𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒, carl grimes

xlviii. a feckless bloom

FORTY-EIGHT,
a feckless bloom

⋆

ALTHOUGH IT WAS LONG AGO, Ella could remember the first time she had ever seen death, take place live before her eyes.

It was a sudden introduction, but a worthy initiation for the famously known entity, nonetheless.

Excluding the few funerals of faceless grandparents, now washed down into the weariness of a watered down memory, such as hers was, and the man she witnessed expired between a wall of glass weeks prior to her first ever live witness to this known incident, Ella had never seen a passing animated, illuminating before her eyes, during that false phase of temporary peace. Much like the lifestyle many selfish beings took pleasure in indulging themselves in preparatory to the total fall of everything people grew accustomed to refer as their typical normal, she had been blessed during those beginning years of her life, in never seeing that grim shadow of the unknown veil over a victims' soon to be pale complexion, when death came to be theirs, at last.

Peace was an entertaining thing to consider, when thinking about it, like that. With that interesting concept to consider, one may even go as far as to state how the society before the dead rose was the cold-slated definition of the word, debating on how there was no other way around to argue such a thing to be wrong.

After all, how could it?

The culture of the world Ella had begun to allow herself to forget, fading into the burned out pictures of yesterday's long forgotten scenes, as though being tossed into the unneeded wasted bin, contained many things amid the explanation of serenity, and any calmness of an attempted life with the reanimated creatures seemed to have been confirmed to lack.

The arts and customs of lawful civilizations before had taught them all something, about what to admire, and what to strive for when attempting to reach a certain goal for any obtainable tranquility to life. A community like theirs only would dream to be like the past, where colorful, exciting movies were the norm every weekend, sleepovers with close-knitted friends had been a common occurrence to follow those entertaining nights, with food consumed only of junk. Such as pizza, so greasy that the crevices of your skin cells would forever remained tainted by the slick texture, or sweetened candy, leaving the insides of your mouth dry, and numbed, instead of being left to resort with any stray scrap they could find left to satisfy their internal, instinctual needs of natural hunger.