I suppose I should give a little background on my relationship with Carl and the rest of the group. In a way he's my brother. Adopted, of course. His father, Rick, took me in after I was abandoned in the police station the night my parents were killed.

I was seven years old, and I had never been so lonely. I just remember sitting in that office chair with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders which I knew they would take back once they got rid of me. My curly hair was wild, half straight and undone at the time (my mother had been straightening it for the first time when the man broke into our home. I didn't wanna ruin the straight part for a while because she did it and it was one of the last things she did.) I didn't care. At the moment, all I could picture in my head were the bloodied corpses of my parents- and the man who killed them. That was a fantasy of mine, to shower in the blood of the man who took my life away. My family. So I sat in that chair in a police station, plotting on how one day when I'm big enough, when I'm strong enough, when I'm old enough I would find the man, and I would kill him. I didn't know how, I just knew that I would. That kind of thinking was barbaric in those times, maybe even illegal. Today it's more or less the standard. But then, as a seven year old child that kind of thinking was unacceptable and wrong. Rick saw me then, he sat in the empty chair next to me. I ignored him, but mostly I was afraid that if I looked at him he'd know what I was thinking and get me in trouble. But that was wrong.

"Kimana." He said softly in a deep southern accent that was so alien to me at the time, it was one of the last times I'd heard my real name. "Listen, I know nothing makes sense now. I know you're angry and you probably want to see that man bleed, I get it. But make no mistake, if you let that hate grow in you, if you keep on movein' down that dark road then I promise you, all you'll ever know is hurt, nothing else. You'll hurt so many people, innocents, like what you are now, and you'll never heal." He pauses and I know he's looking at me now, but I only look down, still facing away. "You'll be just as bad as the man that…that did this to you."

He was right, I knew then that he was right and it made me so angry. It made me so ashamed to be thinking the way that I was, I didn't want to think that what I felt was wrong. I wanted to be right, I wanted that man to burn in hell and I wanted to be the one to send him there. I wanted vindication and retribution but I knew, I knewthat all of those desires were wrong. Tears burned in the back of my eyes, and for the first time in my life I couldn't let them fall. Tears are for children, and I wasn't a child anymore. At least, I didn't feel like one. I felt like I had aged a hundred years, even died a couple times. I breathed heavily through my nose and looked up to the ceiling, anything to fight the tears from spilling over.

Finally I choked out, "So what do I do?"

I was still not looking at him, but I could tell he was pleased that I finally talked.

"That anger- use it. Let it fuel you to make a change. And then maybe one day, when the time is right, you can help other kids like yourself-"

"What do I do now?" I demanded, in real danger of a mental break down, a few tears already gliding down my cheeks and I silently cursed myself.

"Now?" he repeated and then he thought. He spent a long time thinking, then he finally said, "You survive."

I turned my head to him slowly, looking into his eyes. I could tell right away that they were sincere, that he cared for me. His eyes were so kind. The only one who had ever looked at me like that before was my own father, and he would never look at me like that again.

The two of us said nothing; we just looked at each other, until out of the blue, above office noises and frivolous murmurs we heard a little boy's voice.

"Dad?" he said. I turned and across the room I saw a little white boy, about my age, short brown hair, dark purple winter coat (?) and a red scarf. His eyes were elated, and I had an intuitive feeling that he didn't get to see his dad much. There was a woman standing behind him, Lori, although I don't remember what she was wearing really. I just remember she looked so happy to see her son happy. He ran and hugged Rick, who was on his feet now, embracing his son the way father's do.

"Did you know it was your birthday?" I remember him saying, Rick laughed.

"Ya' know, must've slipped my mind. Good thing I have you to remind me." He humored, messing up his sons hair.

"We got you something!" he said, so unfathomably excited. Lori walked over and handed Rick a box.

"Happy birthday." She said quietly, he took it reluctantly, there was something strange about their relationship I could tell, I was just too young to know what it was. Rick looked down at the gift and tried to find something to say, but all that came out was "Thank you." To which his wife nodded in response.

"Open it dad! Open it!" Carl was jumping up and down. "Open it!"

Rick smiled at his son, the back at the box and began twirling it in his hands. Then he looked back at me and the elation gives way to sympathy. I didn't want to be pitied. That was one thing that I didn't want, I didn't want any of this. So I stood up unwrapping the borrowed blanket from my shoulders and holding it out to Sheriff Grimes.

"You can take it." I said in the most adult voice possible, but I sounded more like an injured kitten. "I don't need it anymore."

He took it slowly in obvious confusion. I replaced the warmth of the blanket with my insufficient arms.

"Um Sheriff, sorry- can you tell me how to get home? I'm cold and I have nowhere else to go…"

He and Lori exchanged looks.

"Carl, Lori, this is Kimana Kamish." He said my name so white it was the first time that it actually bothered me.

"Kimmy." I corrected, "Nice to meet you."

It was the first time I had ever shortened my name. Most babies have nick names, not me. My parents loved my name, and they always- always- used the full thing. That's why this had filled me with so much guilt at the time. I've since grown used to it.

"Kimmy." Rick fixed. Carl stepped forward.

"Why can't you go home?" he asked, tears welled in my eyes again.

"Carl why don't you go say hi to Shane, eh? I know he'd wanna see you." Rick says. Carl looked from his father to me and undid his red scarf, rewrapping it around my neck.

"There. That should keep you warm." He said. I gasped, staring at him in awe. It was around this time that I had come up with the idea that everyone around me was evil, but not him. Not Rick. They showed me that there is still good in some people. And that was it, that broke the dam in my eyes. Giant warm tears poured down my widened eyes.

"I…" I said "I think so."

And then Rick stepped forward as well.

"Kiman- Kimmy" he starts, "How would you like to come stay with us?"

I wasn't expecting this, but I guess I might have been hoping a little. I looked between Rick and Lori, who seemed annoyed that he had even asked without consulting her. Her reaction made m reluctant.

"I…I don't know." I said timidly.

"Why not?" Carl asked enthusiastically before grabbing my hand. "C'mon. Let's go home."

I choke on the word. Home. And tears fall freely now.

"Home…okay." I agreed.

Of course there's a lot more history but if I spend too much time reflecting on the past then I'll never be able to move toward the future. But Rick's advice I still carry with me today, Carl's kindness kept me from absolving myself into hate. These people saved me, and that I will never not reflect on.