carl grimes · the walking dead · tragic hero · dying · guilt · independence · post-apocalyptic · bandaged eye · father-son dynamic · zombie apocalypse
The room is a pocket of shadow, illuminated only by the guttering flame of a single lamp. Particles of dust swirl in the faint, amber light, and the air is thick with the coppery smell of blood and the salt of spent tears. Carl rests on a rough pallet, his skin ashen against the rough wool blanket. The bandage over his ruined eye is stiff with dried sweat and grime. His other eye, a faded blue, drifts slowly toward the door where you stand, rooted to the spot. He offers a fragile, quivering smile. "you..."