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"Cold Season" [Story of mine, settled in the universe of TWD]

posted by Robbingrobin on - Viewed by 199 users
This is the prolouge of a story of mine which I started to write a few weeks ago. I'll try to give more parts every week, if you like it. We will see. (Its not much right now)

Here it is. (Its not about Lee, Clem or someone else from comic, video game or TV-Series, but I think "Fuck that, lets try it here.) I also note that there may or may not be some mistakes.


It was autumn. Dried leaves fell down from threes, flying to the ground in curls and looping, looking like the World would be alright. The barks of trees of a wood near a little city, appearing old and wrinkly, like they were, sometimes a little bit clawed of, by what must have been an animal. Here and there lying rubbish. It was cold, the ending of the season held the country in his weak grasp. How some grandmas hold their umbrellas, shaking. How warm could it be? -17? -18 °F? It was not enough to freeze, that for sure. The voices of people pierced the noises of the wind, stroking through the crowns of the threes. They were arguing, fighing, in anger and fear. “No. I won't! I can't. I can't, please, don't force me to do it!” said a Man, tears bursting out of his eyes, he sobbed. Then the voice of a woman, caring and warm, but a little bit interrupted by coughs from time to time. “I-it had to come to an end. We can't live... We tried.. But you see, how it works.”
“But I love you. I love you, too much to do this.”
“Then you have to. Here...” The reply was forgotten after a few coughs, filled by paint and blood, which ran down a bottom lip, kept hanging at a little pointed chin and then started to drop down on a sweatshirt. The man shook his head again. “I can't. Don't force me.”
“Don't be childisch... I can't force you. But when you don't...” Again, interrupted. “You don't do it... Who will? Do you won't keep me in mind like this? In pain. And it will... It will get much worse... Much worse. Here begins another story.” She cried out in pain, her eyes looked up at the man. A man who just stood there, looking at here, unable to let go, unable to forget, unable to do what seems necessary. What may be necessary.
What is necessary.
“We don't know~” Now she was the one interrupting, not the bad health, getting angry as her husband was about to say something more childish, than she could bear, “We KNOW!” claimed she, with more power you would think she had left, arching her brows.
“You can't start a story like this.”
The man looked at what was in his hand. A hammer, little, with a black head and a wooden hold. Now the woman said, after a additional attack of her sickness, “Don't take this.” Afterward he said, “I already said I can't,” before he looked at the weapon in her hands. A gun, nothing big, nothing modern, nothing pretty, kneeled down and laid one hand on the one of his soulmate, stroking her fingers, the other one grabbing the gun.
He wanted to kiss her. She could saw that. He wanted so much and will not get it. Not in this world. Maybe in the next, when it really exist. She never believed in it, but know she did. She wanted to, she wanted to have a better place in heaven. But first, she had to leave... And so she raised his hand with the gun and pointed it at the spot between her eyes, closed them. “Do it. I love y~”
He shot. It was not like in the movies. It was not like he would ever had thought. It was messy, dark, false. The bulled forced it way inside the brain of his beloved wife, pressing it, her flesh and her skull aside like it would be warm butter. And it did not just entranced, it also exited it. The bark from the tree she leaned it was spilled full of blood and brain matter, dripping and running down it, until it gathered at the roots of the tree.
He threw up and left. Nothing more, nothing less. He met his daughter, looked at her and swore himself to never talk about this. She seemed worried, but she also did not say a thing. Then he said but one thing. “You can't start a story like this.”
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