Future Ghosts • TWD

112. Letters From the Dead.

Rosie had gotten a letter like this before. A letter from someone who knew they were going to be dead soon; someone who wanted to say their last goodbye after they were already dead. 

Sitting on the end of a bed, Rosie stared down at the folded-up piece of paper. Her name was on the front. Rosie. Not Rosie Banks or Rosie B. Just Rosie. Maybe Carl knew she wasn't Rosie B. anymore. He was always smart like that. He could always figure those things out. His handwriting was a bit strange, in Rosie's opinion. It was tall and skinny, and a bit smaller than her own handwriting. But it was Carl's handwriting, so she loved it. 

Fraser's handwriting was messy, too. But Fraser's handwriting wasn't always messy. It was just on those last slips of paper that his handwriting was difficult to read. The ends of his letters were all connected and he didn't write in a straight line. It was sort of like a wavy cursive, except Rosie wasn't actually sure if Fraser knew how to write in cursive. He wrote normal, printed letters, but they were all strung together like one long, heartbreaking ribbon of pencil lead. Fraser had written two notes.

This wasn't a good place, Rosie decided. She didn't want to read it here. She was scared she'd cry, and she didn't want everyone to see her cry. She knew it was ok to cry- she could cry whenever she felt like crying; it wasn't her fault everything was shitty- but she still didn't want everyone to see her crying. Then they'd ask what's wrong? and Rosie would want to punch them right in the nose. There were only a few people who could ask what's wrong? without Rosie wanting to punch them right in the nose. They were the only exceptions. 

Holding the paper in her right hand, Rosie slid off the end of the bed. She needed a better place to read it. This wasn't good enough. She went to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Her eyes were already glassy. She didn't want anyone to ask about that. Luckily, no one was in the hallway. She stepped out of the room and kept her eyes on her shoes as she made her way down the stairs. When she finally made it outside, her stomach started to hurt. There were lots of people out there. 

The sun was going down. Rosie wanted to get away from everyone. She couldn't go anywhere on her own, though. She had learned that lesson a thousand times over. Plus, Henry was still missing. They didn't need another missing kid on their hands. But she didn't want to be with all of these people. For a moment- a quick, sad little second- Rosie forgot that Carl wasn't there. For just that one tiny moment, she thought to herself, I could ask Carl to go with me. But Carl was gone. His goodbye was scrawled out on the paper in Rosie's right hand, and she couldn't pick a spot to read it in. 

Rosie just needed to be alone. Alone where no one would interrupt or bother her. But she couldn't leave. She couldn't leave the Hilltop. She sighed, chewing on her lip as she looked around aimlessly. Her eyes landed on a pile of wooden logs. Those were the logs that were stacked on top of the secret exit Sasha made to get out of Hilltop whenever the Saviors showed up. That tunnel would be empty. No one would bother her there. 

With quick steps, Rosie started walking towards the woodpile. She thought about Sasha. Sasha was smart for making this tunnel. She made it for Maggie and Ian. Now Sasha was dead. She died to help Alexandria. She was good like that.

"Rosie?" Ian's voice said from Rosie's left. Frustrated, Rosie paused her walking to turn and look at him. "Where are you going?" Ian asked.

"Nowhere," Rosie answered honestly. She wasn't leaving Hilltop. She was just going to hide away for a little while.

"Why are you going to the tunnel then?" Ian asked. Rosie didn't answer. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She was scared the lump in her throat would interrupt her before she could get a full sentence out. "Are you crying?" Ian asked. Rosie shook her head. No, she wasn't crying. But she would start crying if Ian wasn't careful. Ian looked away for a moment, then looked back at her. His voice was more firm when he said, "You can't go, or I'll tell Daryl."