the real people| TWD

twenty-five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE,
the gun

               Micheal hadn't realized how much he hated sleeping in a sleeping bag until he woke up the next morning; his body sunk into the soft mattress and the blankets wrapped around him. His head rested comfortably on the pillow; his arms wrapped around it.

There was no hurried bustling or casual passing conversations that woke him every minute. There was no blinding light that made him hide away under his covers and wish he could slip away to a quieter, darker place.

His body didn't ache from the hard ground.

He wanted to lay there forever and succumb to the comfortable, warm bed; but the fantasy was cut abruptly as a short knock came from the door before it swung open.

Micheal's tired head lifted itself to watch as Carl stepped into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind him, his fathers sheriff's hat sat proudly on top of his small head. The boy quickly turned to pretend he was still asleep, not wanting to deal with whatever it was that Carl was about to do or say.

"Good morning", he called out loudly. Micheal's eyes shot open again once realizing the boy was no longer laying bed-ridden besides him. His hand instinctively reached out to touch the white sheets where he had laid just last night. The covers were ripped away, no longer shielding him from the cold blinding light, "Richard says you gotta' get up".

Micheal groaned and twisted onto his back, staring up at the older boy standing over him. "you're up", he observed.

"Yeah, Hershel said I was ready", Carl reached down and picked up Micheal's backpack, holding his dads hat with his other hand to make sure it didn't fall. He placed the bag on the bed and tugged the zipper open, "you have clothes in here?".

Micheal shot up and ripped the bag away, pulling it to his chest. "Don't you remember the last time you went through my stuff?".

Carl rolled his eyes, "come on".

Micheal didn't have anything bad in his bag; just a couple clothes, his journal and his cassette player. But still, he'd rather not have Carl going through his things. Micheal placed the bag besides him and rubbed his face, "what time is it?".

"About 11", Carl shrugged

"11?!", Micheal gasped.

"Yeah?", Carl watched confused as the boy gawked up at him. "It's early?".

"No, five or six is early", Micheal stretched upwards and groaned. "Usually I'm awake at like seven, maybe eight".

"Even on weekends!?".

Micheal stared at him with an annoyed expression as he fixed his messyhair, "why didn't you wake me up?".

"Well, I woke up at 9 and I thought that was early so--".

"You woke up at 9? What have you been doing all morning?".

Carl looked towards the closed bedroom door before reaching back into his back pockets and pulling out a large pair of walkie-talkies. Micheal's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "where'd you get those?".

"When I was grabbing this".

Carl reached down to lift up his shirt, revealing a pistol tucked away in the waistband of his jeans. Micheal quickly moved to stand up, staring down at Carl with a shocked expression on his face. They stood about a foot away from each other, Carl down at him, grinning proudly.

"Where'd you get that?!", he whisper yelled.

"The RV".

"You're gonna get in so much trouble".