{ To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra }
Carl
That night after the shower, Sage and I excused ourselves from the rest of the family and stayed inside our bedroom.
She talked to me briefly of her Dad, and explained all the things they used to do when she was younger. Sage told me that she was close to her Dad when she was very little, but lost him as she got older into his career as a doctor.
I gained this little information before Sage had drifted to sleep. That night, I stayed awake by the window and reconciled my thoughts. I had to align where we were, and make the deepest decision that I have needed to decide:
If we would stay in this Farm.
I was trying to think like a leader: think like my Father would've. Trusting strangers was always a skeptical debate in my life. I grew up in a world of putrid and remorse. I couldn't think of the few, I had to think of the many.
I stood in the bathroom, my palms clenching the cold sink. I was leaning over the bathroom counter, and hanging parallel to me was a mirror.
I switched the faucet on, and the satisfying sound of running water drizzled through my ears. I closed my eyes, taking a moment to count my blessings as I heard such a foreign noise. Running water was my blessing.
I swiped a hand under the water, cupping it between my fingers and splashing it onto my face. Relief has stricken me, and I got my hands wet while running it through my hair. I wiped the drowsiness clean from my blue eyes, trying to wake up.
I didn't get any sleep the night before.
You couldn't sleep, I thought. You laid awake through the night because you sit in a home that is not yours. Sage Riley slept soundly in a stranger's bed, while you remained a skeptic and reconciled your trust to the Bishop's.
I gritted my teeth, turning off the faucet and sighing. I still kept ahold of the sink's edges, and I glanced up to capture a glimpse of my reflection.
My dark, brown hair was clean and shiny. It was falling down my forehead and tickling my ears. My blue eyes were lively and kind: reminding me of my baby sister's. My complexion was soft and bright and refreshing. I was looking over at a cleansed, happier Carl Grimes. He stared back at me, and almost taunted me with the surreality.
Carl Grimes was a boy that couldn't fathom his emotions. He would lash out, scream, and pity the ones that he couldn't protect. Carl Grimes was a boy who lost his family, and met a girl who lost her mind. But now...this boy has seemed to have vanished behind him. You are now staring at a lively boy with sudden hope. And all you're left to thank is the lovely Sage Riley.
I blinked away my thoughts, waking myself up. I sighed, playing with my hair for a few moments. I tried to style it to the side with water on my hands, but my hair just flopped down at my ears. I gritted my teeth, helpless.
What? You're worrying about your hair, at a time like this? I wondered. You're trying to impress the pretty girl. You want to give her what she deserves. And maybe a safe place like this is the best you can give her.
I tucked down on my shirt, emerging from the bathroom, and into the bedroom connected to it. My feet lazily shuffled inward, and I scratched my head, accompanied by a throaty yawn.
Once I entered the bedroom, my eyes quickly averted to the bed. The sheets and blankets were pulled back, though the right side was empty. I could see the ruffles from the missing body, and my blue eyes searched for such. I narrowed my eyes into slits, confused as to where Sage Riley was.
I glanced over to the nightstand, where a fresh sheet of paper stood. I could see black, neat ink, and I furrowed my eyebrows as I snatched it. My eyes scanned the wording, which read;
You're a sleepyhead, Carl Grimes.
Meet me outside the Ranch. I have a friend I want you to meet.
- S.R.
My thumb smoothed over her pretty initials, biting my lip. I began to wonder who she wanted me to meet, and what this girl had planned.
I didn't hesitate to pull my shoes on my feet, carelessly tying them down. I rushed over to my backpack and unzipped it roughly, fishing my hands through the contents in search for a shirt. My fingers felt around for cloth, but instead: they curled around a book.
The leather texture greeted my skin, and I pulled out the book and retrieved it in my hands. I brought it into sight, and my curious eyes danced around it.
Sage's diary.
The haunting idea of this book had curled a shiver down my spine. I blinked rapidly, feeling my eyes begin to burn. This book was filed down with pages, and each sheet of paper was cursived in blue ink. Sage Riley exploited her thoughts and hopes and forgotten prayers onto these pages. The ink was an unforgiving shade of blue: it illustrated Sage Riley's tragedies.
The leather was peeling off the cover, and my fingers picked at it. I was afraid to open the diary, because only once had I caught a glimpse at Sage's words. I couldn't fathom her past: the ink was deceiving me.
