According to my father, if you couldn't hear my voice, then I most likely had my face inside of a book. That's exactly how Rick found me, curled up on her bed with, "How to Kill a Mockingbird" stretched lazily in my tiny hands. I had wanted to be invisible and left alone, having gotten in a argument with my mother Josephine, about something that I couldn't understand. I was too young at the time, just around the age of five probably, just barely learning how to step foot on the cold ground beneath me, to not stumble and crash to the floor in a silent, but very quick and unsteady manner. After a far too stressful day, I did not have the strength to talk to him. Yet, at least. Maybe a few more minutes would work, however, I had been eagerly waiting for his arrival all morning, so my act, had faded away very quickly.
"Hello," My voice managed to finally let out, as a small speech to let him know that she wasn't, silently, telling him to go.
"Hi, Carrot top." The familiar, very weak sounding accent of the oldest, and only, Southern boy spoke, moving toward me, making me furrow my eyebrows. Was he kidding me right now?
"Of course . . though , my names Clarisse Greene, not Carrot top." I spoke, furrowing my eyebrows at his antics. My hair was a nice shade of orangey-red, due to my mother, Aubrielle, now laying in the ground, having already embraced death. Alongside my father, Jenson, and my older sister, Judith.
That was another reason why I didn't like talking so much right now, it was . . rather confusing for me . Confusing on the lines of , I didn't understand anything really at that time , other then I really didn't like my adopted mother that much, and my best friend Rick Grimes was a good person. Maybe a bit too good for this world..
"Sorry."
No he wasn't! It made me snort. Especially his tone of voice, I knew he was trying to rile me up, and if I was honest, it was working. A lot. I don't know why I was so sensitive to the nickname, but the two of us didn't really understand how basic emotions worked and how they could affect another yet.
His eyes seemed to crinkle up, making me tilt my head, slowly sliding my bookmark across the crease of the page before slowly shutting it, never stopping to not stop looking at him, it looked like he was secretly laughing at me. Was he? I stood up.
"How would you feel if I called you a midget?"
"You can if you want," He shrugged, looking over toward my window. "What are you doing?" I ask as he moved toward it, climbing onto my counter, making my eyes widen again. What was he thinking?
He turned to me. "We're the normal ones, right?"
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