THE KIDS AREN'T ALRIGHT carl grimes

ⁿ. ᴢᴇʀᴏ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴢᴇʀᴏ. ᴘʀᴇғᴀᴄᴇ
[〝 ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪs ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss 〞]
—

Life is provisional, death is inevitable. Cassandra Oliver discovered this before she learned the alphabet. Life is fleeting, and if you hold on to it, you get crushed. Perhaps if her mother would have realized this before, she wouldn't be alone in the world. However Cassandra had tried not to hold onto that thought for too long.

Before Cassandra's fourth birthday, her fathers untimely death was announced. At the time, She didn't really understand what that meant, or why her mother often locked herself in her room and left her sister to feed her daughter. Eventually, Cassandra halted her futile attempts to gain her attention.

It seemed without her husband, Margaret Oliver had no place in the world. She believed she could not survive without him, never mind that she had a daughter who didn't quite understand where her daddy was and why her mommy wouldn't stop crying. She gave up, most of the time she didn't even leave her bed. On her first day of kindergarten, Cassandra made her own lunch, and walked herself to school. She raised her self, and she cared for her mother.

In the middle of Cassandra's fourth year of primary school, she walked herself home like she did every day. Upon arriving at her house, she noticed something didn't quite feel normal, instead of the radio talk show her mother always had on, the screeching of a teapot sounded throughout the entire home. She called out for her mother, not really expecting an answer. She stepped into the kitchen and saw the teapot shaking. In a rush she pushed it off the stove burner, not bothering to use a towel.

Her jittery nerves had taken her over and clouded her mind. She left the kitchen in search of bandages to cover her burnt hands. Cassandra was no stranger to dressing her own wounds as she often fell or dropped items that would smash upon contact with the ground.

As she passed the closet that held the medical supplies, she noticed her mothers door was ajar. The door was always closed. She crept closer. She pushed the door farther. Blood splattered the far wall, and her mother was slumped in a heap on the ground, a gun in her left hand. Her eyes were closed, Blood spilled out in a pool under her head.

Cassandra had rushed towards her, lifting her head onto her lap and shaking her. She had cried for her mother before rushing for the phone, dialing the only number she knew. Her aunt had picked up, and though she couldn't understand a word that came from the child's mouth, she hurried over.

That day, Cassandra learned a valuable lesson that would later save her life, only to crush her in the end; love is weakness.