"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...
"To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength."
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"Where the hell is my sister?" Echoed through my head as I tried to focus on what the hell was going on.
I squeezed my eyes shut and then turned my head around to see if anyone could help me, but we were alone.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to pull his hand away from my mouth.
"Doesn't matter," he whispered harshly, and I felt one final blow to my head before everything went black.
By the time I woke up, my head was pounding, and everything was blurry.
I went to reach for my knife, but my hands were tied behind my back. When I came to, I realized I was in a small shack lit by the sun coming through the cracks. It must have been midday.
I thought I was alone until a walker came toward me, and I kicked and thrashed to get away from it, but it stopped and just stared at me.
"I need to get my sister back, and you're going to help me," the man I once thought was a walker told me and reached behind his head to pull off a familiar walker skin mask.
A boy who didn't look much older than me stood in front of me. He was very tall and slim and had a very grimy face. His brown hair was messy, and his hazel eyes looked at me furiously.
"You're going to have to be more specific," I retorted, finally making eye contact.
"I know you and your people took her. Behind your walls," he spoke, and I could see that he hadn't showered for a while.
"I'm not telling you shit until you answer me first," I spat and sat up straight.
His cold gaze never left me, and I mirrored his look. I took this as a cue to begin interrogating.
"What's your name?" This question didn't seem relevant, but I was almost curious to see what he would say because Lydia seemed to think that her name didn't matter.
"Ben," he said with no emotion. He stayed silent after that, so I continued.
"How many of you are there?" I asked calmly, knowing he wouldn't give his answer that easy.
"It was just the three of us. My sister, mom and I," he said simply. I didn't believe him at all. There were so many of them at the graveyard, and there was no way the only three remaining were him and his family.
I was quiet for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. What was he going to do? If he walked up to the gates, using me as a hostage, he wouldn't get very far. From what I had seen, none of their people carried firearms, and he wouldn't accomplish much with just a pocket knife.
"Why do you do it?" I softly asked.
"The skins? The dead protect us. We protect them. We always gotta keep moving, unlike the rest of the world. Do you think your place will last? It's all bullshit," he growled. I wasn't sure how to approach talking to him. It seemed he was pretty messed up.
