Written Passage

Chapter 1

A/N: I don't expect much of a fanbase for this, with it being a minor ship for The Walking Dead. It's also posted on Ao3. Third person story line with first person journal passages. Enjoy!

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Carl found the journal in late November. The desk it was stored in held little else of interest. Leather bound with thick gold-lined pages, it was the most extravagant thing the teenage boy owned since he was twelve that wasn't a weapon. At that age he would have scoffed at the mere thought of wanting it. Now, he kept it stored at the bottom of his singular pack. The thought of defending its presence was a constant. Carl was ready to claim it was for starting a fire or for mapping their supplies and trails. His father, Rick, would have patted him on the back, ignorant of any other reasoning. He would offer it when needed, not mentioning its existence until necessary.

In truth, Carl held onto the notebook for roughly six months. The small bound book didn't have a single page torn out of it in that time. Despite the dwindling supplies and the need for fire-starter, Carl never offered up the journal. It survived much like they did.

Well into May, Carl, Rick, and the thirteen others were invited to Alexandria Safe-Zone. It was something of a pseudo-dream for Carl. He'd spent the last three years of his life in up-and-down settlements. A day full of interviews ensued. Questions upon questions were thrown Carl's way. He answered honestly to Deanna and her camera. Sight of the camera reminded him of first finding the journal. A swelling of nostalgia for lives they all could have lived. It was a striking warmth in his sternum. In a flash it was gone, echoing across his lungs.

The home they were given finally allowed the comfort for Carl to write in his notebook. When he opened it the spine cracked stiffly. A standard business pen was in his right hand, consistently clicking it open and closed.

_______________________

May

I can only assume the date right now. It doesn't really matter, I guess, since I'll be the only one reading this. Anyway, just for shits, my name is Carl Grimes. I'm about 15 at this point. The year is off, but I'm guessing the world ended about 3 years ago. I'm just guessing though. Walkers, zombies, biters, rotters, whatever you want to call them. I'm sure you've experienced them. They're something we've all grown used to by now—"all" being my group. My group being about 15 people total. It used to be smaller, and then bigger, and then smaller, and here we are today.

We've been invited to a Safe-Zone called Alexandria. It's comparable to life in the prison but brighter. Have you ever read a book where the people are "milling" about? That's a real thing in Alexandria. Pretty soon I'll be milling about, just you wait and see.

_______________________

Carl slams the notebook closed when he hears footsteps outside of his doorway—his; it had been so long since he'd official owned something. It's Michonne, standing tall in the entryway. She looks mildly uncomfortable without her katana on her back. She shifts in a way that suggests it's still there, habit not being lost simply because the weapon is gone. In her arms is a squirming Judith. There's a sippy cup full of water gripped in her pudgy hands.

"Your dad wants to see you, Carl."

"Okay, he downstairs?"

"In the kitchen."

Michonne ventures farther down the hallway after their brief conversation. Judith gurgles happily as they go; Michonne whispers nothings to her, nudging her finger into the small girl's stomach. Carl hears the tiny echoes of her baby giggles.