Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ pudding lets people bond. ╱ season four, episode nine.
FRANKIE WOULDN'T EVER admit it out loud, but Carl was quickly growing on her. For the short span of two hours, she was already reveling in annoying the younger boy. With a permanent frown etched onto his features, Frankie followed along like a lost puppy. Her comments slice through his dutiful angst every once in a while.
The house around them was bare, lost memories, and empty cans were left scattered through it. Frankie shoved every minuscule thing into her bag, often offering to split it with the small stranger who seemed to be having the same luck. The world around them was silent, few birds chirped, leaving the air to be filled with Frankie's absentmindedly hums.
The girl acted oblivious to the world around her. Boredom made the short girl walk slowly after Carl, one foot after another as if she was balancing on an invisible line. Sweat curled at her hairline but it didn't dare knock the look of contentment off her face. Biters were minuscule, they'd met barely anything that would deter the warm day that surrounded them.
Frankie yearned for something to happen, she could tell the young boy was getting antsy and wanted something to fill the angsty energy he created. The young girl could tell that the boy was avoiding something, an emotion, person, place, she had no clue. But she was absolutely going to worm it out of him. There was too much anger and hurt that filled that boy and Frankie felt he was too young to feel any of it.
Most times she wished someone her age didn't have to experience anything she is, it feels as if she was too young to go through the trauma of the apocalypse, so someone younger than her shouldn't have to feel the same detrimental weight. Frankie felt as if she's lost so much, but there was something in the way that the boy carries himself, that makes her think he lost even more.
There was a slight smell of death that lingered in the breeze, causing Frankie to wrinkle her nose at the stench. Wilted bodies laid splayed in the grass, left to be forgotten, unrecognizable. Frankie tried to ignore them, but their stories, their lives, lay along with them, forever frozen over with death. Frankie feared that one day she would end up exactly like them, dead and forever forgotten. She desperately tried to get the dark thoughts to fade but, with the bodies lying at her feet, it was almost impossible.
"Carl, you wanna scout that house?" Frankie questioned, glancing towards the moderate three-story home.
The boy turned his gaze between her and the house. A moment passed with nothing but silence. The only noise was coming from the wind rustling the trees. Frankie softly bounced on her toes, awaiting the younger boy's answer. Wordlessly, the boy waltzed past her and towards the stoic three-story home.
