↳ 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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The van begins to make an awful sputtering noise, which does none other than form a pit in my stomach. I know exactly what that sound means to us and the plans for the rest of the day, and perhaps even further in the future, before Abraham has to announce it himself.
"It's out; just like the other one."
"So, we walk," Rick replies, seemingly unaffected by the matter. Normally, I'd follow suit without much complaint, but the idea of walking seems impossible at the moment. That effort would involve actually standing, a feat I'm not sure I can conquer. With a slight groan of effort, I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab my bag from the floor in front of me, and slide myself out of the open car door and into the blinding heat of mid-spring. The half-broken air conditioner in the car seemed to have had some effectiveness compared to this. No matter how long I have lived in the south, the steaming temperatures surprise me every time, sucking the air from my lungs and causing my hair to curl in a mess from the sticky humidity.
"Are you okay?" Carl mutters to me as we start down the highway. I nod. It's the only response that my low energy levels can provide.
"Just tired and hungry." When I look his way, a smile forms underneath his slightly sunburnt cheeks, pink from the rays, but still dotted with freckles. I can't do the same. I just duck my head and keep moving like we have been for the past three weeks. And in all honesty, I've been counting each day in my head. Every single one of them feels longer than the last. When I etch another tally mark in my brain, I can't believe the day has ended, but then I remember that it was just another full day of suffering. I think at some point we're just going to succumb to the unfortunate events being laid upon us, but somehow, we press forward.
I don't know how much I truly even want that at this point.
Even after Beth and Tyreese, there was hope for D.C. However, that was before the food ran out. That was before the water became scarce. It was before anything we had going for us was taken away and we were forced to stumble along blindly. It's like we've been letting an open wound bleed for the past several weeks, but now it's soaking through. At this point, we're almost out of blood, so there's no reason to stitch the skin shut. We just want the last of our blood to leave our bodies, so we don't have to feel obligated to fight anymore.
I'd feel selfish if I stopped. It'd feel wrong to do such a thing to my parents and brother, who should all be here right now. If death comes to me first, I suppose it'd be more of an agreeable affair. I'd just be answering to nature's ways, however, I won't do any of it to myself. I can't.
