Broken Memories • The Walking Dead Fanfiction

4

Hey guyyssssssss! Sorry that this took so long, school really hates me and wants me to die. I worked hard on this chapter and I'm hoping it turned out well.

It's rlly long just bc I haven't updated in forever so strap in guys

Enjoy guysss <333

+

+

+

CARL

I'm exhausted.

I'm tired, physically and mentally. Ever since the prison's demise, I've lost my motivation to continue the long, strenuous fight of survival. For as the world did seem delirious before, and the terrors of one of the worst days of my life still echoed as any other terrible day in my tainted brain, the world never seemed so ill as it did right then.

My father was just a constant reminder of what we once had before it all went to inanimate ruins. He reminded me about how things were before everything was battered by our infected fates. His face, his eyes, his voice, his movements; the features of my father were a reminder as a slice to the heart with mockery of the lost.

Every second I laid my overseen eyes on his familiar face, emotions of anger and sorrow run through my veins and burn my insides with a capacity beyond mere agony.

I can not explain the feelings or emotions in words.

For I knew he didn't mean for it to happen to us. He didn't mean for the prison to fall to the hands of the governor with the consequences of death. He didn't mean for our group to get separated and probably killed in the brutal process of anarchy. And, overall, Dad didn't mean for Judith to die so early in life, and in such a horrible way.

Judith was dead; yet Dad, and even worse, I was still alive. It should have been me. God, it should have been me; for I failed my mother.

And all the blame for our loss roared straight at my Dad because I had no where else to place it. I had already beaten myself down too far to place any more guilt on my broken soul; so the target to place the results of my state of vexation, the only available target left, was my father, the defeated leader. It was violent and wrong; and the feeling measured beyond anguish I could not count, but I had to place it somewhere.

But most of that changed, quite literally overnight.

Something had occurred the night that I shared with my nearly dead father and had changed most of what I thought. After, I was then more wounded than any other emotion. Skye, the absolute stranger with ocean eyes, saw me break down pitifully; but I did not care, for I finally admitted to myself that the pain was too much for me to take alone. When I thought Dad was gone, that's when it hit me the hardest.

I did need my father despite the blame I placed on his weakened shoulders, even if I thought I did not.

When he finally woke up after that endless night, he told me that he was sorry. He told me that I was a man, and he was sorry for treating me like a child. He was sorry for everything that happened.

So as of now, I've managed to let go of the major blame I hold towards my mourning father. I understand in a strained sense; but it is a hard understanding to swallow so quickly.