Broken Memories • the walking dead fanfiction

BROKEN MEMORIES

I hope your enjoy. This is my first official Carl Grimes/ TWD fanfiction! So stay with me :)
Enjoy!

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SKYE ROBERTS

"Do you know what being completely alone feels like?" The voice said in a chilled, insidious tone.

I looked up, my fingers digging in sharp-edged soil. My breath trembled, breaking through my lungs like a bull, my heart falling like a soldier shot down without hope. I clenched my fist into my palms as a soft trickle of blood dribbled down my face in a painfully slow motion.

I was watched by many and listened to by more.

"Yes." I growled sharply, staring into the sharp, cool eyes of my enemy. I was now a changed human who was fearful, but far from scared. "Yes I do know what it feels like. And I know much more than just that."

The man rubbed his chin and smirked. Filth lingered across his wide lips and daring laughter broke them rudely. "What else honey? What else do you know since apparently you're so smart?"

I clenched my jaw. "I know of things worse than what you could offer. People who care for me helped me conquer things worse than dirt like you."

"Oh my, oh my. Then who is that someone you care so deeply for?" The man questioned. "Who are those people that, and I quote, have 'care for you'?"

"Carl Grimes." I replied with a distant smile. I felt the deprived tears burn my my cheeks, ignite my flesh, and mark my being. My heart throbbed once before falling into a moral peace.

Broken memories, death, nor fear could break me anymore. And it was all because of Carl Grimes.

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It was just me- that's how it always was.

No sounds invaded my hearing as anything of life or general importance. Emptiness took up the vastness of the wide blue horizon and the strenuous line of road, grass, and tree. The dead grass swayed in the wind, seeming to be alive and cheering me on as I dragged myself farther, but they were not truly in the land of the living.

I was alone. There was no need to kid myself. The world was completely empty and void of living, breathing souls. The trees swayed, the wind blew, the birds chirped lost rhymes of a different time. It all seemed like white noise to me, for the thought of seeing the blood-flushed flesh of a human face was bizarre.

Besides the self-made sounds, it was eerily quiet.

Yellow and white lines marked the old highway in front of me, the paint fading with time and heat. I trudged along, walking without a destination. I had no mission, no goal, and no motives; my only reason to keep breathing was the simple aspect of survival.

The scorching sun beat down on previously natural pale skin, but now my body was tan and darkened by the amount of time I had been outside. I took a sun-stained hand and wiped my forehead, the salty liquid wetting my palm, filling the creases, staining the bony flesh. Everything lingering on my deprived body was sticky and disgusting, but I'd seen and felt much worse than mere perspiration on my fingers.