𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐳𝐞
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜
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H E R
"Alright, how about Little House on the Prairie?" Carl tossed me the book a little too carelessly but I still managed to catch it from where I sat at the table, my feet slightly up.
Of course, it had to be the Little House series, which I ate up obsessively. Even leant heavily on the orphanism of on the the televised versions character, Albert, to get me through my own parentless struggles. I couldn't help but let a laugh escape me. It felt silly now, letting a fictional entity influence me.
"Nope, already read it." I handed it back to him, pressing it into his palms a little rougher than necessary but he should know better than to throw such works of literature.
He meandered back to the dusty shelfs. "You're in luck there's, like, six more."
"I've read all of them." I corrected. "And they're classics, by the way, be careful with them."
He groaned. "Are there any books that you haven't read?"
I glanced around, feeling the weight of my resentment towards him growing with each passing moment. The library, originally intended for prisoners, offered little solace in its limited selection of books.
"Probably not," I replied lightly, masking the bitterness in my tone.
He leaned towards me, using his forefinger to press the brim of his hat up, giving me a better view of his eyes. One eyebrow was slightly raised as were the corners of his lips. "Then I guess this whole thing was a bust, yeah?"
"No," I said slowly, dragging my fingers across the spines of the books set out on the table. "Being able to get out has been a treat." Especially since I had expected to die alone in that cell.
"Well, that's good to hear..." He paused, sensing the underlying tension, but hesitated to address it directly. A thick veil of unease settled between us, catching in my throat and reflecting in my tightened gaze. But then he straightened up, retreating to select another book, leaving behind a dark, gaping hole in the shelf he took it from. "Lord of the Rings?"
Jody loved Lord of the Rings. I swallowed hard, feeling bile rise in my throat. Jody was dead and dead boys have no use for stories about elves, dwarfs, and orks. Fairytales were pointless.
"I've read it—"
(I received an eye roll and yet another groan from the boy.)
"—But I think that you would like it," I added, my voice strained with forced gentleness. I didn't want to snap at him, but the memories of Jody's absence loomed heavily in my mind.
And then came The Look, the one that made me feel like the most idiotic person ever. Except this time, there was humor behind it. "I think I'll stick to comics."
"Hey, it's a great book." I defended, trying to suppress my sudden hostility towards Carl. I was doing just fine until I had remembered Jody. I took a deep breath. Carl and Jody did not coexist well in my brain and with good reason.
"Sure. It could be the best book. But nothing is going to stop it from being, like, seven-hundred pages." Carl flipped through the book, frowning at its contents. "When did you even have time to read this many books? Didn't you have friends?"
"No," I replied sharply, the word carrying more bite than I intended. I looked away quickly, feigning disinterest by casually scratching at the wood of the table.
Carl hadn't seemed to expect that answer. "What do you mean? All the kids here adore you."
"I dunno." I shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject. I had to think a moment, who had been my friend growing up? Not a single, sturdy name came to mind, at least none I wouldn't honor myself with the title of being their friend.
I had always yearned for what the other girls had. Holding hands and friendship bracelets and sharing secrets inside the tunnel slide. Sometimes I felt like they spoke a language I couldn't understand. I was a follower, never a leader. The third one on the sidewalk that ends up walking on the grass, which was completely fine by me, I would never dare rock the boat, never try to claim a place I didn't deserve.
My only friend for the longest time was Jody. I was too shy during elementary to secure any other true friendships. Sure, there were spots here and there where I had someone to sit with at lunch or even a few times where I was invited over to play dolls and I always had a nice group at my birthday parties but for the most part I loned it. Reading during recess or staying back to help a teacher. I was quiet and soft spoken, an easy target for bullies. Jody was three years older than me so I didn't see much of him at school but he did rough up a boy for teasing me once and after that I was mostly left alone. Outside of school, I would sit in the dugout during Jody's baseball practice or he would let me tag along out to pizza and a movie with his friends. He never left me out, always made me feel important. I used to wonder how I could survive without him. And now, here I am, alive and breathing while my brother no longer even exists.
I grit my teeth, reminding myself that this was not the time nor place to think such things. There was no point on dwelling on it. If I thought about it too much I'd just get confused and upset and hurt. Then I'd get mad at Carl all over again and I was so sick of being mad.
Jody was dead. That was something I was going to have to live with.
I steadied my breathing, focusing on the sound of Carl rummaging through the shelves.
A pair of college-age males walked passed the door, blood smeared across their forearms, obviously coming back from fence duty, and they laughed casually, joking around about how the fence almost caved in on itself.
"You about shit yourself!" One of the men laughed.
"No, no. You were the one who was frozen in place and wouldn't move an inch. Quick thinking though, the fence woulda come all the way down if not for the pole idea you had!" The other replied in the same tone as their jovial voices faded down the hallways beyond the door. Happily talking about how our home had almost been destroyed.
Fence duty was dangerous, I remember the woman who had died a couple months ago while patrolling it. All the same, it's a sought after job. And it's easy, if you're smart about it.
I glanced back at Carl to see him glaring disgruntledly at where the two men had just been.
