This is what I want. This is right. Now, you take care of your daddy for me, all right? And your little brother or sister. You're gonna be fine. You are gonna beat this world, I know you will. You are smart and you are strong and you are so brave. And I love you. You gotta do what's right. You promise me you'll always do what's right. It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world. So if it feels wrong, don't do it, all right? If it feels easy, don't do it. Don't let the world swallow you. You're so good, my sweet boy. You're the best thing I ever did. I love you.

Carl enjoyed the solitude of his farmhouse. Although had called it home since his mid 20s, he gave thanks to The Maker daily that he not only had shelter but most importantly a foundation to understand who he truly was. It still fascinated him that he believed in a higher power after everything he had experienced in his life. He knew that everyone had expected him to follow in his father's footsteps and become a policeman, but Carl was more than content with being a farmer and providing food to the community. He led a comfortable existence. He was happy. Even still he found the same repetitive questions being hurled at him from family friends and neighbors:

When are you going to get married?

Don't you want children to carry on your father's name?

Are you really happy?

Don't you want more out of life?

Carl hated carrying the expectations of others on his back. It was funny how people felt that he wasn't entitled to live his own life. So he made a choice. With the exception of his family and maybe one or two close friends, he closed himself off to the world. The Earth had stolen from him. His sacrifices were enormous. He didn't give a damn about what others thought of him. He would live out the rest of his years on his own terms. If that meant being a hermit, so be it. In the old days of supply and demand, it would have been impossible for a business to thrive while being such a recluse but people needed to eat. He was one of the few people in the area who had a plethora of knowledge on animal science and agronomy.

Thank you, Hershel.

Carl smiled as he thought about the man that saved his life and gave him so much more all those years ago.

Ironic.

It was true that he was unconcerned over how others perceived him yet he wondered what Hershel would have thought of his lifestyle. At first the old man tried to push them all away. He too was scarred and weary. If Hershel's heart was softened so late in life, Carl wondered why he being only a few years younger than his father was at the beginning of "the incident" found it so hard to break the ice around his heart.

The Incident. That is what they renamed it two decades later. Carl resented it. With two words, he and his family's struggles were completely trivialized. Starvation wasn't an incident. Rape wasn't an incident. Matricide wasn't an incident. Carl continued to replay all of the moments from his incident. He immediately recognized the swaddling of anguish that seduced him. Once the darkness had violated him so intensely that had grabbed his shotgun and pressed it against forehead. His hope? That with one pull of the trigger the darkness that was his partner in life would transform into a beautiful light.

Carl shot up from the bench on his front porch realizing that he had lost track of time.He went to the kitchen, gathered up the food he had prepared for the afternoon and loaded it into his truck. With the crank of the engine, the darkness departed. He needed his family. For now, he would escape.

Judith strolled down the road with a light wind blowing through her pixie cut. Her light brown hair perfectly framed her hazel eyes and heart shaped face. She had grown into a tall and willowy young woman who perhaps during another time and place would have been the new "it" girl the tabloids raved about when the world was a much saner place. Honestly, she never gave a damn about her looks. Aesthetics were a bargaining chip. That couldn't be denied. At times she found it useful in her line of work, but beauty wouldn't keep you alive in this world. Keeping your head and remaining calm about things, even when they seemed the most dire was the best way function. Judith stopped and took a swig of water from a bottle she retrieved from her knapsack. Random townspeople scattered among the tattered colonial homes along the road waved to her. She was unsure if they were waving because they recognized her as Rick Grimes' daughter or because they were happy to see the ongoing police presence in their small ramshackled community. She was off duty but showering and changing our of her SWATT uniform was not her top priority, in fact it was all part of a plan that made her feel extremely guilty. Judith replayed all of the tired clichés in her head about "letting sleeping dogs lie" and "ignorance being bliss". She knew there was truth to those old idioms. Judith craved closure but her need for finality would cause pain. The young negotiator came to the end of the road and walked up to a mailbox. She traced over each letter that spelled out "GRIMES" and nervously ran her fingers through her short hair. After a small pause, she walked up to the entrance of a sizeable colonial home and rang its doorbell.