I Know The End, Carl Grimes

Eleven. I think I've seen this film before

Carl's face was white with sweat but the rolled up sleeves of his flannel showed the farmer's tan on his arms. His blue eyes were overshadowed by the purple bags under them. He rarely got any sleep and when he did, he was woken up early by his father to do the farming.

"You bringing a lot?" Mia voiced, her eyes on his bag.

Carl looked down at the bag and back at her. "You never know." Was all he stated.

"Very true. You have my book?"

He formed a grin. "I wish I didn't but yeah, I do."

She chuckle and looked down at her own bag. "You think this quarantine is a good idea?" She asked and zipped it up.

The boy only shrugged. "It's worth a try, I guess. I just. . . don't want to separate from my dad and Judith." He admitted out loud.

Mia noticed how he never mention his mother. How Rick never mentioned her or anyone else. It was a rude thing to ask about so she refrained from asking until he mentioned it first. "I understand. I know it must be hard."

"Are you ready to leave?"

Mia examined her nearly empty cell and sighed. "I suppose so."

"You have the comic?" He teased her.

She rolled her eyes. "I wish I didn't but yeah,  I do."

It got him to laugh. She hid her smile and grabbed the bag. She followed him out of the cell and they made their way to cell block A. "So, what did you bring?" Mia asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Clothes. Comics. Your book, of course." He smirked slightly. "That's pretty much it. I don't have much else."

"Same. Carol brought me a bunch of books from the library so I brought those. I only have the clothes Beth gave me. Let's hope this quarantine doesn't last long."

Carl nodded in agreement.

There was silence between them. He glanced her way from the corner of his eye. Her messy and frizzy curls framed her face that was tinted a light brown. Her eyes darted everywhere around them like she couldn't keep them still. They were wide and brown. Deep brown. Like doll eyes. That's what she reminded him of, a
doll — small and timid.

But she was beginning to open up. She went from not being able to look at him to know having full on conversations with him. And reading his comic book. Yet he still noticed the way she constantly looked down at her feet when she got scared or shy. But she was talking more. Carl felt slightly guilty for giving her such a hard time. "Um, I just wanted to say. . ." She turned her attention to him. "I'm — I'm sorry for being an asshole to you. I'm not good at making friends."

Mia forgot that they were just kids. Innocent souls thrown into a world of war. They'd both been through tragedies but they had different ways of coping. Carl had to grow up fast for his father and baby sister. He wasn't allowed to be a kid anymore and that was enough to make anyone turn bitter. Mia understood that. "It's okay, I understand. I'm not good at making friends either. Patrick was different. I didn't have to try with him."

Carl chuckled slightly. "I didn't either."

Both of them grew sad at the mention of their dead friend. "You knew him longer than I did. I'm sorry you lost him."

"He was your friend, too. Maybe. . . it can make us be friends?"

She was shocked. But the shock was covered by relief. Mia smiled his way. "Yeah. Friends."

The quarantine room was filled with kids. It was loud and cramped but Mia tried to make the best of it. She sat with the children at a round table and watched them color with books and beating that Michonne had brought back for them. "Are butterflies blue, Mia? Asked Luke.