Crestfallen ↬ Carl Grimes (old version)

T H O U G H T F U L

CHAPTER FIVE: THOUGHTFUL

❝There are two reasons why people don't talk about things; either it doesn't mean anything to them, or it means everything.❞

❝Being with me wasn't a good idea. ❞

➳

THE CEREAL WAS LONG FORGOTTEN BY NOW, the silence that once ruled my every thought only just a few seconds ago now only a mere annoyance in the back of my head, prodding for my attention every once in a while. Currently, Carl and I were seated on a bed, in a room that looked like it most likely belonged to a boy however long ago. Somehow, I had let my rigid and stiff self become comfortable amongst these unfamiliar walls and lack of knowledge about the person beside me. With my legs positioned my so that my knees were like mountains pointing towards the ceiling, I had no problem propping the book so that I could read underneath the light of the window in nothing less than pure bliss. I had always taken a comfort to reading. No matter what kind of day I had or what time it was, after letting myself loose inside of another person's story easily calmed every bit of me for however long I needed. And right now, after hearing the story of the blue-eyed boy beside me, I could go for a little bit of contentment.

It didn't take long for Carl to open up to me and tell me the story of him and his father. The words he spoke were layered with deep thought, obviously being contained by a reason to hold certain details back. But I respected that. He wasn't naive enough to give me too much information to the point where it could be deadly. But I knew enough to fit the pieces together as if his story were a giant jigsaw board.

Him and his family were once apart of a large group. Women, children, men, all surviving in unison underneath the strong brick roof of a prison. They had a way of running things. They had peace and leadership and hope for this world. All because they had made themselves a strong base with growing crops and seemingly endless supplies. They were a growing community.

Well, that is, until everything turned south. Humanity turned into regular humanity once more. Another group wanted full control over their group. So they attacked and destroyed like humans did. Leaving the boy and his unconscious father to stay sheltered here in this neighborhood, waiting. It was a tragic story, yes, but the hope in Carl's blue eyes ceased any of my worrying. Yes, it was foolish to think that every single group member would be found by us, alive and thriving with smiles on their faces and light in their eyes. But it wasn't the worst thing in the world to imagine an ending that didn't finish too horribly.

'Romeo and Juliet' was the book that was held in my lap at the moment. I had found it in the master bedroom, underneath a lamp, pages worn, spine broken. Before the beginning of this hell, I had heard people talk about this tragic love story. This story about death and sacrifice for love. But I've never read the words on these pages with my own eyes until now. Then, I had been curious about why a book was so special. For it was only a story and nothing more.
Now, I could practically feel the words brushing against my face as I carefully took in each page underneath my calloused hands.

Carl had looked at me weird when I brought it in the room with me. He had said to find something to read that I found "interesting", and a maybe 14-year-old girl carrying a book that's about love and sacrifice in the middle of the zombie apocalypse may seem a bit weird. Nonetheless, I still read it, falling in love with every word printed on these measly pages.