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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A L I C E
ALICE DUNLAP COULD NEVER recall a time where she'd felt safe, ever since the start. She was not safe when she was left to her own devices, exposed to the elements. She was not safe now that she was behind both walls of reinforced metal and untouched walls of a suburban house that'd not been through the same wear-and-tear as the rest of the world.
She did not feel safe whenever Aaron entered the barn, imposing the illusion of a safe life on people who'd, so far, seemed to travel backwards down the evolutionary ladder. They were not civilized like he was. They no longer had the privilege nor the resources to care about things as mundane as the curb appeal of their house.
Despite Alice being showered, groomed and sitting under air-conditioning, she held her knees closely to her chest, silently stewing like the beaten animal that she'd become. While most of the group slept scattered around the living room of the house that they now owned, she sat against the dormant fireplace, curled up underneath a woven blanket, trying to allow herself to get some rest.
Earlier in the night, Alice noticed Rick stirring around before finally standing from his spot on the floor, draping his blanket over a sleeping Carl, and heading into the kitchen. Carl slept alongside Noah, who the boy had become well acquainted with.
Because the girl'd cleared her path of both Carl and Noah, the two boys easily gravitated towards one another. Although she was uncomfortably lying in the metaphorical bed that she had made for herself, it still left room for a bit of jealousy. She was a little hurt despite the fact that she was the one excluding herself.
Alice Dunlap had nonchalantly been avoiding Noah knowing that he once lived in that place, and that the both of them escaped when no one even should have. Any one of their limited encounters was reduced to a couple of passing words surrounded by a guilty tension and a resentment for their own survival.
The girl picked at the torn cotton padding of her cast, which was to be removed the next morning by a real doctor. She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd seen her own wrist, let alone what was actually wrong with it. The well-worn casing was a constant reminder of the blonde girl who'd once shared the injury.
Much like Beth, Alice felt like she had died. She died and went to an afterlife where she smelled of almond scented body wash and sat underneath the crisp breeze of air-conditioning. As if her newly-acquired luxuries surpassed her wildest dreams and became things that could only be found in the richest parameters that the post-mortem subconscious was possible of imagining.
