The Walking Dead (TV), any (+/any), Do birthdays even matter anymore?
Posted here on comment_fic for jagfanlj
I'll sing happy birthday to you
At first Carl counts the days, than weeks, than months after the outbreak, but time seems to slip away and keeping track of it is like grasping at river water. Pointless, time runs on, it's the living that runs out of it. He doesn't dare ask his dad what date his birthday was. He'd be hurt that Carl had lost another part of a normal life.
Carl didn't have any big birthday parties, only presents and perhaps cake and a day out and with both his parents not yelling at each other. That had been enough when he was eleven. He thinks he remembers it being cold on some of his birthdays.
Carl counts that as lucky, because the walkers are slowed during the cold, but it's harder to find food and shelter for themselves too. Carl counts the winters as his birthdays, there have been four of them, so he thinks he's sixteen or fifteen.
Carl remembers to count every day after Judith is born, so he knows she's nine months. He won't let her first birthday be forgotten. He sings to her a lullaby he got out of a Mother Goose's Nursery Rhymes, a promise to celebrate the passing of every one of her years.
"Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November;
February has twenty eight alone
All the rest have thirty-one
Except in Leap Year, that's the time
When February's Days are twenty-nine."
I'll sing happy birthday to you
At first Carl counts the days, than weeks, than months after the outbreak, but time seems to slip away and keeping track of it is like grasping at river water. Pointless, time runs on, it's the living that runs out of it. He doesn't dare ask his dad what date his birthday was. He'd be hurt that Carl had lost another part of a normal life.
Carl didn't have any big birthday parties, only presents and perhaps cake and a day out and with both his parents not yelling at each other. That had been enough when he was eleven. He thinks he remembers it being cold on some of his birthdays.
Carl counts that as lucky, because the walkers are slowed during the cold, but it's harder to find food and shelter for themselves too. Carl counts the winters as his birthdays, there have been four of them, so he thinks he's sixteen or fifteen.
Carl remembers to count every day after Judith is born, so he knows she's nine months. He won't let her first birthday be forgotten. He sings to her a lullaby he got out of a Mother Goose's Nursery Rhymes, a promise to celebrate the passing of every one of her years.
"Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November;
February has twenty eight alone
All the rest have thirty-one
Except in Leap Year, that's the time
When February's Days are twenty-nine."