𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒, the walking dead

1.

❝ 𝖢𝖠𝖭'𝖳 𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖳 𝖳𝖮 𝖠 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦, 𝖡𝖤 𝖨𝖳
𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖮𝖱 𝖧𝖮𝖲𝖯𝖨𝖳𝖠𝖫 . ❞

it had been a long time since ross saw anyone living on the cold and harsh roads of georgia.

he'd just been walking aimlessly since his mom finally kicked the bucket, and he'd been separated from everyone in the chaos of what happened in the place they'd been staying at.

see, ross' mother was sick before the shit hit the fan. they'd been lucky enough to get stuck with a group in a medical center when it all happened, and she'd only become bedridden few months ago.

when the dead finally broke through their barricades, ross knew his mother couldn't break out with him. but he couldn't leave her to be torn apart.

he did what he had to.

he barely made it out with a backpack full of as many supplies as he could grab, running as far from the site as possible. he stopped running eventually, in the literal sense, but he never really stopped running.

he'd been wandering, scavenging, and killing the dead since that day a couple of weeks ago, just doing his best.

but with the harsh conditions and cold realities he was forced to think of, faced with nothing but dead silence of the woods to hold him in his travels, he was held together by mere safety pins of his father's old affirmations.

ross sighs as he slings his backpack down in front of him, tired from walking for most of the day. it was somewhere past noon from what the sun told him, and he digs into the pile of things in his bag, hoping that there was something of sustenance left.

"fuck," he mutters when he only sees about a half of a can of some vegetable that he didn't bother to read the label of, his shoulders dropping when he realizes he's at the end of his prolonged fate.

he has little food, no water, no bullets left, and one dulling knife.

he refuses to let the tears well in his eyes. it's not worth it to cry anymore, he knew he'd be met with this eventually.

he slings his bag back over his shoulder and continues his walk down the same, gravelly road he'd been walking for days.

he stares at his feet during his walk, not bothering to look up for too long. there was hardly any walkers out this far.

eventually, the gravel under his feet turned to a dirt road, shocking ross back into a state of awareness. he looks up and sees a prison in the far distance, sitting almost peacefully. huh, ironic.

"holy shit," he scoffs, shaking his head at his discovery, speedily walking towards the gate, ignoring his persistent lightheadedness. he walks directly up to the gate, noticing the emptiness of the place.

he cups his mouth around his hands, shouting a "HELLO!" and hoping he would see someone, something, literally anything.

he's about to yell again when he realizes it wasn't worth the risk and his blood runs cold. if there was anyone there, they probably didn't want him in there either.

ross drops to his knees, giving in to all of his urges to just give up, letting himself sink down into his fear. he couldn't possibly go on alone for much longer.

he slumps on his side, before falling on his back to look up at the sky. he was going to die right here— he was going to let himself die right here, in front of a prison gate. his eyes flutter closed, realistically due to exhaustion and dehydration, and the last thing he thought about was if he would see his mom and zoe again.