is, I have no idea what to do with it. Michonne has already put a large one into her sheath and is ready to use it as if it were her actual katana. I don't have any ideas of what to do, nor do I have have many other resources. I wish I were as creative.
Everyone around me works feverishly, almost as if our lives depend on whatever we're capable of doing. That's when I remember that they very well do.
