[ c o m p l e t e d ]
"She looked like a goddess. The kind that sends cities to their knees in fear. The kind that is never in picture books.
The kind that twists people."
- - - - -
April is a devil. A demon. And above all, she is a...
The rivets of his ribcage... he preoccupied himself with how it might appear. How a pair of eyes might perceive them. Fingers running down his torso, like rail tracks. I want to leave with you.
He turned towards the silent light seeping into the room. You say that...
She was in front of him. Her eyes a formation in the brightness.
Carl's lips parted, devoid of sound. You've been waiting to tell me.
I have, she whispered, then dissolved.
The shadows fell around the form of a spider's leg, an arm. Extending into his cell. Carl crouched, blinking, forward.
"Hey kid. Good news."
Dwight's voice.
Uhhh.. Hey, kid. Remember me? I'm..."
Negan's bitch.
"Dwight. I was, um, chatting with April earlier. And she.... sends her best regards. She was thinking about maybe staging another escape. You game?"
Carl blinked.
After a moment, Dwight continued. "Yeah... umm... you see, she also wanted to hear from you. So I thought..."
He revealed a pen and a legal notepad from behind the door. "If you're quick about it, you could write a note?"
As his eye grew used to the light, he could discern a look of hope in Dwight's expression. As if he felt he was being a good Samaritan to do this shit for him.
He was a trifecta of surprised, wary, and terrified.
Carl removed his fingers from the sides of his torso. He took the paper and pen. Sat on the floor with the grace of a starved prisoner.
With the pen poised above paper, he wondered what he could say.
A simple, sentence would suffice. A miss you or a help me. Yet it wouldn't encapsulate what he meant to convey, nor what he felt he should. The more moments he remained, the more pressure, as the magnitude of Dwight's gift began to sink in.
He chose a few careful phrases. Then began to write.
He couldn't get a good grip on the pen. It kept jittering, his handwriting a mess of crags and splinters. But it was legible enough, it had to be.
When he was done, he placed the pen flat against the paper.
Looked up. Even with how surreal this exchange was, he found the strength to summon the depths of his vocal chords to wheeze out words, like smoke out of his lungs.
"She's... okay?"
Dwight gazed at him with surprise. "I... umm. She got moved to another room. She's more closely watched—"
"—Is she... okay?"
Taken aback, Dwight pursed his lips.
"She's worried. She's pouring out her energy in unhealthy ways. Like drinking a lot."
Carl looked down. With his sluggish thoughts, he felt the weight of her pain, so much that he almost regretted asking.
But part of him—one selfish part of him—felt a sense of relief at this news.
She missed him. She reciprocated everything. He'd never felt more connected to her.
"Well," Dwight stood. "I'll be on my way. I'll get your note to April first thing tomorrow."
As he made to leave, something occurred to Carl. He stuck his dirt-stained hand in the crack in the door. "Wait..."
"Yes?"
Carl looked back and forth down the hallway. "How... are you here? ...without capture?"
"Oh," Dwight started. "Yeah. A prisoner escaped earlier this evening. Killed a couple people on his way out. The guards are swarming the gates and perimeter, not here."
Carl gave a slow nod. "Okay."
Dwight vanished. Along with him, the fluorescent light of the outside world.
Suddenly, Carl was alone, yeah something had stayed behind in that cell for him. It glowed, like the sun. It radiated.
x x x x x x x x x x
QOTD: How's Thanksgiving?
AOTD: I was doing some cooking today with my mom! We made tiropitas to take to my friend's house for tomorrow. They're making some spanakopita and turkey and other greek/american dishes and we're going to pig out and have fun together. We did the same thing last year and it was incredible. I can't wait for tomorrow :)
Wait here's a pic of some tiropitas we made today:
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