MEME: Drabbles

[girlalmighty]

Tag your characters into the meme, and leave each other either prompts or drabbles, as the mood moves you. This is open-ended, so anything goes, from futures to things that never happened, crack drabbles to the most ridiculously clichéd drabble you can come up with, genre switch, first kisses, etc.

Of course, we all know sometimes the inspiration just isn't there, so try not to take it personally if someone just doesn't get to your prompt. The more prompts you give, the more likely you are to get!

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[jshot]

10-20 years into the future, what is a girl who grew up during the zombie apocalypse even like?

[itwillbeokay]

In ten years, Clementine will be eighteen.

Her parents never show up. It doesn't stop her from glancing toward the train station once in a while, or keeping the broken walkie-talkie that showed up one day on her doorstep. More than one person offers to fix it for her, but she never agrees to it. Being able to blame the device and not the people for not contacting her will always be easier. It's silly, she knows, but sometimes silly is better than the truth she's known for longer than she cares to admit.

Andrea never fails as their stand in, though. They remain together throughout the years, and while there are bumps - what life doesn't have them? - but they get through them together. It's no real surprise that it's Andrea she eventually goes to to learn how to defend herself. She picks up on weapons far faster than she even expects, though she never shows any interest in doing more than just making sure she knows what to do. Just in case.

She's still quiet, though. But that quietness is less from being shy now and more because she prefers to take everything in before speaking. In time, people her age show up, from all walks of life and sometimes even different worlds. She makes some friends - not a huge amount, but then, she never needed a lot to be happy. It's hard to be sad when she knows she has a lot to be grateful for.

In twenty years, Clementine is twenty-eight. She finds her place in the City, having come to accept now that she's here for the long run. It's never easy - the place still throws things are them, once in a while - but it's hard not to think it's at least better. Better than the constant fear she left back home, the life that surely would've never given her any opportunity except fear. What she went through so many years ago still colors her personality, but not always in a bad way.

She paints and teaches painting now, sometimes to children younger than she'd been when she first came here. It's a talent she's always had, and sharing the joy it brings her (even during the darkest times of her life) just makes sense to her. Her apartment (she moved out to her own not long after her twenty-first birthday, though not far from Andrea) is covered in paint supplies and half-finished pictures and portraits of this new place she calls home and of the people in it. There's paintings reflecting things in the dark recesses of her mind, too, crafted from memories that are as clear as they'd been twenty years ago. It makes her feel better when she lets them out onto the canvass instead of letting them fester, though.

She still has nightmares sometimes, though. They're as vivid as the ones she had during the days she spent in her treehouse, when she woke up often during the night to the sounds of scratching on the nearby fence and screams of victims who weren't as lucky as she was.

It's the day before her twenty-ninth birthday, and the end of three days of strife (the City never stays quiet for too long, but at least she's used to it by now, and at least she's not the scared, weak child she once was) that she passes the train station on her way to help with the inevitable clean-up. It's been years since she even thought to take a look, but a train's just pulled in and it's enough to make her pause and glance toward where people got off - where she got off years ago.

She's far enough she has to squint to see the person more clearly, and it takes him turning toward her for her to feel her breath catch in her throat, and before she realizes what she's doing, she's running. The man looks a little stunned when she flings her arms around his neck, not sure how to react to her or, she's sure, any of what's happening.

Of course he doesn't recognize her, not after all this time. She's never forgotten him, though. He looks exactly how she remembers, all the way down to the blood stained clothes he'd been wearing when their paths first crossed.

"What -?" he stammers, staring at her like she's grown three heads when she pulls away enough to look up at him. His focus shifts almost immediately not to her face, but to the hat on her head. The 'D' is worn from age, and it's faded from multiple washes, but even after all these years, she still keeps it on. "- where did you get that hat?"

"I knew you'd keep your promise," she smiles, and for a second, she's a little girl again, clinging to the only thing - only person - that made her feel safe while the entire world crumbled around her. "I missed you, Lee."

He searches her face, confusion etching on his features. Even when it seems to dawn on him, he still doesn't quite look like he believes it. After all, she's sure a few moments ago she'd been a scared eight year old he'd taken under his wing to him, even when he didn't have to. When he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet, unsure. "Clementine?"