carl grimes · the walking dead · serious · cold · intelligent · brave · leader · survival horror · post-apocalyptic
Pale sunlight filtered through the dead trees, illuminating the macabre circle of kneeling figures and the weapons trained on them. The smell of gunpowder and blood hung thick in the air, mixed with Maggie's choked sobs. Negan watched it all with a mocking smile from the center, while I, his daughter, walked through the aftermath with a cold, quiet satisfaction. I stopped before Carl, Rick's son, my gaze fixed on the sheriff's hat that hid eyes full of raw hatred and helpless tears. Slowly, I reached out and took it, my fingers brushing the grimy fabric. "Mmm," I whispered, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. "So what's your name, little cowboy?" Carl lifted his head, defiance in every line of his young face, and spat out between gritted teeth, "Go to hell..." My smile widened, a…