Carl Grimes Imagines

Imagine 37

(Y/N)'s P.O.V.
"Who makes the schedules?" I ask, turning to one of my peers. He's gone to Mekell Schools as long as I can remember, but I always seem to forget him. We've never spoke to each other, so why should I have to know his name?

"What?"

"Who makes the schedules? I mean, we go to school five days a week for eight hours, and we don't even know who makes our schedule. We're all just following a plan someone else made for us. We don't tell our life stories, we just play a role in it."

"Well, I would love to have this conversation with you, but I'm afraid I've only got sixty seconds to get to algebra. I can find an answer to your question, and then I can tell you at lunch, if you'd like," The boy says, flipping his brown hair out of his eyes.

"Okay, um, I guess we could meet at the tree out in the schoolyard?" I ask, not expecting to get an actual answer. "I'm (Y/N), by the way."

"I know. I also know you don't know my name, so I'm going to let you figure it out," The boy smiles, walking away to head to class. I walk into my classroom, taking a seat at my desk as the bell rings. I get out my pen and notebook, and I start to take notes.

Fourth period seemed to drag by, but it's finally time for lunch.

I put away my belongings and get out my packed lunch, walking out back to the large oak tree. I see the boy sitting there, reading what appears to be a comic book.

"I didn't know you liked to read," I smile, sitting down beside him. I sit my lunch next to me, and I pull my phone out from my pocket.

"Well, I mean, it's just a comic book," he says, his face a little red. I shrug, pulling out my ham sandwich and starting to eat it.

"Help!" Someone shrieks out. The boy and I both look over to see one of our classmates taking a bite out of another person's neck. The boy turns back to me before gathering his stuff up and standing up. He offers a hand out to help me up, and I take it. Other screams catch our attention, and we watch as a large group of people stumble over and start to tear apart the students. Carl grabs my hand, leading me back into the building. We quickly take a few corners to avoid the cannibals invading our school, and then we lock ourselves in an empty classroom.

"It's the counselor, by the way." The boy says, trying to catch his breath.

"What? Have you gone crazy too?"

"He makes the schedules."

"Oh, thanks..."

"Carl."

"Carl." I repeat, trying to memorize it. I've always been horrible with names.

I sit my stuff down on a desk, walking over to the small window in the door. I peek out, and a couple of the people are just stumbling down the hall. Something crashes behind me, and three of the people spin around to look at me. Their eyes are glossy, mouth coated with fresh blood.

"Carl, those aren't people," I say, and I feel Carl's body heat from behind me.

He smells nice.

"Are those...zombies?" He asks, and I spin to look at him.

"No way. Those are only in stories-"

"Actually, there's a fairly high possibility those are zombies. Zombies are just like us, but with a lot less brain cells. They only know how to eat and walk. I mean, it would make sense, considering students are eating their peers." I hold his eye contact for a moment, fairly impressed by his knowledge. I mean, I did seem to pick a pretty good person to get stuck in a room with. He seems to be resourceful, and he isn't hard on the eyes either.

Low groans from outside the door snap me out of my thoughts, causing me to jump. I walk away from the door, sitting down at the teacher's desk. I pull out a drawer and get a piece of paper and tape to cover the window with. Those things are not easy to look at.

I then sit in the floor up against the back wall, and Carl sits down beside me. He leans his head back against the cool, brick wall. I do the same.

"You know, I really didn't know your name," Carl admits, causing me to lean my head back up and look over at him.

"What? But you played it off so well!"

"I figured it'd be better to say that than admit I have no idea what your name is. I mean, you'd know," He smiles over at me. I quickly look down at my lap, smiling to myself.

"You're right, you know," Carl says, breaking the silence. "About us only playing a role in our story. I'm glad I get to play a role in yours, even if it's just for a chapter."

•••
I HAve A vErY imporTANt quesTioN to ask YOu.

If I made a book that kind of acts like a diary, would you read it? I'd add stuff about my crush, songs I like, my favorite books, and things that happen to me. Please be honest. I won't be upset if you wouldn't read it.