HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN !

[ season two, episode six ]

The world was a quiet place for Sage Whitman.

Everything was a silent hum in her broken ears ── nothing but a murmur of prolonged white noise that screeched soundlessly, on repeat like a broken record. For years, the sound of her own voice had been a mystery. Was it soft? Sharp? Loud? Irritating? A blessing from the angels? Sage would never know. It was an unresolved case, and it forever would be. Not that it mattered, regardless. Sage hadn't used her voice since early childhood, communicating only by using her hands and her emotions. Expressions. Body language. Eyes. You name it.

There was always a solution to her problems. She just got used to it.

Gunshots blasted all around. Bottles shattered into minuscule serrated fragments, bursting into a cloud of tinted glass, spitting into the air and splattering across the grass like a nuclear explosion. The others standing either side of Sage flinched with each resounding shot, arm jerking back due to the sheer force of the darting bullet flying from the muzzle. Their ears were ringing, burning, a shrill squeal penetrating their vibrating ear drums.

For Sage, it was quiet.

Her hands were coiled around a small handgun ── a Glock 19. It was fairly heavy, weighing down her poised slender arms, but not to the extent that she was incapable of holding it upright.

Unlike Carl.

Despite only a year's difference in age between the two, Carl's frame was much smaller. Weaker. More fragile ── like a glass doll. He struggled with a Glock, so Shane quickly swapped it out for a slightly smaller handgun that moulded between Carl's hands far more adequately than the option prior to that. He drew his lip between his teeth, glancing around.

Noticing Carl's reluctance, Sage gave the boy a subtle nod that she sincerely hoped would fuel his determination, pressing her lit matchstick to his unlit one, spreading the flickering flame of courage from one to another to boost his spirit. He smiled and looked away. Shane leaned down, saying something in his ear ── something annoyingly smug, she assumed based on the smirk.

Then, Carl took the shot.

The bullet scraped the grass directly below the target. He was close. Far closer than Sage's attempts had been thus far.

Shane clapped Carl on the shoulder, pressing his lips into a tight smile that was nothing short of disappointment. Sage watched his mouth form shapes, moving persistently, but the words spilling out were indecipherable. She only caught 'good' and 'again' from the man's assumed pep-talk.

Lip-reading had not always been her forte, after all.

She roved her gaze back across to her target ── a red-tinged wine bottle situated on the ancient fence a couple yards away. It was still standing in one-piece, as it had been for the past half-hour. Great. She had learned that target practice was not something she excelled in, unfortunately.

Alongside lip-reading, it was not her forte.

Nevertheless, Sage drew a sharp breath in between parted lips and squeezed her left eye closed, lining the right up with the target. She rolled her shoulders back, adjusting her body into the 'correct' stance that Shane had demonstrated earlier. When she was more than content with her position, Sage squeezed the trigger.

The bullet clanged off the side of the wine bottle.

Yes.

Shards of serrated wine bottle coated the grass like a misshapen stained-glass window. Sage grinned joyfully ── releasing the breath she had been holding when the bullet flew from the muzzle ── before turning her head to see T-Dog and Shane already looking her way. T-Dog mirrored Sage's wide grin while Shane stuck both thumbs in an encouraging manner.

On his way past, he ruffled her wavy hair.

Sage half-expected the Walsh to stay, further motivating her to hit another target in the way a great mentor should, but he drifted right by her and joined Andrea. He pointed at the olive-oil bottle in front of the woman, watching and waiting for her to finally land a shot.

She didn't, but he stayed anyway.

Sage felt mildly disappointed.

She was seeking validation and support, but the people around her were yet to step forward and display it. She was only a child ── their support would drive her to succeed, fuel her with a sense of unwavering determination, just like Carl. But . . . all they did was smile and walk right on by. Ignoring her existence. The encouragement she sought out for was right there, dangling in front of her eyes as if attached to a string, but she couldn't quite reach it.

But she came to realise that nobody around her shared the one, vivid attribute that shoved a large wedge between their similarities ── they were not deaf.

