Red String of Fate

I used to believe in God.

I used to believe in a lot of things, like Santa Clause and the tooth fairy and all things good. Now I believe in my sword. I believe in my automatic weapon, and I believe firmly that everyone, no matter how good they may try to be, everyone has bad in them. Everyone.

To some this philosophy may come off as pessimistic, it's not. It's realistic. Especially in the world I live in now. It's how I've stayed alive this long, and it's how I continue to live so that I can protect the ones I love. Before, when the world was relatively fine, you could put all of your faith into an invisible and omnipresent God in hopes that he/she/it would protect you. It didn't take me that long realize how stupid that was, but I was surprised at how many people held on to that BS even after their proposed "savior" brought an end to the world as we knew it. Even after he mass murdered our families, only to resurrect them and have them kill us or make us put them down again ourselves. Even after all that, there's always an excuse. I lost my family young, long before all of this happened. They were murdered, taken from me. I lost all my faith after that, the way one loses touch with an old friend after a betrayal. My mother believed in God, but that wasn't enough to save her. It was never enough to save anyone.

I slice my wooden staff through the air with sharp precision, the way I would a sword. The way I would if I were in danger, which I usually am. As I swing the stick I move my feet in a dance in order to keep balance, still as I thrust my staff once more I am disappointed with my performance. I can do better, I know I can. I hold the weapon at rest in both hands, pondering the proper motivation to improve. Then it hits me: imagine Carl is in danger and not myself.

I bend my knees at the right angle, holding my sword at a perfect slant. And I remember Terminus, the walkers, they lunge toward us persistently, ignoring every bullet to the arm, leg, and gut as if they were no more damaging than mosquito bites. There's so many, for every one walker down there are at least three more to take its place. Not a problem for me. I swing at one in front of me taking its head clean off, then slice upwards splitting it in half like meat. Then I spin and kick the one behind me, quickly offing its temple sparing the extra overkillings. I double kick a female one with half a face and glasses that gets too close, knocking her back and then cut her into an X at light speed. Sometimes you don't have to kill them, dismantling is enough. But I've made a mistake, I didn't pay enough attention and it's too late. I twist around as fast as possible but have no time to make a move, before I can think there's a disintegrated face hissing towards me with the prevalent intentions of murder-

"Mornin', Kimmy."

I trip and fall back, shocked by the familiar voice. I'm suddenly back to normal times, and I'm staring up, flustered, at the only boy who could make me so discoordinated. Carl sits on the large front porch of our house in Alexandria. He's smiling at me kindly with his hat in its rightful place, covering his over-grown brown hair and shading his freckled face and green eyes from the merciless sun.

"Jesus Carl." I say through heaved breaths out of habit. "I didn't know you were up, yet. How long have you been sitting there."

"A while." He says, still smiling in a way that forbids my heartbeat to slow.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I try not to stutter, nervously gripping my staff as I stand.

He shrugs. "You were sparring, I didn't wanna interrupt. Besides," his smile gets wider and he rests his chin on his knee. "I like watching you practice."

He looks so darn cute it makes me withdraw a sharp breath as the sweat builds on my palms. I don't want to think the thought that comes next, but it crosses my mind anyway.

Is he…flirting with me?

I straighten my stance, placing my staff firmly on the ground, lifting my chin resentfully and frown.

"Well don't do it again, alright? Damn near gave me a heart attack." I scold making my way towards the open door. Carl throws up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, you're the boss." He concedes sincerely and stands when he notices my direction. I bump him playfully when I reach his side and he pushes back. We continue to fight into the living room, laughter bubbling in my stomach the way only he can make happen. There aren't very many opportunities to laugh these days, let alone smile. I try to plant a slap on his abdomen but he jukes back swiftly and I miss. He laughs at my failure and I continue to kick and hit the air as he runs away towards the kitchen.

"Come on, Kimmy Kat when are you gonna learn? You're never gonna beat me in that game." He taunts haughtily, taking a bite of an apple from the bowl on the counter.

"Is that so?" I ask, plopping on our blue couch next to the window. "Oh, because you're so intellectually and physically superior to me, is that why?" I retort condescendingly.

"Well, those aren't my words, buuut-"

"Buuut," I cut off his arrogantly lame proclamation to profess my own, "I bet I could beat you in any challenge you put on the table- physical or intellectual."

"In your dreams." He scoffs.

"Oh you'll be dreamin' all right." I say confidently, my southern accent slipping back into my tone. "When you receive this superior ass-whoopin' you won't believe that it's real life."

A laugh erupts from his gut as if he didn't expect it. That makes me grin. Carl's become such a guarded and cynical person, it makes me glad that I can be one of the few people that can get under his skin and surprise him again. And make him happy, at that. It feels good to know that he's letting me in again, better than I could've even imagined. It takes me second to notice I'm biting my finger.

"Well, you seem pretty confident." He says, mockingly, moving towards the door, tossing his twice-bitten apple between both hands. Suddenly I feel really competitive and excited and I jump to my feet.

"I am. Let's go, right now. I'm ready."

He turns to me, suddenly his whole demeanor changes from playful and fun to sorry and something else.

"I can't now."

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, "Why not?"

I'm pretty sure I know the answer but I ask anyway.

"I'm meeting Enid." He says her name so tenderly, it's like I can feel everything inside of me being crushed. Like I've fallen from Cloud 9 and everything shattered once I hit the ground. I try to breathe normally, though, and not let him see that I'm in pain.

Why are you doing this to me? I think, only it comes out "Oh." I flop back down on the couch again, stretching my jeaned legs in front of me and then letting them fall last.

"Hey, don't look so upset. I'd be happy to hand you your ass on a silver plate on a different day."

I try force to force a smile but it comes out tight and insincere.

"And Kim," I meet his eyes again, he's standing in the open doorway. He smiles again. "I'll be thinking about it."

My smile is a little bigger this time.

"You're not going beyond the gates are you?" I ask as he begins to close the door behind him. He freezes with his back to me.

"Of course not." He answers, and exits.

He's lying, I can always tell. But I find solace in the fact that when he's with her he'll be thinking of me, at least a little.

At least a little.