Living with the Dead.(twd)

Little Killer. (204)

CARL'S POV.

I stare at her bones.

It's strange how empty I feel inside. I remember when I was a kid my mom used to buy me a chocolate egg every Easter. I feel like that egg. The hollow inside supporting a world of nothing. It's delicate and one wrong move and it shatters to pieces.
That's how I feel, empty... like there's nothing left.

I knew this day was coming and for that I hate her... I don't hate her, I love her, but I hate the decision she made. I begged and pleaded and she wouldn't listen!

The truth is... she left me a long time ago. Long before she was taken by Negan. She left me when she made the decision to keep that monster inside her, loving and caring for it while it planned on taking her life.
I feel sick, sick to the core.
Words can't describe it.

This pain isn't like anything I've felt before. Ever. This pain isn't the same as a cut or a bruise. This is much more different and the worst part is only I can feel it inside, making me feel helpless and totally alone.

Somebody has lodged a knife in my chest and I can't remove it. I can't breathe. I can't move. The pain is unbearable.
But when I look down to take it out, nothing is there, but still, the pain doesn't fade.

In the distance, somewhere far away from my mental state, I vaguely recognized somebody calling my name, but I have no voice to respond.
All I could focus on was how ironic it was that although I feel a deafening hollowness within me, I've also never felt so heavy.

Pressure builds up on top of my limbs making me sink lower and lower onto the ground and I'm tired. I'm tired from fighting so hard, for so long over something we both knew was inevitable.

When my words couldn't come, my tears did. I don't care that I'm kneeling on the ground, clutching the white cloth with my fists and crying like a bitch. I don't care. There's no more room left inside of me to feel anything more than this controlling, cantankerous pain.

I remain kneeling. My fists bound so tight around the white cloth that my nails dig into the palms of my hands, my blood staining the cloth. I feel the tears rolling down my face endlessly and I could hear how loud I was crying. I cried like a baby, noisily, with sweat, snot and shaky sobs. And I'm not one bit ashamed.

"Carl?" I hear somebody call again.
I could feel something build up inside me from the mention of my name. I felt it coming quickly and powerfully, until finally it snapped. I snapped.

I snapped out of my trance and quickly throw the white cloth over her bones again and pick her up, heaving her into my arms and taking off towards the familiar bunch of ever-green trees. I hear the sickly sound of the bones clinking and cracking together as they hit off each other with each step I take. I want to gag.

I push my way through the group of trees, towards the graveyard and I can hear the rushed and anxious footsteps behind me.
"CARL? Carl, what are you doing?"

I place the bag of her bones next to Luke's grave and grab a shovel that leaned against a wheel barrow only one foot away from me.
I start pounding down on the soil with the shovel, depositing the loads of loose soil onto smoother, more even land.
Again and again and again I dig, creating a big enough hole for two.

By the time I've finished I let the shovel fall to the ground and listen to the way the metal clinks against the ground. My hands are stiff from holding onto the shovel so tightly and they've become raw red.