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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C A R L
Faint, cold wisps of the evening wind send chills down my body.
The breeze nearly whistling through fluffy strands of my hatless hair. My most unnatural state finally crept up on me during the welcoming party. My brief escape from civilization: the dock.
The elevated beams of wood hold me up over the small body of water. My feet dangle off the edge, similar to how I used to sit and waste away in the guard tower. Except the tower was much higher and much more dangerous of a fall than this.
Gentle creaks begin to sound out, and thudding vibrations disturb the wooden dock as someone else climbs up the ladder. I don't turn around to see who it is, as only one person cares enough to be around me. The only person in this whole place who isn't slightly uncomfortable in my presence.
The girl takes a seat next to me—in the nearby corner of my vision—letting her feet dangle off the edge as well. Silence over the gentle, lapping pond water rings tense with several things heavy on our minds.
"You missed initiation." The familiar girl jokes, raising her wrist and slightly pulling up her sleeve. She turns over the back of her hand, revealing the red A.
"You're wrong." I remark, lifting my sleeve and turning over my wrist as well. "Sam got me when I was on my way out."
Megan chuckles at my statement, trying so desperately to bat away the cloud of tense air surrounding us. The same air we've been surrounded by since I told her I was leaving.
"We're officially part of Alexandria." The girl mutters. "I think this calls for a celebration." A momentary, confident demeanor about her as she swings her pack from behind her shoulder.
Her pack crinkles with whatever's inside as she opens it. Her eyes land on whatever it is that she's searching for and both of her dainty hands reach into the pack. She pulls out two green cans of lemon-lime flavored soda, handing me one.
We place them down on either side of us, leaving a foot or so of empty space between us. Gentle clinking sounds echo against the hard wood of the dock as we do so. She then reaches one hand into her open pack and uses it to pull out two small bags of chips.
"Pick your poison." The girl says, holding up the two small bags toward me.
A smile rises to my face as I decipher between the two flavors. I wiggle my fingers a bit as I ponder, ultimately deciding on plucking the plain-flavored chips out of her hand.
