"Because I needed to put them out of their misery," you respond.
His intense, bright, blue eyes. His sleek, long, brown hair. His smile that's hard to hate. You just can't get enough.
When it started, you were independent, only Flare was there to ac...
"Put the gun down," you say. "Put the damn gun down, Carl." He obeys and places it on the floor, eyes not leaving the sweet shotgun you were holding in your hand. You smile. Then, you do it. You pull the trigger. Instantly, Carl ducks. The bullet hits the walker right in the head, killing it. You knew it was there from the beginning. "Head shot," you say. You slide the gun over to Carl with your boot. He grabs it and looks at you intensely. You shrug. "Let's go." "What were you thinking?" he asks, curiously. It wasn't the first time you heard the same question being asked. You got fed up. "I could've died. You knew that." "Well, you didn't," you respond. "Please, spare me from another one of those lame lectures. You're growing up to be just like your dad." "Carl!" Speak of the devil, Rick comes running to his son. He looks at me with those same intense eyes. "Who is this?" Carl opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. Even he doesn't know exactly who you are. What a shame. You laugh hysterically. Of course. You seem crazy in their eyes. Just like a wild tiger. On the loose. "Who are you?" Rick reaches for his belt, but before he pulls out his gun, Carl stops him. He shakes his head. "Do you know her?" "I used to be in his school. At one point of my life. Don't bother asking me my name. You won't get an answer," you reply smoothly. "Where's your group?" Carl questions. This catches your attention. Is he trying to be funny? He waits for you to answer. "Listen," you look at him coldly, giving him the dirtiest look you could muster. "I don't work with nobody." "Your parents?" Carl ignores what you had just said. You sigh. "Dead." "Oh...I shouldn't have asked," Carl stares at his feet. "It no matter no more," you say happily. "They're outta my way." "I'm going to ask you some questions," Rick says. "It's not like that's what you've been doing," you tease. "Shoot away." "Rick!" you hear someone call. "Rick, we need you now!" He turns and nods to Carl before heading off. That leaves only the two of us. Again. Before Carl could begin his interview, walkers start to intrude. You pull out both of your prize shotguns. Two of 'em. One for the right hand, the other for the left. They were different colors. The right one was black. Midnight black. Mysterious and hiding. The other was silver. Metallic silver. Sleek and smooth. You fire constantly, not missing a shot. Not wasting a bullet. In mere minutes, the walkers were dead. You put them out of their misery. Just like your mom and dad. "The questions," you get straight to the point. "Hurry up." "How many walkers have you killed?" Carl asks. He looks at you with his straight face. You know he was watching for any signs of lies. "Answer me." "More than you ever have," you respond confidentially. It was an honest answer. You have been killing from the very start. Clearing shelters for you to live in. Hundreds a day since you were always on the move. You did it to survive. You need to. Satisfied with your answer, Carl moves on. "How many people have you killed?" he observes your every move. You think for a while. There was a long silence. Hesitation. Should you trust him? You inhale a deep breath and think everything thoroughly. Carl starts to get impatient, but more curious. You look up. "Hurry the hell up," he says. "Shut up, I'm counting," you laugh as you see his shocked expression. "Don't worry, it's not that bad." "I only need an answer," he says, urging you to continue. "Fine," you pause. He looks at you angrily. For some odd reason, it was fun teasing him. You enjoy it. His facial features. They were different. "Two...only two." "Why?"
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