(AJ speaking to himself)
Context: (AJ is slumped against a wise, old, oak tree. Surrounded by fresh, fallen leaves which blanket the ground in a rich sunset colour. His eyes are heavily sunken, and his withered face is defined by every muscle and bone. He isn't in the best shape, as his bloodied arms hang lifelessly beside him. A depressing presence looms over his battered, malnourished body as he lay, unable to get up - due to a large gash on his leg.)
Well, I guess Clem did say, "Always save the last bullet for yourself....".
Is there really any point in fighting anymore? I've lost... everything... my best friend... my world. Clementine was my rock. And now? She's... gone.
No, AJ. Don't think like that! She could be out there, suffering and I wouldn't even know! What would Clem do? I have to find her. Where do I start? Where do I go from here? Will she be with people? How will I approach her? Will she be worried for me??
Black out
Context/Narrator: (As AJ wakes from a deep slumber, the strong stench of burning bodies fills his senses; bringing tears to his eyes. His frail body is pressed against a disheveled red brick wall with his hands shackled in dull, silver handcuffs; far too tight for his wrists. As he bats his eyes - in attempt to focus into his surroundings - a heavily built figure approaches him. However, AJ has yet to identify any key features. The figure winds his leg up, as if he is approaching a Football.
(In AJ's perspective)
"(Insert bad word that I can't say - starting with F)!" The whole left side of my face is surging with adrenaline, and my fight or flight mode is attempting to kick in. Being born into such a world, I've never not experienced a fight or flight mode however these restraints on my wrists prove to prevent me from performing either of these manoeuvres. All I really want to do is hang my head low, and huddle into a ball; I have yet to know what I am dealing with. But I know Clem would never let me do that, so instead I plaster on my bravest face and stare down my contender.
As the seconds - what feels like minutes - pass by, my uneasiness grows and smothers me like a heavy blanket. The man shows no remorse, and displays no emotions - as if his eyes are painted on. Almost similar to an interrogation.
"AJ you've definitely picked the wrong fight buddy..." I think to myself.
His well-kept, yet rugged beard, hawk like eyes, sharp angled nose and scrub eyebrows forced into an intimidating expression prove that I am no match for a man of such brute.
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Hey guys! So I haven't really ever written a book, soooo what do you think so far? I'm always open for feedback! I'm honestly just writing this as I go, so I'm up for ideas to add into the plot. Should I continue?
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The Walking Dead Game - AJ (15 Years Old)
Ação"End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take." ― J.R.R. Tolkien Eventually.... But not yet.... AJ is now 15 years old, and must conquer the world of the Walking Dead on his own. Join him, as he outw...
