Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "The Walking Dead," wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Written for the USS Caryl's '25 Days of Caryl' Challenge – Day 25 – September 17th: Spring Color Drabble Challenge. I chose: pale pink.
Warnings: *Contains: fandom appropriate violence, adult language, adult content, mild sexual allusion, character death, reference to suicide/suicidal thoughts.
Memory is a fickle thing. It plays tricks on you. It bends and distorts, making you prone to exaggeration or leaving things out completely. But considering the fact that he'd been all over this God forsaken state, he figured he could say with reasonable certainty – hell to heaven – that he'd never seen anything quite like the stretch of pale that graced her skin - thigh to knee on her left side.
It didn't remind him of a fuckin' rose. It was paler than that. Better. Sweeter. Like porcelain gone rogue, it reminded him of her, of matured sweetness and tempered grace. Of good things frozen in time, unmoved by the passing of the years.
It was how her lower lips parted under the firm pressure of his hand.
It was the flush that stole across her skin just before he made her soar.
It was the press of lips – over-eager and full firming against his.
It was the soft sound she made in her sleep, stretchin' out all smooth and content.
He knew it all by heart.
And when the walkers took her, ripping and tearing until her insides spilled out across that smooth ivory-down, he mourned the woman - the love, the soul - but he also mourned for the color. For the delicate rose-tapered perfection he'd sworn a thousand times before would be the end of him. And, looking at the Glock in his hand – one shot – cocked - chill metal pressing against his temple – he fingered the trigger and figured it just might be.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This drabble is complete.