where the graveyard blooms - carl grimes

X

-

x.

homeward bound
"but all the words come back to me
in shades of mediocrity"

-

The walls of Alexandria rise before us, a bastion of hope carved from the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. As we approach, we are met with suspicion, the wariness of the outside world creeping in through wary eyes of the hesitant guards. The air crackles with tension, laden with uncertainty as they contemplate opening the gate.

I know it is not me nor Daryl or even Connie that is the cause for this hold up. I know it's the girl at my shoulder, hiding against me, like she can disappear into my side if she tries hard enough. I stand at beside her the threshold, my leg throbbing with the dull ache of a fresh wound.

From the heights of the catwalk, Michonne appears, her silhouette a commanding figure against the dim sky. Her gaze is piercing. She surveys us, particularly Lydia, with an expression marred with near hostility at the sight of her. "Why is she here?" Michonne's voice cuts through the air.

Daryl's response is curt. "She's with us."

Michonne's scrutiny shifts from Lydia to Aaron, their conversation a muted exchange beyond the range of my hearing. I watch as Michonne's gaze narrows, her face a canvas of measured resolve. Finally, she turns to shout: "Open it!"

As the gates begin to creak open, a sliver of light spills through, illuminating the path inward to the familiar home of mine.

Stepping inside, Michonne envelops me in a hug. "Your hair." She says, pulling me back to hold me at arms length. She pushes my bangs from my forehead, surveying me fully. Never once has Michonne given my eye a second glance—but cutting my hair, now that grabs her attention. "I've never seen it so short... You look so much like him."

Him. My father. The man who's gone. I want to tell her I don't. That the only thing I have of his is the cornflower blue iris he passed down. But I know that's not entirely true. In the years since he's disappeared, I startle even myself when I catch my profile in the mirror and I see his jaw, the hard set of his gaze. Sometimes a word will leave my mouth and it's his voice saying it. Maybe I'm more like him than I thought.

"Why is she here?" Michonne questions quietly, voice low now. Greeting over.

"Her people are fucked."

"Language."

"She can't go back to them... She needs somewhere to stay. Somewhere safe." I'm wheedling but it doesn't work.

"You know we don't take people in anymore." A look of pain crosses Michonne eyes, but she quickly hardens her face, pressing her lips together. "You know that."

Of course I know that. The X burned into my back from the day a four year old Judith was nearly killed is a reminder of why Alexandria does not take newcomers. This body of mine, so coated in scars, could be all the defense I need against keeping people out. Was part of the reason why I was alone in this world aside from my family for the last couple years. It was easier to keep my circle small—only the people I could trust, only the people worth putting my life on the line to protect. But then there's that part of me that's too much like my father, that part of me that let Lydia seep through the cracks of whatever defenses I thought I had.

"She saved my life, Mich." And she had. Instead of cutting my throat, she cut the ties that bound me and pulled me from her mother's grasp.

Michonne's eyes drop to my wounded leg. "And was she the reason your life was on the line in the first place?"