"If you want to work around the perimeter, why don't you ask your dad?" I ventured, trying to shift the conversation to a safer topic.
"It's not that simple," Carl replied, his eyes hard, staring ahead at nothing in particular. "My dad thinks the best thing for me is planting vegetables... And no matter how hard I try, I'll never be good enough for him."
He added the last part under his breath, but it was obvious he wanted me to hear it.
"You don't mean that," I disagreed, though a pang of jealousy and bitterness surged within me. At least he had a father who cared. He should be grateful for that.
"'Course I do."
"Carl-" I began.
"Just drop it," he snapped, his tone softening slightly as he sighed. "It's fine, alright? Working around the fences wouldn't be good for me anyway." He raised one shoulder in a half-hearted, defeated shrug.
"Why's that?" I probed, curious despite myself.
He moved to sit down on top of the table, pulling up one leg to begin retying his boot. "Up close and personal with some walkers all day, or safe in the garden pruning tomato bushes. Which one would my dad pick to give me some sense of a normal life?"
"Tomatoes." I answered, though it was more of a guess than anything.
"Right," He agreed bitterly. "But which one would I rather do? Which one am I built for? Which one am I actually good at?"
"...Tomatoes?" I replied tentatively, hoping to offer some encouragement even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear. I couldn't believe he was complaining to me about this. And I couldn't believe I was trying to make him feel better about it.
He looked at me, annoyed with my false naivety. "I've been trying so hard to like it, to not be who I am, but it's all bullshit. I want to do something that's meaningful. I want to make a difference. I can't just sit on my ass in dirt all day and pretend the world is fine."
"Good for you." I said with a nod. "Can we not talk about it anymore?" Because I'm going to lose my shit on you.
"I'm sorry," Carl abruptly broke our unspoken vow of remaining silent about It, his voice urgent yet laden with remorse. I was stunned by the suddenness of it.
Carl's words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the dust motes dancing in the dim light of the library. I could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and pleading, as he reached out with tentative apologies. But beneath his words, there lingered a darkness—a darkness that echoed the ache in my own heart, the ache that had been there since the day I learned of his deed.
His apology pierced through the fragile facade I had constructed, threatening to unravel the carefully woven threads of denial that held me together. I wanted to scream, to lash out at him with all the pent-up fury burning within me. But instead, I remained silent, my lips pressed tightly together, refusing to give voice to the storm raging within.
"I know that nothing I can say will make it right."Carl continued, his tone thick with emotion. "But please, at least let me say sorry."
Sorry. The word echoed in my mind, reverberating like a mournful lament. How could such a simple word hold so much power, so much pain? If I were to accept his apology, it would mean accepting what he had done to my brother—accepting the gaping wound that had been torn into the fabric of my reality.
But I couldn't. I couldn't bear the thought of forgiving him, of letting go of the seething anger that simmered just beneath the surface. To forgive him would be to betray everything my brother had stood for, to dishonor his memory with false absolution.
"Why?" I whispered, the word barely more than a breath. "So, I can forgive you and everything can go back to normal and you can feel better? Fine. Okay. Say sorry then."
Carl's eyes searched mine, pleading for understanding, for absolution. But all I could offer was silence—a silence that spoke volumes, a silence that echoed with the weight of a thousand unsaid words.
"I don't want you to forgive me unless you actually do." He finally replied, tinged with uncertainty.
And with those words hanging between us like a fragile thread, we lapsed into a heavy silence, the weight of our shared pain pressing down upon us like a suffocating blanket.
"You know what? This was a bad idea." I told him, feeling so idiotic for having come along.
I wasn't ready yet. Not for this. Not for being around him.
Please, God. Please send a reason for this conversation to end. Anything. Please. I'm desperate.
And then the prison shook with the force of an earthquake.
"What was that?" I asked, standing unsteadily from my chair.
A look crossed Carl's face and he turned sharply in the direction of the noise. I followed after him as if it was some unspoken agreement.
He keeled to a stop at the large orange doors that led up to the veranda. He hauled one open, but only enough for him to look out.
"Carl-"
He turned to me, looking frightened. And then, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down the corridor.
Frantic voices came from all directions and I tried to pull away from Carl, but he was insistent on getting as far as he possibly could while I was reluctantly in tow.
He came to a stop and I immediately felt dejévu. It was the same dark, drippy hallway he vented his anger towards the world.
I had too much unresolved fear in my chest. Carl was barely a person to act out. Not even in jest would he purposely try to scare me. No, if he was dragging me around the prison with a fearful look then I should definitely worry. I immediately demanded answers to his behavior.
"What's going on?"
"I need you to stay here," He insisted, panic evident in his voice.
"What? Why? I don't-"
Carl gripped my shoulders, forcing me to stay put. "I'll come back and get you, please, just stay here."
"Where are you going?" I hated the fact that all of my interjections happened to be questions that went unanswered.
"I'll be right back, you just stay right here."
"What the hell is wrong with you? What's going on?" I struggled to get away from him. I don't know why but I needed to get out of that hall as soon as I could. "Carl!"
"Stay here."
"No-" I tried pushing passed him which was a mistake.
