Love Hate (Carl Grimes)

chapter eighteen // why

Rose's POV:

"Come on, Rosie!" her sweet, childlike voice is filled with laughter as she pulls me towards the swings. The warm Georgia sun shines over the playground, making it look welcoming.

Over the sounds of our laughter and feet pounding against the fresh grass as we run, I hear a rustling from behind me and I stop in my tracks.

She tugs on my hand and her voice is pleading. "We're almost there, Rosie! Come on!"

I turn around and scan the perimeter of the forest surrounding the small play area. "Hold on, Cammyla. Just a second." Cammyla's hand pulls away from mine but I pay no attention to it as I continue to search for the source of the sound.

Suddenly, more rustling occurs as a small brown squirrel scrurries across some of the fallen leaves.

I sigh in relief and turn back around to follow Cammyla, but she is no longer in front of me. Cammyla being gone is not the only thing that has changed.

The once red, orange, and yellow trees are now dead and dark, dropping nearly black leaves that swirl in the increasing wind. Dark rain clouds begin rolling in over the blue sky and across the sun, casting a greyish-blue shadow throughout the small field. The swings that used to be clean are now rusty, smeared with dried blood, the ropes are frayed and rotten, and swinging slightly in the wind.

Anxiously, I search the swing set and playground marry go round with my eyes, but Cammyla is not on either on them. Panic begins to reside in my chest as the clouds come in faster and the shadow becomes darker.

I call out her name but my voice is carried away by the wind. Calling out again, I take a few steps foward when I notice something laying lifeless on the ground just inches from the swings. I rush towards the figure and throw myself onto my knees behind it. Their back is facing me.

More panic spreads as I turn the figure to face me. When it is facing me I realize that it is Cammyla. Her doe-like brown eyes are now drained of life and dull. Her face is almost as white as paper and a thin line of bright red liquid is streaming down from her nose.

My heart rate accelerates and I can barely hear myself whispering, "No," over its loud pounding.

Over the pounding in my ears I hear some more rustling from behind me. I scramble to my feet and spin around, holding my hands up to my chest; scared.

Several figures come limping out of the dark tree line. One has multiple chunks of flesh ripped out of her body. Dani. The other two have bullet holes in their foreheads with dried blood trailing down their faces from the wound. Ella and Delilah. The last one has no visible injuries but holds a blank expression just like the rest. Lauren.

"It's your fault." Lauren says just as blankly as she joins the others standing about five feet from me.

"W-what?" I breath out, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands. "N-no,"

"It's your fault." This time Dani joins in with Lauren. Their voices sound monotone, but their words make my chest tighten.

I bring my hands up to my head and tangle them into my hair, pulling on the strands. Whispering the word "No," over and over again, I begin to back up.

Ella joins in repeating those three words and before I know it, all four of my best friends are chanting in monotone voices. With each step that I take back, they take a step towards me. More panic spreads through me and my breathing becomes rapid. The pain I recieve from tugging on my hair does no good to help distract me from what they are saying and the truth in their words.