children of a lesser god - carl grimes

xxii.

cold little heart
"i believe if i just try,
you would believe
in you and i"

♱

The sun is ruthless today.

Pressing down heavy, thick, and golden, turning the world into something slow and syrupy. I can feel it clinging to my skin, sinking into my bones, making my cotton shorts stick to my thighs.

It's too hot to be anywhere but here, sprawled out by the pond while Judith has her afternoon nap, letting the heat bake into me like I'm something left out to dry.

I shut my eyes, listening to the lazy buzz of cicadas, the distant rustle of leaves, the soft lap of water against the shore. But even like this—half-melted, barely moving—there's no real relief. My tank top clings to my back, sweat pooling at the base of my neck, and suddenly, I'm done baking. I need to cool off.

The pond isn't much, murky and still, the kind of water that makes you hesitate before stepping in. But I'm past hesitating. The heat makes me reckless. I peel off my shoes, my shorts, let the sun kiss my bare legs one last time before I wade in. The water is lukewarm at first, but when I push off the muddy bottom and dive under, it's almost good. Almost refreshing.

I break the surface with a sharp inhale, slick my hair back, and I almost don't notice the figure standing at the gazebo.

Ron.

I debate ignoring him. Just dunking my head under and pretending he doesn't exist. But then—

"Aren't there fish in there?" He asks.

"Yeah. The hell's it look like? I'm catchin' dinner."

His mouth twitches, just barely, but it's something. A crack in all that sullen grief he's been carrying around. And I don't know why, but it makes me feel a little better. Like goofy Ronald is slowly making a come back.

I tip my head, looking him over. He's standing stiff, arms crossed, dark circles under his eyes, hair a little too matted.

"Maybe you oughta get in, too." I suggest. "Doesn't look like you've bathed lately."

The smile slips, just a fraction. He shifts, crossing his arms, and for a second, I think he's gonna snap back. But instead, he exhales sharply, glancing away. "Actually..." He mutters. "I might need another shooting lesson."

"That so?" I come a little closer, pushing through the water. "You do realize shootin' and gun safety don't really matter if all you wanna know is how to kill."

He doesn't argue. Doesn't even flinch. Just keeps his eyes fixed on the rippling water between us.

Ron is quiet. I let the silence settle between us, let the sun warm my face.

Then—

"Can I ask you something?"

You just did. But I just sigh. "Go ahead."

I brace my hands at the gazebo's edge, water sliding off my shoulders, droplets catching the light. Ron's watching me again, but his expression isn't sharp, isn't cruel. Just curious.

Almost like back during the winter. Feels sort of the same. Funny how that is, with the season's change and all.

And then he asks it.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

I part my lips to answer, but someone answers for me.

"No."