Because Carl did something you should never, ever do to anyone. Especially a scared, sick girl who had a history with being pissed with him. It had obviously been his 'Child-Soilder' instincts cutting in without a thought. His face hardened, eyes darkened and the gun came out of his holster. And in one swift motion, he forcefully brought the end down on my temple.
And being that I was effectively knocked out, I don't remember much after that.
x-x-x-x-x-x
When I woke up, my head was throbbing and I could tell by the silent, dark air it was nighttime.
Carl Grimes knocked me the hell out with the grip of his stupid ass gun
How much time had passed? How long had I been lying on the cement floor?
Grimacing, I gingerly probed the tender spot at my hairline, where dried blood had congealed into a sticky mess. What a delightful souvenir of the chaos.
Summoning what little strength remained in my trembling limbs, I hoisted myself upright, fighting against the dizzying sensation threatening to pull me back down. With a determined yet unsteady gait, I stumbled forward, my steps guided more by instinct than clear direction, my mind clouded with disorientation.
"Carl?" The name was rough against my throat. I tried again, louder. "Hello? Carl?" My voice echoed along the cement walls, vibrating through my bones chillingly.
The prison was empty. Completely empty.
What happened?
I needed to get out was my first line of action just as my eyes landed on the orange doors.
That's the way out. Open the doors and leave.
The grating sound of the heavy metal doors sliding open echoed through the desolate veranda. Collapsing onto the cold steps, my knees met the unforgiving ground with a thud, and a guttural cry tore from my throat, reverberating through the silent night. A dry howl of terror.
As I looked up, my gaze was met not with the comforting blanket of stars, but with a sky tinged the color of dark chocolate, marred by the glimmer of sugar stars scattered like broken promises. Tears refused to come, leaving only the raw, agonized wails of my despair to fill the air.
My senses dulled, overwhelmed by the horror unfolding before me. The once vibrant courtyard now lay in ruins, the garden in smoke, a scene of devastation and desolation stretching beyond the prison walls. In that moment, amidst the chaos and destruction, I felt the crushing weight of loss envelop me, suffocating any semblance of hope that remained. All was lost, only the dead remained.
"Hello? Carl, Beth, anybody! Carl!"
My feet carried me along the side of the building and back inside, straight down all the winding halls towards the administration office.
The main office, still littered with blankets and pillows, was abandoned.
"Hello? Mika? Lizzie, are you in here?" But my attempts were fruitless. No one alive was in there.
They all left. Holy shit. I got left behind. They left me.
I searched for my knapsack, the one that held my few possessions, but found that it was missing along with the other children's things and Judith's diaper bag.
However, I spotted Carl's duffel, stuffed in the corner of the hallway. Where ever he was, he was without it. So I hauled it onto my shoulder, not stopping to check the contents. All I knew was that I had to get out once more. And this time, for good.
I forced my ignorant brain to function, develop helpful thoughts.
Have to get out. Get out now. Get out now.
What would Carl do?
Get a weapon.
I went back to the veranda and immediately I noticed a dead body with a bullet between the eyes and a shot gun strapped to his back. It wasn't like he'd need it anymore. He also wouldn't need the belt full of ammunition or his knife either. It felt wrong, heaving his stiff body around and taking his things. But what more could I do?
A lone walker stumbled toward me, it was one of the men who used to work the fence. My natural reaction was to freeze, expecting Jody's orders. I had never faced a walker on my own before. I couldn't waste a bullet, it would be too noisy. The knife, something I was accustomed with was my best option.
It came close, it's jaw hanging open, teeth bloodied from his last meal. His skin only slightly gray, being newly dead. I'd never seen a walker so fresh before, so almost alive looking. It made me hesitate, it felt wrong, he wasn't even rotting yet. How long had I been knocked out? Could this guy have been alive only the morning before? What happened here? Why did he die in the first place?
You have to kill the walker now.
So I stuck the knife in his temple. Just like Jody taught me. It felt like slicing through a hard apple, rather than the mushy pear heads of the more decayed.
Looking out into the horizon, I could see the sun beginning to rise. The sky streaked with red and purple. The stars, once so pretty, began to fade into the atmosphere.
Now you need to leave.
The prison smoldered behind me, the sounds of Walkers filled my ears (I almost turned to see if I'd recognize any of more them). I knew that now was my chance to run off into the forest beyond the prison like Carl and I reminisced about what felt like so long ago.
Carl. The boy who said he'd come back for me. Was he a liar? Was he a corpse? Where was he?
I smelt him, and I realized it's because the duffle carried his scent, filled with his clothes. At the tree line, I removed one of the articles, a dark brown flannel I had seen him wear on occasion. I held it up to my nose, breathing it in. It carried the smell of him heavily and I pulled it on over my arms, cloaking myself in it.
Then I let the forest conceal me, let the overhead branches become my shelter.
My world had ended all over again. Into the next world I go.
≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪
end of part one
A/N: THEY EFFING LEFFFTTTT HHEEERRRRR
as i'm the one who wrote it lol
eleanor rn:
also shameless self promo i have another carl book and two chandler riggs books BYYEEEEE
edit: el is def a barnes and nobles girly
these don't look like sophie nelisse but having a visual is still fun !!