I quickly shoved Sage's diary down inside the backpack, letting it hit the bottom and hide underneath our supplies. I wanted it out of sight. That diary held her past: and this Farm was only our beginning.
I shook away the thoughts of her scars, fishing out a baseball tee and pulling it over my head. The scent was of dirt and uncleanliness: I hadn't washed it in months. I scrunched my nose, tugging the shirt down to cover my abdomen.
I emerged through the bedroom door, stumbling into the living room. The common area was neatly oriented. The pillows were positioned, the chairs were pushed in, the magazines on the coffee table were laid out nicely. The kitchen was only to the right, and everything had a place and a purpose.
This place is almost...too good to be true, I thought. Fairytales like these don't exist. My life is a novel, and the resolution is never pretty.
The house was still and silent. The warmth of the household was almost comforting. It was bright and white and immense and...lovely. Every couch and every cushion and every chair held its own purpose. And maybe, so did we.
I trudged through the kitchen, my heavy shoes clunking down on the hardwood floors. I passed the large space, heading for the back door.
The wooden door creaked at my fingertips, and I stepped out.
My feet met with the back porch, and the floorboards immensely grounded underneath the sole. Fresh air stole my lungs, and the view displayed before me had taken that away from me.
I was staring out at land. Acres of land that wasn't dead. It was fresh and lively: crops growing in rows and a field of hay sprouting out. There were barbed fences enveloping the perimeter of this farm. Wire was circled around the fences, so that any of the dead was prevented from lurking inside. A barn was out in the distance, and the lively scenery reminded me of Hershel's farm, deeply immersed into my past.
Forest trees were out in the distance, adding to the beauty. I couldn't captivate the warmth of this home. This place didn't feel like the risk that consumed me in the apocalypse. I almost felt that behind those fences, I was actually...safe.
"Carl!"
A pretty voice gathered me back from my lovely thoughts. I scanned the meadow of hay and acres of land, finally averting my eyes to a girl.
Out in the distance by the barn was a horse ranch. The wooden fences were painted a pure, ivory white color. Sage stood by the entrance, under a small ramada that shaded her from the morning sun. She was wearing on black jeans, with an oversized, grey shirt. It was baggy on her thin bones. Sage's hair was lively and collecting on her shoulders. I could see the shimmer in her grey eyes from a distance. Behind her was a horse. The horse was barricaded within the white fences. Sage smiled and waved me over to her.
"Beautiful," I mumbled under my breath, smiling kindly her way.
Beauty is a captivation, I realized. It's something that simply cannot be ignored. And whether this girl is healthy and clean or dirty and dry: she's the beauty that has been absent in your life. She is not perfect: but perfection is only an illusion.
"Carl, c'mere!" Sage insisted.
Judging the distance for moments, I got a start on my feet. I ran down the steps to the back porch, finally meeting the farm soil. I found myself sprinting down the dirt, until I made it to the field of hay. I weaved myself through the growing hay, feeling it crunch beneath my feet. The sun was tickling my cheeks, and I ran for the healthy girl with a pure smile on my face.
You're running through the meadow with a smile on your cheeks. You're running for a girl who deserves only the best. This home, this environment, this life is what she purely deserves.
Sage had a hand at her forehead, blocking the sun from her eyes. She wore on a soft, enlightened smile. Her hollow jaws tightened into her fit of giggles, as she watched me awkwardly stumble on rows of hay to reach her.
I nearly tripped on my boots by the time I finally met up with Sage. She was leaning back against the sturdy fences, and joy littered her face.
"That was quite the run," Sage laughed softly. "A morning jog, maybe?"
"Something like that," I breathed, swallowing down my dry mouth and trying to catch my breath. I wiped a line of sweat free from my forehead, licking my lips in exhaustion.
"Where's Joan, Ron and Samantha? They weren't in the house," I asked.
"Upstairs, I think. They usually occupy themselves with dusty boardgames, since they're stuck inside the house most the time. Mason offered me to join, but...I wasn't comfortable hanging with their family without you," Sage explained, tying a sigh to the end.
You're her shield. Her only source of protection: her only defense. Without you, Sage Riley would be drowning in her own blood from her burden scars.
"Who's Mason?" I raised an eyebrow.
"That would be me."
A deep, endearing voice had caused me to jump. I averted my eyes to a boy, and he roughly yet shyly laughed.
