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[ season one, episode five ]
Amy Harrison's death had been an eye-opening, shock inducing, gut wrenching event that ripped through the normality the group had slowly tried, and rather majestically failed, to assemble over time.
The walker tearing through the skin of Amy's shoulder replayed over and over again in the onlookers minds, like a broken record stuck on a loop. It had rendered them completely immobile — shocked, horrified, and sorrowful as a result of the kind young girl's brutal death. She was like sunshine. Now, her limp body was draped beside the blood-splattered RV, her limbs drenched in blood, her skin paler than a ghost's, and her cerulean eyes dimmed to a lifeless grey.
The day Amy Harrison died, Marley Whitman changed.
Reality crashed-landed in the blood soaked soil beneath her feet. She understood, from the very moment ravenous walkers infiltrated the once-lively camp, that this new ugly world was not going to get any better any time soon . . . no matter how much she tried to believe it would.
Marley's swelling hope was pried viciously from the ivory cage in her chest and crushed to dust beneath her very own boot.
Self destruction wasn't pretty.
The truth, also, wasn't pretty. It was repugnant. Grotesque. Unprepossessing. Unpleasant. Even though it was an invisible force of nature, Marley believed it would be an impossible task to look the grisly face of truth in the eye and smile. She was a liar. A pathological liar. She lied — mostly for the good of her own deteriorating health and that of her sister's.
The truth was cruel and cold and bleak, and Marley did anything to avoid it.
Blotches of deep-orange seeped into the pearly skies above. The sun was rising in the far distance — a hazy, golden globe crawling over the horizon — and casting a mockingly bright light over the decimated world. Cicadas buzzed, soft voices floated through the air, and there was an occasional scuffing of boots when someone finally plucked up the courage and momentum to pick themselves up from the ground.
The aftermath of the walkers savage attack was still in play several hours later.
Her Mom once said that things get easier over time, but she was wrong. She had been so, so incredibly wrong. Things got worse.
Sweat clung to every inch of Marley's skin as she leaned against the bonnet of a car. Her downcast eyes flickered across what was left of camp. First, her gaze landed on Lori and Carl, talking in hushed and respectful voices as the mother wiped blood from her son's cheeks. Then, it was over to Jim, who Marley noticed to be sweating rather profusely, carrying a crimson-stained shovel. And lastly, her eyes stuck to Andrea — hovering over the dead and limp body of Amy, who had died from blood loss as a result of the substantial bite wound peppered along her collarbone.
![[ season one, episode five ]](https://img.wattpad.com/e214c0e9a88adc0ad76f33d992ef8a70d3b83e51/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f3371365544476948787a4b4c42513d3d2d313132353930303339372e313661373935363132393266306230623733383431343039303735332e676966?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
