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IMMORTALITY was a peculiar little thing. All of our lives, we grew up knowing that someday, death would come for each and everyone of us — everything. That nothing would be left in its place, but bones and ashes of what once was. However, we did not think of the things that would never perish, when all else came to an end.
The ocean in front of me, for instance. It's apostasy was folding over itself, the froth cleansing the surface of aegean tides. The pure salt of the seas were the cinders which fueled the waters. They rose, and released through the roll of foamed alabastrine.
The water would forever speak louder than the phased crescent at the edge of the ocean, gleaming golden in the morning skylight. The moon, went in phases. The seas remained a constant. Willingly, I listened to its sins. It's woeful violence. The weight it held whilst carrying life in it's care, and the forgiveness it begged for, against the shore. It then sank into the sand, and drifted away to breathe new life into.
It was pure immortality. The most absolute form of itself.
As if the salted body of water could hear the dry palpitations of obliteration in my heart, it beckoned past my skin, extending down into my bloodstream. The waves pulled at the chords piecing together my bones, picking at my cartilage like an instrument only the finest mythological Greek gods would take part in. And the seas would have swept me away right then, if it weren't for the securance keeping me against the shoreline.
My anchor; Carl. The ocean would not dare pursue me, with him at my side. The waves surged in close enough to see him, then rolled backwards after the first glance of the boy. Even it's holy waters were reverent to him. It was the ocean in his own eye, that made this so. The two were comrades of sorts. Built from the same elements. Perhaps, it was why I felt a deep rooted connection to both.
The days which had passed from between now, and the capture of our bullet maker, Eugene, were blurred heavily. It was only about finding strength, ever since that moment Rick had decided that we were not going down without a fight against Negan, any longer. Meeting new groups, such as the Kingdom, and the Scavengers. Oceanside; which soils we walked upon. Members from our group currently loaded guns into our empty trunks, Carl and I having wandered off to the beach to pick up a crate of what was said to be boxes of ammunition, walkie talkies, and some handheld weapons. Once being exposed to it, I'd become too distracted by it all, to load up and carry the box back to the entrance so soon. Instead, us two had sat ourselves down on a washed up piece of large driftwood, feet from the shoreline. The people here — they did not want to help. It took much convincing to even have them agree to taking supplies of theirs. The thing was, Negan had a hold on not only our community, but all of the four. Hilltop, the Kingdom, the Scavengers, and here. However little, each one had contributed, somewhat. Our forces were growing.
