"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

thirty three, love you to death

"I wish we could just stay out here forever." He said, his fist tangled in the knots of shrubbery and blossomed stems. The wind brushed through his soft hair slightly, causing him to stop what he was doing every few minutes and tuck it back into place.
One of his hands stayed firmly on his gun - the one that was fastened to his left thigh at all times.

The meadow: a beautiful, calm place, where they could just be. No strings, no chords, just the sound of the birds and their brittle breaths. The place was brimmed with illusion, causing Jane to rethink everything for just a little while. It was so filled with safety and nurturing prospects that it's power lay in the delusion of the enjoyer itself. Here, you could forget anything horrible had ever, or could ever, plague you. That was it's true strength.

Every half hour or so, a walker would mindlessly wander it's way into the flower beds, crushing the bulbs and sprouts haphazardly beneath it's dead weight. A torn hand would reach out for one of them, ready to nip or snap at any moment. They'd kill it, drag it back into the cover of the pines, and wait till the next one came along.

Occasionally, the walkers were young - not quite taken back by the world as others had been. Most times, though, they would be almost nothing: a combination of only dust and blood. How far had they travelled? Where did they come from? Who were they?

These questions provoked the two, that lay in the grass beneath the sun.

Right now, they were wondering if any of this was right. And yet, the only conclusion they were close to was their gratitude towards being able to sit and wonder. To have the space and time to step back, and look at things from a distance.

Their trip back from hilltop had been around two days ago now, if anyone was counting. All they had done was fix up old guns and listen to Rick argue about battle plans. The kids knew the ins and outs of his scheme, so much so that it would be burned into their heads for years to come.

'Sit like bait', he would say to them. 'They won't suspect it'.

Carl and Jane patched things up after their last argument, but hadn't really spoken as much as they normally would. Now, all there was to do is speak.
Talk each others ears off about the plan, and what comes after. Reassure one another that everything would be okay and that they'd both be together again in a few hours. Yet, none of those usual topics seemed to sprout from her lips. Instead, something unsteady was growing in her stomach - Something loud and perspicuous.

It had crept up on her this morning, as Carl and her left the house quietly to escape for a little while. This weird, sixth sense.

Since then, all that could come of her thoughts were scenarios of death, death and more death. Not really hers - just of others she loved. What would happen.
She'd become so desensitised that these thoughts barely got to her. Barely.

But the image of Carl's death was never easy to process. Sometimes, it was Negan, swinging Lucille and bringing it down on his soft, brown hair. The barbs of her wire would get tangled in the strands of his innocence, and his blood would stain her precious wood grain surface. Other times, it was a walker, tearing into his flesh like all he was, was.....bait.

"Yeah. Me too." She finally replied, swallowing the saliva that had gathered in her mouth.

A long pause ensued between them, and for the first time in a long time - it felt awkward. And when she could feel the words rising up from her throat, she knew it was just going to get worse. A hand almost flew to her mouth then - a flimsy attempt of shielding her thoughts from Carl.

"I just...." She began. Carl shifted his gaze toward her as they lay in the bed of grass.

"What?" He asked, his eyebrow furrowing apologetically.