STICK SEASON ... the walking dead ¹

001 ... open wound

bloodletting.

[ season 2, episode 2 ]

          IN TWO months the world had grown cold. Cold dead bodies followed you everywhere you went. You couldn't escape the soft growling of broken lungs.
What first seemed like a small flu had turned into a monster. A monster, that in a week, wiped out almost the entire population. And amid that chaos was Gianna Fields, sitting against a tree, reading a book.

The sun stood high in the sky — a late summer day, with a small breeze and a piercingly bright sun. Ever since Gia had joined the Greenes at their farm, life had seemed almost like how it was before. A simple routine, on a simple farm with a beautifully simple family. That's how Gianna liked her life to be, simple.

As simple as the breeze rustling the leaves of the tree. She desperately tried to keep her eyes on the book she was reading. The words started mushing together, her brain couldn't even form simple phrases anymore. She had been staring at the same page for about ten minutes now. The lack of sleep was getting to her.
The Simplicity of The Brain by Dr. Holly Bradford. One of the many books Hershel had given to her as an assignment. The old man had the most wonderful book collection. That was one of the first things she noticed about him when she first arrived.

About a week into her stay, she told Hershel that she wanted to become a doctor. He smiled at her and told her stories about his time at veterinary school. Ever since he had taken it upon himself to teach her everything he knew.
This came with the necessary weekly assignments. His words, not hers. And quizzes every two weeks. Most teens she knew would complain about tests and homework, she even would've in the before times but the small task of studying had become a beacon of light in the dark of her world.

A small gust of wind blew over the patch of grass she was sitting on. Some of the pages fluttered at the sudden movement. It blew to page 207—a page about neurotransmitters.
However, she was more interested in the small photograph, wedged between the broken spine.

A small old picture of Hershel and his children at some kind of park. The old man looked much younger. He was about his mid-forties, shown by his abundance of hair.
A baby Beth sat in a stroller, Maggie standing sweetly beside her father and Bennett being hoisted in the air by a widely smiling Hershel. She smiled at the picture.
They loved each other. Even if it was a photo from over a decade ago, the love still radiated from the family every single day.

The silence was interrupted by a familiar voice, laced with a southern drawl, "Dad!".
Maggie. Her voice was coming from the porch. Gia dropped her books immediately and booked them to the front of the house.