Alice was not worried of the unknown. She was worried of what she already knew. She was worried of the promises that the new people were making to her-the ones bringing the people of a fallen Woodbury into their own settlement. The girl felt sorry t...
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ALICE DUNLAP ALWAYS FOUND the rising sun to be kind of peculiar. Something about the nature-driven, constant reminder that time—that life always, just, continued on. Even after life, itself became such a rarity on earth, time kept on going, relentlessly demolishing everything in its path.
It was an unstoppable force that humans used to find several ways to dread, before everything fell. With time came wrinkles, and wrinkles meant aging. And aging, for most, was a bit of a fear. Time was seen as the plague that set the basis for everyone's existence.
And time made no exceptions. Not even when the world seemed to turn itself inside out.
No matter how much had changed or how many loved ones Alice Dunlap had lost, the clock still managed to tick. Just an empty silhouette, looming atop the setting sun, that left darkness to consume the memories of the ones she loved. And despite everything that the girl would go through on one, given day, the next morning the sun would still, somehow, shed its first light.
In Alice's day and age, though, one would've been considered extremely lucky to live to see the sun rise to illuminate the day where they'd finally develop wrinkles. What was once seen as a sign of the dreaded aging process—which led to life's inevitable expiration date—became nothing short of the miracle of cheating a near-certain death.
But, in order to make it to the day where Alice Dunlap would live to see such an age, she had to learn to accept the rise of the sun, and everything—every memory, everyone she'd ever lost—that would vanish along with its first spill of light. She had to somehow find a way to keep going, despite the many reasons that she had to give up.
And although the sensation was seen as nothing short of a blessing, the rising sun—to Alice Dunlap— would always burn as nothing more than the warmth of a night survived.
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