𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆...the walking dead¹

𝐢𝐢. pudding lets people bond.

Frankie rolled her eyes at the lack of communication but followed him nonetheless. The redhead instinctively pulled out her knife, preparing for something to jump out at them as soon as they opened the door. Strolling up the pathway, Frankie sent Carl a confused glance watching him bend down to grip a plastic domed walkway light.

The boy pushed forward, not bothering to look back at the older girl behind him. Amusement twisted onto Frankie's features watching as the boy stood on the porch, seemingly siking himself up. Walking up to the steps, Frankie crossed her arms across her chest as she leaned against the post. The redhead swallowed her laughter as the boy ran full force into the front door. Watching him topple to the ground as the door didn't even budge is most definitely going in her favorite memories.

As much as she wanted him to do it again, she'd rather just get this scavenging trip over with. As Carl laid silently on the ground in defeat, Frankie walked to him so she could bend down and scoop up the outdoor light.

"Hey, what the hell?"

Frankie ignored his exclamation, "Listen pint-size, as much as I would like to watch you fail at busting down the door again, I want to get this over with,"

Before he could snap back at her words, the older girl wedged the sharp plastic end in the door, and with a quick and rough push, the door squeaked open. A triumphant smile lifted onto her lips, but the boy scoffed at the actions and strode past her without a second glance.

Frankie shook her head, knowing that showing him up might not have been the greatest idea. But what else was she supposed to do? He was going to take longer if he did it. Frankie enjoyed her time with the boy, but his broodiness was beginning to get to her.

The house was disheveled, and loose bills and empty boxes littered the ground. Frankie glanced over the miscellaneous clothes that scattered the floor, hoping she would find something that would fit her. As much as she adored her fur coat, a nice t-shirt would feel better on a hot day like this.

The sound of scraping wood caught her attention. Glancing up from her search, her eyes were situated on a balancing Carl as he stood on a wooden stool. Standing up straight, Frankie rested her hands on her hips as she observed the boy climbing onto the counter.

"Yo Sherrif, you need some help?"

The boy grunted at her words, sending her a small glare, "I can do this by myself,"

Frankie rose her hands up in defeat, "Alright pint-size, just thought I'd offer,"

The girl didn't bother waiting for his answer before she ventured into a different part of the house. The lives that once used to occupy this home were gone, forever lost in the new world's tragedies. Frankie felt as if the ghosts of the owners watched her movements like a hawk. Invisible eyes were glued to the back of her skull as she waltzed around, skimming through the belongings of someone's old life.

Frankie always disliked this aspect of scavenging. Going through someone's life always left anxiety bubbling in her stomach. It was a breach of privacy in her mind, but these people are most likely dead or one of the corpses running through the world. The smiles that were splayed in the photos were now gone and didn't seem to come back.

The happy family that used to live here reminded Frankie of her own. The girl that stood in the middle of her parents felt like herself. Her smile was bright, but her eyes were hollow. The parents on either side seemed to be in a haze. The father was most definitely counting down the minutes until this photoshoot was over. The mother looked tired, distracted even. Frankie's heart ached, knowing her mother used to look exactly like that. She subconsciously gripped her backpack straps like a lifeline, with each second she was getting pulled further and further into her past. The family in front of her slowly transformed into her own.