Blood Stained Roses | Carl Grimes|

I looked down at my hands. You know how people say that your hands describe who you are? Mine used to be perfect in every way, soft too. Now they are stained red with the blood of all the walkers have killed. They are covered in cuts and bruises from every living thing I've encountered. But that's not it my hands have no one to hold, no one to be helped out by they are alone. Live me. Everything grows dark in this world but how could you not? Well that's the question of the year.