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
"Can you open the window?" I ask Carl, breaking the steady silence between the two of us.
The boy and I sit on cushions on the living room floor. For the past few hours, he's been flipping through several comics that he found in one of the bedrooms. While he's been busy with that, I skim through a few old magazines that I found in the downstairs bathroom.
Carl shifts his eyes as they now look at me over the top of his comic. He sighs before dog-earing the page he's on and pushing himself to his feet. He then walks over to the window—comic in-hand—slips his fingers in the small gap we previously left, and pushes the window all the way up.
It makes a clicking sound as the boy uses a little more force to lock it in place. The sunlight now begins to seep in the room.
"Better?" He asks me, tilting his head in a passive aggressive manner.
"Much." I reply with a smile, not letting him get to me. Carl then returns to his cushion and sits down, flipping open his comic.
For the past few weeks, he and I have both been on edge. Every attempt we've made at leaving the protection of this house has made us realize that our area is rapidly growing more and more dangerous.
First, we went to a nearby gas station.
While we were scavenging through the gas station, a sizable herd passed through the town. The boy and I were locked in the bathroom of the small rest stop for hours. That wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the smoldering summer heat.
We only found a few stale, melted candy bars on that run. Those of which, we ate while waiting for the herd to pass.
Then, we tried to head in the direction opposite of the prison in search of some place farther away we could stay.
We didn't get very far, though. While killing walkers along the way, the slight noise attracted more and more of the dead until they eventually became too much for us to handle. We bailed after about half an hour of traveling.
For the past few days, we've resorted to staying as quiet as possible while remaining inside the house.
We've noticed more and more walkers stumbling through the neighborhood. The smell makes it hard to miss. Of course we tried to think of ways we could inch further north, none of which sounded plausible enough to try.
I can't help but get a similar feeling to the one I had when I was locked in the storage room back at the prison. The way the boy and I are slowly starting to resent each other reminds me of Gianna and Rosa, people I haven't thought of in a long while.
