𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 , 𝐫. 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

ninety two -

EPISODE EIGHTEEN
"live"
SEASON 8

GREY KINGSTON

before the world ended, when my mom and i lived alone in that small house that held every shared bad memory, bad dream, and every wish for something better, after my father's draining presence disappeared following his arrest, i hated him.

i didn't like many things, but i knew for certain i hated the man who raised his voice and fists at me and my mother.

every day was the same before the world ended. i only ever had one goal in mind—make it to see the sun rise again tomorrow. it didn't matter how i got there, just as long as i did because i knew it couldn't be just that—make a few bucks at the job i floated through the motions of, smile during the few minutes i saw my mom that evening before she went off to her second shift, and spend the rest of the night thinking i was happy only when i was in bed with the guy i liked—i knew there had to be more than that.

but i never had any other plans past getting me and my mom out of georgia. i thought once i did then my life would start, that i'd have all the room to make as many plans as i wanted and all the time to do them. i never thought that the first time i'd be leaving georgia would be by foot, my city in flames at my back, completely alone and nothing but a dead world around me.

but with that dead world around me, i found something worth living for, people worth fighting for who made me want to fight for myself, to keep living. the world ended and i had plans. i no longer was just going through the motions of my day to see the sun rise the next morning and do it all over again, but i started hoping, praying that i would because it'd mean i'd have more time.

more time to spend with the people i now call my family, to live the life we started building for ourselves from nothing, and more time to remember what it's like to love myself, too. to remember that there is more, even after losing so much. there is more.

i thought once i left georgia i could start living. i wish i could tell her, my eighteen year old self that she did—she did start living once she left georgia. even though it was without her mom and she'd have to fight like hell to keep going, but that she'd run into her old friend and the sheriff from the city that went up in flames and she'd love them all over again, in old ways and new. and that she'd see her father again and with time learn that it's actually nice to have someone in a shit world that's so much like her.

even if she hated her father, even if she once hated herself, this new world is actually better than the old one. even through all the fear and loss, she finally started living once death came to claim everything in its path but her.

i wish i could tell my younger self that i took it as a sign—to run through the dusty war death stirred up to see if i could come out on the other side, because what's out there might be better than what i ever could have thought up for myself.

and if it was, then maybe i'd start thanking death for all the kindness it showed me.

maybe.

until death's kindness runs out just like my luck did, only restored by the faith of a wishbone necklace i haven't taken off since the day it was given to me.

my head throbs with each heavy beat of my heart and a shiver continues to trail up my arms, flowing down my spine as i struggle to keep myself present. my eyes darting from rick's to daryl's and back again.

there's blood above rick's brow and sprayed in dots down the bridge of his nose. his hair is wet with sweat, curls going in every direction, and his body is so stiff, his movements thought out so carefully as he talks to the man with the gun held below my ear. my hands are bound, held by the other man in the white armor who stands to my right.