”I tasted war on her lips, and saw peace in her eyes, ‘twas a lovers kiss, but we still held our knives.” - Mike Mac.

You were a savior, you were Negans right hand man. Even with how young you were. But you don’t judge a book by its cover. You hated Carl. And Carl hated you. Hell, you hated all of his people. And Carl hated all of your people. He just wanted to smash your face in. Something, as long as it hurt you, he didn’t care.

And for once, he finally got you alone. In a forest. He slowly snuck up behind you, and locked you in a chokehold. Which you quickly got out of, by biting his arm. You both went back and forth, fighting. By the end of it, you were on the ground, a cut on your face, your sleeve ripped, and a stab wound in your stomach, from Carl stabbing you with your own knife.

Carl wasn’t in the best shape either, but at least he was standing. Standing over you, holding your knife that was dripping with blood. Your blood.

He knelt down in front of you, holding the knife up to finish you off. But he stopped. Staring you in the eyes, lowering the knife.