Eleanor Monroe was coloring in her new coloring book her mother had got her when the first news of the apocalypse came on the tv. Eleanor was just 7 years old in this new cruel world, not to mention little Eleanor had been diagnosed with anger issue...
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It had been 2 months since the apocalypse happened. Eleanor was with the group she found on the road, Lori, Carl, and Shane were the first people to be apart of that group, but soon after it became Carol, her daughter Sophia, and her husband Ed. Eleanor didn't like Ed. Soon after came Daryl and Merle, T-Dog, Jim, the Morales family, Jaqui, Amy and Andrea, and finally Dale.
Part of that group went out to Atlanta for supplies. They had been gone for quite awhile and Eleanor had wondered if the group was okay, they had said something about being trapped. Eleanor wasn't close to many people at the camp, she really only talked to the other kids, Lori and Shane, Dale, and she would thank both Carol and Daryl for things like laundry and food.
Eleanor had been close to Carl, their moms becoming friends quite quickly. The camp had been quiet so far, Dale was keeping watch, Daryl was hunting, and everyone else was doing chores around camp. Eleanor sat in the grass near the RV, huffing in boredom, her knees pulled up to her chest and her chin pressed into her knees. Carl was busy getting a haircut, Sophia was with Carol, and she didn't really talk to the other kids because they were shy.
Eleanor thought about helping around with chores, but she thought she would get too mad easily. Eleanor grimaced at the thought of laundry, she had tried to do it once but the feeling of the water made her feel dirty. She had tried other chores too, like looking for fire wood or hanging up the laundry but both ended up in failure.
Eleanor wished she didn't let things get to her so easily, she wished she were different. All the kids at school would stay away from her. Eleanor tried to not let it get to her, but she saw the stares and whispers the kids would do. She tried really hard to get better at managing her anger, but it was just too hard.
Eleanor's anger had been apart of her life since she was little. The signs had first started when she was 4, she would get angry extremely easily. The simplest thing would send her off, like the way her clothes felt on her, how her food and supplies in her room had been organized, how short or long her finger nails were, or when people wouldn't listen.
When Eleanor was younger she would often cry and scream when her clothes felt like they were sticking to her, it made her feel trapped and yucky. She hated the way her socks would expose part of her ankles and the way her shorts would sag. She hated a lot of things. She hated when her food had been mixed because she liked it separated, she hated the way her hair felt on her neck, she hated when she couldn't scratch an itch because her nails were too short, she hated walkers and not being able to sleep peacefully, but she hated her anger even more.
She hated the way it made her feel like she was burning, she hated the feeling of her hands feeling the need to hit something, the way her eyes would tear up, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the feeling of being overdramatic. She hated it all. She hated being angry. She hated being Eleanor. Why couldn't she be like Sophia?
