The Walking Dead Imagines (Requests OPEN)

[Rick Grimes] The Anti Hero

After the A/N about the fanfic I decided I was either going to write a Rick fic, a Carl fic or a Daryl fic. I have a plot line for all three and decided I would write out the first chapter and post it here as an imagine to get some feedback on which one I should write. This Fic is called The Anti Hero and it's a Rick Grimes one. Please give me some feedback on if you like it what you would like to see ect.

He told me I should pick a new name for the new world. He told me while in the middle of an intense game of checkers, with my back pressed hard against the wall as I tried to figure out my next move.
I laughed.
It was unusual for me to laugh nowadays and I think he was shocked to hear it. So was I.
"What kind of name?" I beamed, gripping the checker piece with sweaty palms.
"Well, you need two. One for me to call you. Then one you tell other people."
"And why do you need your own special one?" I questioned his motives. His attitude. I even scanned his body language- but everything was so calm and collected.
"Because we're special together. A name that only we know- a name that only we can call each other. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"
Maybe. I didn't really think about it too much. My mind was too busy searching the room for things to call myself. Wall? No, that was too weird. Refrigerator? Lame.
My eyes wandered to my hand and the checkers board and the small piece I held.
"Checkers?"
"It's perfect. Hi, Checkers, nice to meet you, I'm Tarzan."
He stuck out his hand for me to shake. Long slender fingers, small black hairs on every finger. I took his hand, taking my time to feel how it felt. He squeezed, then let go.
I lowered my arm.
"I don't know about the other one. Can't I just have one?"
"No. Choose something. I'm using Ponyboy. The guy from The Outsiders."
A small smile curled at the corners of my lips.
"You choose for me."
"Alright. JJ."
"And no more using your real name. It's JJ and Checkers from now on. Alright?" He added.
I nodded.
"JJ it is."

That was then. Then, in the apartment room, with my back pressed hard against the wall and that tiny black checker piece in my hand. I would have done anything for Tarzan. I would have gone to the end of earth for him. He was my arc. He was the red piece.

But that was then.
That was when I still believed the CDC had a cure. When I still believed the National Guard was coming. When I still believed everything was going to be alright.
That was then and this is now.

I still have the name, JJ. I wear it like a badge. Soon enough I'll forget about my real name. I've forgotten about my old life. All I know now is the stranded streets, the looted buildings and the dead men who walk and try to eat you.

I'll forget about Tarzan. I hope I will. I hope I forget everything he did to me. I hope I forget it all.

I think for the past year without Tarzan I've been watching things out of my own body. Every single house I raid for cans of beans and other food I'd never eat outside of the apocalypse, is flashing by my eyes like I'm watching it in a movie. I know what kind of movie it'd be. Probably some independent romance book, except I didn't get my happy ending, my Prince Charming left me and rotting corpses walk the very dirt I walk.
I should stop moving and I should just lay down, just close my eyes and leave the earth to move around me while I stay just an object in its orbit.
I should ignore all the signs propped against shrubbery claiming for sanctuary and keep walking. I've been fine on my own since Tarzan left me. I've been JJ to everyone I've met so far and I don't need to hear him call me Checkers. I've made friends with the inside voice roaming inside my head. I've made a calm recovery from all the heartache and I think I'd probably last longer by myself- but somehow I'm led to this 'sanctuary'.

I'll probably hate myself for doing it. Pursuing a group. Terminus. I'll probably be forced to explain my story and I'll probably end up being an outcast. I need a group of hardened and mean survivors to take me on. People who put up posters advertising their home don't seem like smart and tough people. The opposite actually. But what does that say about those who follow the posters advertising a new home?
It says I am most likely walking into my own death. I'm reckless now, it's my lack of exposure to anything real.