The man owning such voice couldn't have been any older than Samantha--I presumed 18. He wore on an amber flannel, with clean jeans and casual sneakers. He was incredibly tall: far taller than me, and he was still a few feet apart from me. He wore on a teething smile, one that flashed you the charm he so proudly held on. His brown hair was short, and his eyes were a dull, chocolate color.
"Sorry to scare you. I guess I should've introduced myself sooner," Mason laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his head in awkward tension. He walked up to me with an extended hand. "I'm Mason Bishop, son of Ron."
"Carl," I shortly introduced, rudely accepting his greet and shaking his hand. I gave him a tight, forced smile: not letting him see my teeth with it.
"And this is--"
"Sage. We've met," Mason interrupted me. He tilted his head to Sage, flashing her an awkward smile with a wave.
Oh, have you? I thought snarkily.
Sage laughed a little under her breath, nodding to him. I glanced my eyes back and forth, from Sage to Mason. The silence grew more tense; and it was only a matter of time before someone would choke on it. The morning air suddenly wasn't so fresh anymore.
"Uh...anyways," Mason sparked up conversation again. "I just came out here to check up on Amber."
"Amber?" I tested him.
"Uh huh. This pretty one over here," Mason chuckled. He walked over to the fences, leaning over and petting the horse on the mane.
The horse was lovely. Amber was a light brown color, reminding me of melting caramel. She was tall and kind and was sweet towards Mason. He petted her kindly, kissing her head.
Sage looked mesmerized at the horse. It was almost as if she'd never seen one in her life. Her smile was lovely and pure and she happily admired Amber.
Teach me to be happy, Sage. Teach me to be able to look at something as simple as an animal and be able to avert happiness. Teach me to filter out death, and overlook the ebony color of the apocalypse. Teach me how to be as lovely and pure as you.
Mason petted Amber once more, before stepping away. "I think I'm gonna head back inside. Dad said he'd gun train me today. I don't really...have my way around a gun," Mason sadly laughed.
"You can't shoot?" I asked earnestly.
"Not really," Mason admitted. He stared down at the farm dirt. "I've never killed one of those...things. Dad says that no one should have to kill an innocent person, so he basically has locked my sister Samantha and I inside this farm since the outbreak."
This family has never seen the world outside these gates. They've never opened their eyes to losing lives, and having to take others. This boy that stands before you is still as pure as ivory. He hasn't yet faced loss or remorse or the putrid zombies. The Bishop's are a family with innocent eyes. To them: you are a savage.
"Oh," I whispered.
The ugly tension had returned, and everyone was aware of it. Sage played with her sandy blonde waves, twirling the fresh strands at her fingertips.
"Well, uh. It was good meeting you, Carl. Sage's told plenty about you," Mason politely smiled. "I hope to see you two at the bonfire tonight?"
"Bonfire?"
"Yeah. Our family likes to spend some 'quality time' together, because we're always busy working crops. So, every Friday: we spend our evenings outside. Start a fire, cook up some good meat, sing songs: whatever. It'd be great if you two would join us tonight. That way we can...get to know each other."
Sage glanced over to me, pending for my approval. I was almost ready to deny the kind offer, but Sage was putting on a hopeful smile. Mason's friendly act had won her over. She already trusted the people of this farm, and wanted to earn their trust. We were only a couple of savages.
Trust, Sage said with her eyes. Trust is something you have to learn to give into sometimes. Trust is defeating, but when given into the right hands: it's rewarding. She trusts: why can't you?
"We'll be there," I forced myself to say, putting on a tight, uneven smile.
Sage smiled to me, and then nodded her head to Mason. I could see the almost shock in Mason's eyes.
"O-Oh. Great!" Mason chirped. "Well I guess I'll be seeing you then. You can come in for lunch soon. Joan's treat."
My cheeks hurt from how fake my smile was. Mason excused himself, spinning on his heel and walking away from the horse ranch. I waited until his sneakers were no longer audible to crunching against the hay. He walked up the back porch, allowing himself inside the secure and sturdy Farm.
I rolled my eyes once I knew Mason was out of sight. I shook my head solemnly, and Sage's jaw dropped.
"What? He's nice!" Sage defended, giggling afterwards. Her eyes crinkled with humor, and I smirked in delight.
"He's so preppy. I don't know," I chuckled, lying to her about why I wasn't fond of Mason Bishop.
"No. I think you, Carl Grimes, are jealous," Sage flaunted. Her grey eyes sparkled, and she cocked an eyebrow at me. She folded her arms at her grey shirt, leaning back against the fences.
