Too Far Gone

   As Carl walked his steps cast loose gravel and stones flying across the dirt. He stopped when he got to the rows of crops that the prison had been planting, looking down at his dad as he crouched down with plants, hands alive with movement. Carl couldn't help but smile at his father's form.

   "Spend any more time down there old man and you'll be harvested with the rest." He said over the distant hum of walker snarls.

   Rick looked up, squinting against the sun, and his lips tugged up into a smile at the sight of his son.         "And you read anymore of those comic books, you'll end up becoming one," he retorted a little playfully.    "Now come over here and help your old man with the crops."

Carl nodded, obediently walking over and kneeling next to the older man. He pushed a thumb into the warm dirt, put in a few seeds and covered it up. After repeating this a few times, he was alarmed to hear people running behind him. Turning, he saw Glenn and Michonne, jogging out to the fence, beginning to slowly cull the growing herd. Carl stood, watching in fascination.

He'd seen walkers before. I mean, you couldn't not live in this world without seeing a walker. He was familiar with the slow steps, the low moans, the rotting stench and peeled flesh. These were the things he knew to look for. He knew the distinction between man and walker, but he didn't know something. With the aching question fresh on his mind, he blurted it out to his father before he could talk himself out of it, "Dad, how do you know when to shoot them?"

Rick looked up, taken aback, "What?"

"I mean, when you see a person, or a walker, what makes you decide to pull the trigger?"

Rick ran a dirt laced hand through his hair. "Well. The answer is simple, son. We kill the monsters." He went back to picking peas off a vine, flicking them into a bucket.

"But," Carl started, "how do you know who's the monster?"

Carl knew what he thought of a monster. A ghoulish thing with dead eyes and deceased skin, teeth that ate his flesh and broken nails that ripped it off.

Rick looked up at him through squinted eyes, and he stood, brushing his earthy hands on his stained shirt. He clapped Carl on the shoulder, "Carl. I know that right now, you see them as a monster," he pointed at the walkers. "I'm not saying they aren't, but if they could turn back human, they wouldn't be this way. No, the monsters I'm talking about are the people who have chosen an evil far worse than any dead, and they stay that way. I'm talking about the monsters that are too far gone to bring back." His voice faded at the end, as if recalling bad memories.

Carl looked up at him. "So, which is worse? A walker or a human?"

Rick shook his head, gazing off into the horizon. "Honestly son? I can't tell you."