And communication was poor.

What was the point of talking to someone who couldn't hear a thing they were saying? Why bother? That was the general gist of it. Efforts were not made to improve the solid barrier between their communication, either.

They probably didn't care enough to try.

Yearning to grab their attention again, Sage levelled her sight with another target. She clenched her jaw, squinting against the ceaseless sun, and took the shot. A few heads turned. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The bullet missed completely.

✧.｡. *.

Sage was in a dampened mood upon their arrival back to the farm. Her attempts of landing more shots had been futile ── missing target after target until her skin became hot with anger, as if the lack of succession had set her blood alight. She tried to avoid Marley's curious gaze, but it was unsuccessful. Her sister had eyes like a hawk, not only scoping out expressions, but emotions too.

She placed her hand on Sage's shoulder before the youngest Whitman was given the chance to slip inside the RV and disappear from sight.

Marley raised her hands, "Did something happen out there?"

"No."

She looked unconvinced ── arching an eyebrow and taking a step closer to the RV's door. Her eyes flicked over Sage's face, searching for small wounds or dried tear-tracks, but found nothing that stirred her emotions beyond curiosity and indistinct concern.

"I take it training didn't go well, huh," Marley revealed with soft hand movements.

Sage rolled her eyes. She tried to walk inside, but Marley curled her hand around her sister's wrist, pulling her back. Sage didn't meet her sweeping gaze, knowing fine well it was deeply scrutinising every inch of her pinched expression to seek out the concealed truth beyond her dampened mood. Again.

She watched Marley's hands form the words, "Come on, tell me."

"I'm fine. Can you leave me alone?" Sage demanded sharply. She immediately felt guilty, and her face softened into neutrality. "Please?"

Marley was reluctant.

"Not until you tell me why you're in a mood."

"I just kept missing. That's all." Sage signed in return.

It was only half a lie, so it didn't matter all that much. She just didn't have the energy to dive into an explanation about how the adults ignored her for the most part of the training session ── assumably because of her deafness and their poor communication skills tied into one large bundle of ignorance ── only for Marley to grow extremely irritated and confront them all through a turmoil of blind-anger.

Not today.

The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to her unfortunate situation. She wasn't all too fond of attention, unlike Marley who didn't ever seem phased by it. The eyes that would fall upon Sage would feel like cigarette butts burning a hole through her skin. And that wasn't what she wanted.

Sage sighed, tightening her grip around the RV's door. "I want to sleep. I'm tired."

Marley perched her hands on her hips and nodded. "Okay . . . But come talk to me later. I feel like we barely see each other during the day."

Despite the overdramatised statement, Sage tipped her head forward in a short nod of agreement.

She exhaled heavily and slipped into the shadows within the RV ── but a hand caught the flimsy door and swung it back open before she had a chance to make peace with her fatigue.

Marley's eyes were wide with desperation. She stopped Sage from sinking into the shadows of her newfound home on wheels.

"Promise?"

Sage smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Promise."

And then she shut the door with the full intention of staying in the RV for the reminder of the day.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The sky was far more beautiful now that someone who Sage loved was up there. Two someone's.

Mom and Dad.

They had painted it especially beautiful tonight. The sun was sinking below the horizon ── peony pink streaking from one side of the globe to the other like a hazy watercolour wash. Mom. Within the clouds, rays of glowing orange shone through, bounding along the skyline like an enormous torch reflecting the enormous trees and the fields and the beauty the world still held in the face of unrelenting death. Dad ── he was always a nature-freak.

Sage held back her tears.

Perhaps she would've smiled at the sky if not for the occasional flicker in her mind that replayed the devastating ways in which her parents died.

She tried to blink away the stark images, but it didn't work. The sky taunted her as she recalled it . . .

Mom's wounded shoulder spraying blood across the carpet. Dad sinking into a horde of the gnashing undead. The sacrifices the Whitman's made to keep their daughters safe ── the ones they cared about more than anyone else in the world. Mom throwing herself in front of a walker before it could sink it's teeth into Sage's neck. Dad distracting the horde so they could run, only to be swallowed up by it himself.