"Jealous? Are you kidding me?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes at her predicament. "The guy can't even shoot a gun. I'm not jealous of a prude. Believe me, babe: I'm nasty when I'm jealous. That was me being nice."
Sage winked to me, seeing how her words affected me. Something as simple as an accusation had gotten me worked up. The thought of Mason had made my blood boil. I wasn't jealous of him: I was protective of her. I wanted to claim Sage Riley as my own, so that I hadn't needed to worry of someone else doing it for me. I kept her alive, and she kept me sane. We were unhealthily manic, but we balanced each other out.
And that, my friend: is love. Even for a savage who's defiance is undeserved.
"You're cute. Thinking I see Mason as a threat," I teased, smirking. "Nope."
Sage pushed herself off the fence, walking towards me. Her smile was so wide, I was afraid it would tear her face. She walked up to me, her hands grabbing onto the belt of my jeans. My eyes widened in surprise, and she looked up to me: absolutely humored.
"Don't," I hissed, pushing her hands and swatting them away from my belt.
Fucking tease.
Sage giggled, letting go of my jeans. Though she stayed incredibly close to me, only a foot or two apart. She titled her head, studying me carefully. Her eyes wouldn't leave my own; it was almost as if she were swimming into the blue of their origins, looking for answers.
"You always stare at me," I mumbled in awe. Her pretty lips pursed as she continued to look me in the eye. "Is there something on my face, or?"
"No. I'm just...trying to figure you out," Sage said softly, tapping her chin.
My cheeks heated red, and I felt the morning sun curl down my back. She looked at me, noticing how insecure I grew. Sage laughed under her breath, her gloomy eyes smiling as well.
She's not a mindreader. She can't see past the blue in your eyes: she knows better than to trust them. You hold secrets behind their lids. You hold dilemmas and burdens and complexities that convey your mind. Sage will stare at your eyes, hoping they'll speak the truth: because she knows your lips tell dirty lies.
"C'mon," Sage said. Her hand reached out, wriggling her fingers.
I stared down at her tempting hand. I found this opportunity as something much more than the contact of two hands. I looked down at her extended hand, and felt that she was reaching for me. Sage was holding out her hand and wishing I would take it. And as soon as our fingers intertwine: it shows that I have given her my trust. I bottled up all my secrets, and accepting her hand would also be accepting her truths.
And as I pressed my palm into hers and curled our fingers together: I accepted her love and refused to deny it.
Sage bit her lip, starting to charge forward. Her hand was tugging on my arm, pulling me with her. I stumbled to keep up with her and her sudden energy to...be alive.
Sage pulled us away from the horse ranch, meeting up with the field of hay. Her dainty legs kicked away rising hay, weaving us through the meadow. I was laughing, nearly tripping on my shoes as I attempted to keep up with her. The wind hit my cheeks and knotted my hair. I felt relentless: running through acres of hay with a lovely girl in hand.
Death didn't greet me: it was nowhere in sight. I was surrounded by security, hidden behind the gates that divided us from the apocalypse.
Sage ran until we were in the middle of the field. Abruptly putting us into a halt, her little hand was the only thing keeping me upright as I jerked myself into a stop as well. Sage was giggling uncontrollably. Her hand was over her mouth; she was out of breath but found herself laughing away the remains.
"What the hell did you drag me out here for?" I laughed with her, flattening down my shirt and catching my breath. "Are you gonna kill me? Cause that's just rude--"
"No," Sage giggled, giving my shoulder a playful shove. "Don't be stupid."
"Then what?"
"Look."
Sage grabbed my hand again, using her other to point her finger. I followed the tip of her finger, directing to where she wanted me to look. Overlooking the field of hay we stood upon, the perimeter of the farm was secured by tall fences. Pressed up against the gates were two Walkers. I could hardly hear their snarls from such distance, but I couldn't miss their deceiving, dead eyes. Their peeling hands grabbed onto the fences, reaching for us...a meal.
"Walkers," Sage explained. "They're out there, and we're in here. They can't reach us, Carl. We're...we're safe."
I eyed the two zombies, admiring how helpless they were. Their dead fingers couldn't rip our skin and their rotting teeth couldn't infect our innocence. They snapped their jaws violently, though I felt no threats. I felt I had power; that they couldn't harm us.
Out there: you're a savage. But inside these sturdy gates and within the Bishop's farm: you're a survivor.
