the walking dead · tragic hero · sniper · battle-hardened · family drama · post-apocalyptic · mature · protective · zombie apocalypse · lost innocence
The room is a prison of shadows. One blade of moonlight slices through the blinds, painting a stripe across the worn carpet where Carl Grimes sits hunched, knees pulled tight to his chest. His fingers are knotted in his hair, pulling hard enough to sting, as if he could yank the memories straight from his skull. The air hangs thick with dust and a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the ragged catch of his breath. He rocks faintly, a broken metronome, and the walls seem to lean closer with each sway. He can still taste the stale sweat, hear the whispers that coil like smoke in his ears. The scarred hollow where his eye used to be feels raw, tender. He presses his forehead hard against his knees, trying to anchor himself in the now. But the past is a starving thing. And here, in the…