Their deaths were constantly on Sage's conscience. She blamed herself. Sometimes, Sage believed she should've been up in that sky too. Painting it for Marley.

But she lived. And her parents had suffered for it.

She missed them a lot.

The steps to the roof of the RV creaked under the pressure of another human, and Sage would've turned to look at the approaching person if she had been able to hear.

Dale.

He took up the lounging chair beside her, staring off into the distance. In his hand, he held a small notebook. There was a moment of brief stillness, but Dale began moving, pulling something out of his pocket. A pen. Sage glanced over to see he was scrawling across the pages ── stringing words together.

Her peace away from the other inhabitants of camp had been breached, but she didn't mind. Dale was the one person she was currently not completely exasperated to be around. She was fairly content in his company.

He handed her the notebook. It said:

There's something I want to give to you.

Sage looked up curiously, pouting her lips. Dale's eyes twinkled, the streaks emitting form the setting sun encircling him like a golden aura ── which perfectly suited his mellow character. He didn't wait for a response. He plunged his hand into his pocket, tongue poking out between his front teeth as he racked the contents, until he came across the object Sage was due to inherit.

A watch.

His watch.

Her brows pinched together in wonder. She reached forward and plucked the wrist-watch from Dale's wrinkled hand, turning it over in her palm.

The notebook was plopped down in her lap with another message.

It's a family heirloom. I figured you're the next in line.

Sage's eyes jumped up to meet Dale's, wide with frivolity. He smiled warmly as she scribbled down a response. 

Are you sure? This is an antique!

Sage practically tossed the notebook back at Dale, and he chuckled deeply when he read the words scattered over the paper. Sage traced the tiny clock hands beneath the thin pane of scratched glass ── using a feather-light touch to ensure she did not damage Dale's priceless property.

He gave the notebook back to Sage.

Absolutely. It's yours. And I'm not that old, mind you.

It was her turn to laugh.

Ancient hadn't been the best word to describe his watch, but it was the first thing that came to mind when she saw the patches of eroded silver marring every square inch of the object. Hairline scratches engraved into the glass surface. Fraying leather band.

It lacked youth ── but with its age, the watch held warmth that could only be emitted from something so personal and special.

Sage grabbed the pen from Dale's fingers.

I love it, but why are you giving it to me?

Dale was hesitant to write a response. The pen twitched in his hand, the wrinkles etched into his forehead becoming more prominent as a frown dominated over his typically uplifted expression. Sage watched the elder intently, eyes glued to his hand as it dropped to the notebook and moved delicately with the pen like the ocean's ebbing tide.

He handed it to her with a small smile.

You never know which day will be your last. It's about time I passed it down.

A heavy weight plunged down deep into the depths of Sage's stomach ── the sinking feeling of realisation. Dale wasn't going to be around forever. One day, sooner of later, the world was going to swallow him up and it would never spit him back out again. He was desperate for Sage to realise that before she become too dependent on his company.

But she didn't want to acknowledge the truth. It was cold and bleak and ugly. Pretending it didn't exist was far better.

So, I'm now a branch on the Horvath family tree?

Sage gave him the notepad. She had skipped past the previous entry in the conversation. Dale didn't seem to notice.

It seems fitting.

Sage grinned.

She screwed the cap back on top of the pen, securing an end to the conversation. The setting sun was at the pinnacle of her intrigue now ── alongside the watch currently residing between her cupped palms. She turned it over, and over, and over, seeking comfort in the new object she was now destined to care for.

Her eyes scanned the surface. And she noticed something.

The word Horvath was engraved into the silver on the back. A date beneath it reading 1928 was evident enough to show it had been passed down for generations. The watch truly was ancient. A worshipped family heirloom. Something one father passed down to the next, whether that be daughter or son.

And Dale was trusting her ── the so-called 'next heir' ── to keep it safe.

Sage would ensure she did. With her whole heart.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ah, the watch. it's going to
break some of y'all's poor
reader hearts.