"Yeah..." I breathed, mesmerized.
I could feel her eyes happily burn into my face, but I couldn't peel my eyes off the walkers outside the gates. It wasn't since the Prison that I felt secure falling asleep at night. It reminded me much of my family, and my eyes burned.
"Watch this," Sage smirked.
She let go of my hand, finally getting me to glance away from the Dead.
Sage took a few steps back, and I raised a questioning eyebrow at her. As least expected, Sage Riley began to twirl around. Her arms were flailed outward and she got on the tips of her toes. She created wind to cast upon me, at the speed she was spinning. She started waving her arms in the air like a fool, circling her hips and laughing. Her fingertips brushed against the hay as she spun without a care to the world.
"Can't reach me, can you, walkers?" Sage flaunted, pretending to tease the walkers by the fence. Her hands were on her hips, and she danced stupidly.
"Sage. Oh, my god," I breathed, clasping a hand over my mouth. I muffled my laughter within the palm of my hand. My eyes squinted shut as she continued to dance, trying to taunt the oblivious zombies. Sage was relentless: she was at her highest point. She felt nothing could bring her down.
"Come and get it--"
Sage's twirl-fest ended as she tripped on the bottom of her heel. My laughter had stopped, and Sage began to tumble forward in a fall.
I came to the rescue, stepping forward and letting Sage mold into my arms. I secured her dainty body within my grasp, panting heavily as she sulked into my chest. She awkwardly held my arms, trying to catch up with the scene.
Sage giggled into my shirt, out of breath from her lousy dancing. I sighed in relief, happy that I caught her.
"Sorry," she smiled into shoulder.
I pulled her from my chest, though I kept a steady grip on her waist.
She craned her neck to meet me in the eye, her blonde waves collecting and dripping down her back. Sage couldn't find a reason to stop smiling. She almost plummeted harshly to the ground and gotten hurt, but I caught her beforehand. Her smile was still raw and her fit of giggles drawled out.
"That was some show you put on," I mumbled, looking down at her. I offered her a warm, toothless smile.
"I thought it was a pretty good dance, until I tripped," Sage mused.
I slowly pulled her body closer to mine, our stomachs pressing together. She gasped softly under her breath, biting her tongue to stop herself. My large hands steadied her hips level to mine, and I felt Sage melt into my grip.
Her grey eyes were loving, and they flickered from my eyes, to my lips. The morning sun was an amber color, and it radiated her cheeks. The rays casted an orange beam to perimeter her tight, hollow face. Sage's lips weren't thirsted or dry anymore. Her pale skin had received some of its color. I couldn't deny beauty when I saw it: that would make me both a savage and a liar.
I wasn't going to push away the love I felt for this girl. She kept secrets as did I, but that did not mean I didn't love her for who she was. Her past did not define her, nor the way I felt about her.
"I think you're right. I think...we're safe," I breathed, finally owning up.
This was me letting go. This was me accepting love and accepting others and accepting myself. I had known Sage Riley for months, and I stole her virginity greedily. Though I never admitted to loving her: because love was risky. It was something that you had to risk it all to conceal you. Love is the cure, and the infection.
I didn't need to be afraid of the pain anymore. We were safe in this Farm, and I was going to trust the Bishop's. Love was safest where it couldn't be taken and deceived.
Temptation had driven me to cup her face in my palms and slowly kiss her.
I felt rawness and warmth against my mouth. I pressed my lips into hers, and the way the love molded against one another had brought me relief. I was stricken with the absence of her lips, and how long it had been to feel them.
My eyes closed shut, and I let her solemn purity conceal me.
I coddled her cheeks and kissed her lips with no intentions of letting go. I kissed her with the acceptance of her love, and the bitter pain that would soon follow.
Sage held the back of my neck as we kissed. It wasn't heated; it was sweet. I could taste the undefined flavor of her loveliness. It wasn't anything distinct, but with it absent from my life, I grew to miss the way she felt. Sage trusted me again, which took weeks to build.
I couldn't hear the walkers by the fence. I couldn't feel any regret or guilt pleading me as I kissed an angel. I couldn't think of a better way to love.
She tasted sweet, not bitter.
This is where Sage needed to be. This is where Sage deserved to be.
I kissed a savage in the sunlight. A savage who taught me the wisdom of trust and love. Savages belonged outside the farm's fences, but in here:
We were love.