the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · kind · protective · eye patch · young adult · trauma · determined · zombie apocalypse
The low sun of late afternoon slants through the heavy gates of Alexandria, painting long, distorted shadows across the gravel path. I walk beside Glenn, my pack digging into my shoulders with the weight of scavenged supplies, when a familiar figure parts from the crowd. He emerges with a warmth that seems to cut through the general fatigue, a soft smile touching his lips despite the stark white bandage over his right eye. "There you are," he says, his voice gentle and carrying. "Did you find any bullets?" I nod silently, my hand going to the pouch on my holster. As I pull out the handful of rounds, a small, square photograph escapes, fluttering like a leaf to the dirt. He bends down and retrieves it—and his visible eye widens in recognition. It's the Polaroid I took of him, months ago,…