✧ ཻུ۪۪. love is the most beautiful of dreams ,
and the worst of nightmares . . .
the walking dead | seasons 4 - 8
( carl grimes x fem!oc )
❁ ↷
12/20/20 & 6/17/22 - #1 in chanderriggs
5/26/22 & 1/2...
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THE GOVERNOR HAD SAVED THEM.
That fact, despite how utterly repulsive, was the truth.
A summer ago, the well of hope for the Samuels' family had nearly run dry. The three had lost their mother, a woman who died mimicking the helpless cries of her birth. For all human beings those days tended to enter the world with tears, as well as welcomed the reaper with sobs edging their eyelids. Through a blanket of blood, she was gone. Taken from the mortal realm without no permission of her own, and faster than any of them could ever comprehend.
The world was hot when the governor had found them. Midsummer, in the ripest day of July, born of sweat from the moment of sunrise to sunset. Ella could recall how that curse of heat had stained her skin with a layer of sorrow that disgusted itself as dirt, and blood of an unknown origin, that had taken upon itself to harden and dye the surface below her fingernails. Weighing down the roots of her hair with a sheen of grease that glistened below the sunlight, and her clothes soaked in her own fruitless perspiration. An appearance all who shared her own blood mirrored, disguising the family as one belonging to the dead.
It was a distant memory, yet vivid all the same. Of how a truck full of far too many men for her to count drove up upon their camp of a father and his three children, with his gun raised, empty. For the man had lost ammunition days prior, and was left with nothing more than a shell of a firearm that tried so desperately to appear intimidating. A pitiful effort, when compared to the rifles pointed their way, and a collection of glares that attempted to comprehend what type of man her father was. If he, and his three children, could ever be a danger to their supposed camp.
According to the governor, it was their fire that exposed them. With a tunnel of smoke that led them directly towards their abode for the evening, that of a tiny clearing surrounded by overgrown grass and trees. Perhaps it was their obliviousness to the world and its new order of survival, or the fact that her father was followed by young children, that swooned them over. Enough so that they could lower their guns, and welcome their family to become part of their own. After all their grief, it was exactly what the family of three needed — Woodbury, a home.
