nyello
AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I'VE WRITTED THIS CHAPTER
KILL ME
i slightly edited the ending of the last chapter so if you want to just scroll back and read it rely quick u should and also i capitalized the story because it was annoying the living shit out of me and i am now writing on my computer. yay!!!11!!1!!!
enjoyyyyyyyyyyy
Juniper;
I lay awake in the bed.
Alone.
Thinking about all that's happened today.
Having to burn my old cabin that's been my home for months after what happened, running into Carl, actually letting him stay with me. And saving him from getting almost devoured when he fell off the roof.
"I don't get why you're still sticking with him."
"I saved his life."
"You didn't need to."
"I felt like I did."
"You're stuck to him. Aren't you?"
Light starts to peek through the windows of the house that Carl and I holed up in for the rest of the night and I can see the purple sunrise.
Yesterday morning I was sleeping on a wooden floor. Now, I'm sleeping on a bed that isn't mine, across the room on the other bed is a boy I do not know, and downstairs in carts is stuff that isn't mine. But somehow, it feels so mine. All of it.
I decide to go down and get ready for the new day. Same as always.
Tomorrow is another day. I tell myself.
(FNAF REFERENCE LMLLALKSLSMS)
I push myself out of the bed and stretch my arms. My muscles have been tightened after having one of the best sleeps I've had in years, so it takes a longer time than usual to wake them up.
After stretching, I walk over to Carl's bed to see how he's holding up.
He sleeps without a shirt.
He's sleeping on his stomach like a baby and I can see all of the lines of the muscles he built up in his time of living in the world and killing walker after walker after walker.
I guess living in the apocalypse works wonders.
I turn and towards the door to go to the bathroom. The plumbing doesn't work, but I try to turn on the sink anyway. As expected, nothing happens. I look in the crackled mirror at my atrocious reflection. A sweatshirt that isn't mine and pajama shorts that aren't mine.
But it feels so mine.
Rustling from downstairs grabs my attention along with raspy coughing,
Is there someone else in here? Or did Carl sneak downstairs while I wasn't looking?
I open the drawer I hid a knife in last night and start heading downstairs.
"Carl?" I call out into the semi-lightened house.
The only response was some more raspy coughing.
It's gotta be him, but I would have heard his footsteps.
I start to walk down the stairs as quietly and as lightly as possible, trying my absolute best not to make a sound again if it's not him.
The kitchen is right by the end of the stairs, so I wait on the last step and close my hand tightly around my knife.
