A.N.: I had no intention of doing yet another spinoff of my Sydney series. I truly didn't. But a lot of you expressed interest in a story like this, and it just seemed like it could be so much fun, and . . . I cracked. So, here it is, a collection of one-shots from Carl's POV, concerning, of course, Sydney and all things related to her. The format's different from what I usually do, so feedback is very much welcome (encouraged, really - no author hates reviews). I hope you guys enjoy. And, of course, I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
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Outside Atlanta
Today, I met you, but I don't think you want to be friends with me. I don't think you want to be friends with anyone. But . . . I think we could be friends. You and me. If you would be a little nicer.
You didn't talk to anyone. Not to me, or any of the other kids, or any grownup. You didn't smile. Even my mom smiles sometimes, just to be friendly. But . . . you didn't look sad, the way a lot of people do, the way Sophia does a lot. You didn't even look that scared. You were . . . on edge. Like, as if you thought we might be bad guys, and you wanted to leave. But we're not bad guys. And Shane says it's safe here, so you shouldn't leave.
You came here with your dad and uncle, and you stayed behind them at first, but stared us all down. That was pretty cool. You looked at me, and I looked back, but you looked away fast. Stared at someone else. Your dad and your uncle sounded kind of mean when they talked to Shane and Dale, but you guys are staying here now, so everything must be okay. My mom pulled me away pretty fast, but I watched from inside the RV. Your uncle spat on the ground a lot. He was kind of scary. Your dad was, too, but he squeezed your shoulder once, and you looked up at him and looked less on edge for a second. So I think he's probably okay.
Shane told my mom more about you guys later, when she was cooking dinner. I sort of overheard, and that's how I found out about your mom. That she's dead. My dad's dead, too, so . . . I know how it feels.
You're in your tent now, even though it's not dark yet. Sophia wanted to play tag, but I said no. My mom would tell me I should ask you to play, too, and I wouldn''t want to do that. Like I said, your dad and uncle are kind of scary. And you're kind of scary, too. I don't think you'd want to play tag. I don't think you're like me, or the other kids. You're quieter. But I still . . . I kind of still want to talk to you. Maybe because you don't seem like us. But . . . I don't know.
Your dad said your name was Sydney. My name's Carl. I don't know if you know that yet. Maybe tomorrow we can talk, and I'll tell you. And maybe you'll play tag with us after all. Or we can just hang out, like older kids do. Maybe I can get you to smile. And maybe you'll decide you do want to be friends. I keep thinking about you, so I guess I already know that I want us to be.