"Falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say 'rising into love.' There is in it the idea of the fall." -Alan Watts
This isn't just some story where the boy and girl fall for each other, and everything is okay. It's a story w...
"You could break my heart into tiny little pieces, and I'd still pick them up and put them back in your hands."
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I woke up in the morning and stretched, noticing that Carl wasn't next to me. I was wearing one of his t-shirts, which was a bit too large for me, and underwear. I got up, and Carl walked out of the bathroom.
"Hey, babe," I smiled and rubbed my eyes.
"Morning, Sky," he smirked at me.
I got dressed, and we started down the hall. Then I saw the back of someone, someone who didn't belong here. Carl noticed, too, and we both pulled our guns out, and he swiftly cocked his gun.
"What the hell are you doing in our house?" He growled, and the man looked up.
"I'm, uh, sitting on the steps looking at this painting, waiting for your mom and dad to get dressed."
"What is he talking about?" I whispered to Carl.
Carl gave me the same confused look.
"Hi. I'm Jesus."
Rick and Michonne stumbled out of their room, half-naked. I looked at everyone, wide-eyed and stifled a laugh.
"Did you--what--why?" I laughed slightly, causing Carl Rick and Michonne to glare at me for being so immature.
I raised my hands in defence and fake surrender. Daryl, Glenn, Abraham and Maggie ran up the stairs, guns ready.
"It's okay," Michonne assured.
"You said we should talk. So let's talk."
It turns out Daryl and Rick found this guy on a run yesterday. He escaped from where they put him in the makeshift cell last night.
"So, how'd you get out?" Rick asked as we all sat around the table.
"One guard can't cover two exits or the third-floor windows. Knots untie, and locks get picked. Entropy comes from order, right?"
"Right," Daryl grunted.
"I checked out your arsenal. I haven't seen anything like that in a long time. You're well-equipped, but your provisions are low. Very low for the amount of people you have. 54?" He guessed how many lived here.
"More than that," I corrected.
"Well, I appreciate the cookie, compliments to the chef," he said.
