ALONE | where our hearts sink into the earth.
― I don't want to be alone anymore.
The world had not been kind to us, the boy and the girl, and the souls within.
Made to suffer, minds that were created for this world, they do not sink; they swim.
but...
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TESS
"I have three questions, and I want three easy answers."
The cold words stung as they found a way of seeping into the cavity of my chest. I drank in each syllable offered to me, let the fear delve between my ribs, enough to make each breath hurt. How the sentence rolled off an unfamiliar tongue, how the voice was bent to a certain volume, none of it mattered. I was doing everything possible to calm the rattling that shook through me.
I sat in a cement box, gray stone finding each and every way of suffocating the air out of me. An interrogation room from the looks of it, three solid walls and one made up of a double-sided mirror, I found myself in the same hotspot criminals once confessed in. Carl had brought me back to a prison, a correctional facility. Dim in the way it was handled, shadows racing to every corner, the only light in the room dipped down through the high arched windows at the top of the wall behind me.
Barred sun rays rained down on me, reminding me of the life I had outside of the walls and the one waiting within. The heat from the withered sun was guarded by the walls, but the beams still found their way to me; a gentle way of reminding me I still existed. With the sun on my side, there was a warmth in knowing I was still safe, still alive, in some ways.
In front of me, hands sprawled out along the table and iced eyes never daring to inch away from me, was a man named Rick Grimes. In the seconds I found myself inside the gates of the West Georgia Correctional Facility, I was being dragged off for questioning, very little time to understand what I had gotten myself into. I had trusted Carl, but even then, there was very little left to be given. Up the gravel hill and into the tombs of the stone prison, I was whisked away from the boy and the sight of the Georgia skies. All before I had the chance to regret my coming.
A foreign hand at my bag, another at my blade, the only things I still owned were ripped from me without a word. I surprised myself in the fact that I hadn't fought for them back. Perhaps there wasn't enough fight left within me. I sat in the interrogation room uneasily, with nothing but my own fingernails to fidget with. After so long of sitting in the humid room, the man and the questions arrived.
A rusted man, one who wore sweat along his shirt and dirt on his hands, he seemed to be returning from a hard morning of work. He stood in front of me with power in his palm, a leader on the edge of giving and taking. He was aged, not by years gracing his soul, but by the weight the world had put onto him, I could only assume. Tanned and burnt from the summer sun, the fade of his clothing spoke the truth of it all. Umber locks, dark rings that hung in sweat, laid unruly along his head. Somewhere, in between his words and the silence that cut over us, his eyes beamed blue, a hue I recognized, but couldn't seem to place.
