Alone.
It was a word he hated and feared, even through all of his posturing.
In the amusement park, with its strange attractions and stranger people, he was very much alone. He felt lost without his father and Michonne and everyone else from their dwindling group.
Carl sat on a polished, metal bench near the entrance to the prison in disguise. His lanky, growing frame was slouched into the seat with an air of languid defeat ---- at least, that was the case until his stormy eyes fell upon a girl that reminded him of home.
Perhaps it was her dirt stained clothes and face. Or, perhaps it was the way she walked and eyed her surroundings. She was a survivor.
"Hey," Carl called, his voice cracking mid-greeting much to his embarrassment, "You've got somethin' on your face."
He smiled faintly.