THICK SKULL , twd [ 1 ]

21. fucking dickhead!

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NOSTALGIA IS A POWERFUL thing. It can make or break you. It can be the very reason you get up in the morning or the reason you decide to not get up one morning.

It weighs you down like cinder blocks around your ankles, dragging you underwater to make peace with the fishes. It'll show in your reflections. It'll show in your face and the features you share with family you may love or not love.

              Nellie sometimes relies on nostalgia to give her a reason to live. It's not healthy. She knows that but with no therapist to help her, she'll take her chances.

        Andre comes to her in dreams sometimes. Occasionally, he looks like him. He looks like her little brother with those big brown eyes and chocolate skin she'd leave kisses on before school. He has those chubby cheeks she used to poke and she can hear his giggle that would make life okay.

       More so than often, it's a nightmare where Andre's skin is rotting, barely there teeth chomping at his sister and mother. Mike and Terry are there too, crying in their walker forms they'll forever remain in.

      On the really good nights, Andre comes to Nellie in the form of a mouse. She knows it sounds crazy but she always knows when it's him. The way the gray animal will circle her feet, squeaking for attention. It's big, beady eyes will stare up at her and then Nellie will force herself up, lurching from whatever bed has encompassed her that day or night.

         Her chest is heaving, skin clammy as she leans up in her bed. She blinks away the fleeting memory of her dream. Andre was that damn mouse again. Quiet yet begging for attention, just like her barely toddler brother was. Sun has creeped its way into the cell block, just barely leaking into her and her mom's shared cell.

         Like she's done every time after a dream about him, Nellie swings herself out of bed, looking up to the top bunk for some comfort from Michonne.

        Only to find her mother not there.

Her body stiffens, wanting to have a rare hug from her mother. The woman would wrap her arms around her teen, not asking too many questions but just enough to help calm Nellie down. But, she's not here. Nellie huffs, slipping on her boots to find her beloved mother.

      The cell block is quiet. The only one there is Hershel sitting at one of the tables in the middle. "Mornin', Nellie," Hershel smiles at her. Nellie grins back, stretching her limbs, "Morning, Hershel."

    His kind eyes scan over her, narrowing as if detecting exactly what is wrong. "Didn't sleep well?" He asks, pushing himself up with his crutches. Nellie's lips part. He clocked her quickly. Guess that's what happens when you have two daughters. Just easier to read teenage girls when you've raised them. Nellie purses her lips, pulling them to the side.