[EDITING]
you took a polaroid of us,
then discovered,
the rest of the world was black and white,
but we were in screaming color,
and I remember thinking
are we out of the woods yet?
••••••••••••••••...
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*LONG ASS CHAPTER!*
season 4, episode 9
It had been hours of non-stop walking, and I had no clue where we even were. I had gone completely numb, and everything around me seemed to blur into a haze of despair.
Each step I took felt like a burden, dragging me further down into the abyss of hopelessness. I had lost everything, I had lost my home, my family, my baby, and I wasn't sure how to go on.
I had no idea where anybody else was. I didn't know where Maggie was, where Beth was, Michonne, Daryl, Glenn, anybody.
All I could do was lose myself in my thoughts– but it was strangely quiet in my mind. There were no comforting voices, no reassuring whispers. Just silence, as if even my thoughts abandoned me to suffer all alone.
I stumbled forward, my feet almost moving mechanically, driven by a sense of numbness that consumed my whole being. My arm was wrapped around Rick's waist to keep him up straight as he struggled to walk by himself.
Carl was ahead of us and he had been for the past few hours, he walked with a twinge of determination yet fury. It seemed he was trying to avoid confronting his own emotions, not wanting to talk about what happened with the prison, or with Hershel, or Judith.
Hell, I couldn't blame him. Because I didn't want to talk about any of it either, knowing I'd break down.
"Carl, slow down," Rick sputtered out, his voice strained. I kept my eyes ahead, the same blank expression on my face.
Ahead of us, Carl didn't even turn his head to acknowledge his father's voice, and instead, he kept his legs pumping– probably even walking faster to avoid the two of us.
"Carl, stop!" Rick bellowed, his voice cracking with emotion. I flinched at the loudness of his voice, my steps coming to a halt.
Finally, Carl quickly turned on his heel, his tense figure turning to the left to face the woods– still not even bothering to look at Rick or me. I gulped at the sight, my own tired eyes moving to face the ground.
"We need to stay together. We got to find a place with food, supplies," Rick added, his voice gruff. The beaten man then pulled away from me, his lips letting out choked and wheezy breaths as he limped toward his son.
I watched from afar, my hands wrapping themselves around my mid-section comfortably. I wanted to walk up to Carl and wrap my arms around him in a warm comforting hug, but I couldn't.
I couldn't because I was drowning in my own grief– practically suffocating. If I could barely keep myself together then who am I to think I could help a grieving teenager?
