Beth didn't sing anymore - hell, she hardly even talked. She didn't offer her help to strangers, or stop to admire the rare moment of beauty in the ugly remains of what was. Beth didn't do a lot of things anymore. The girl she used to be was a hazy recollection in her mind that seemed to be more fiction than fact these days. How long had it been? A year? Maybe two? She hadn't kept track. The days and nights had begun to blend together until it was difficult to tell them apart, but her body ached with both growth and loss, denoting time and seasons passing.
They said no one could do it on their own, but that's exactly what Beth had been doing. She never stayed in one place too long. Always going. Always searching. Her legs seemed to move of their own volition, much like the walkers. Beth knew there was nothing better out there - had seen her share of the worst - last month she had plunged her knife through the skull of a baby who reminded her so much of Judith she almost hurt. But still, what else was there to do?
She blew through towns, wilderness, and country roads with long stretches of crops on either side. She never bothered to find out exactly where she was. If Beth happened upon a sign, or a map, it never really held her interest much. As a girl she had always wanted to travel - see the world - she had never imagined it would be like this; sweating and running, covered in blood and dirt, skinning rabbits and foraging for berries to eat. Life wasn't a fairytale - there was going to be no happy ending for Beth - a lesson that had taken her far too long learn.
Beth couldn't help but look at her past with disdain. The farm, her relationship, the denial - everyone playing pretend and closing their eyes - hoping if they just kept their faith everything would go back to normal. Then the prison; all the time she had wasted imagining becoming aunt to the baby Glenn and Maggie were bound to have, mapping out a life for her elderly father, and finding happiness behind the security of the fences.
Nothing could keep reality out anymore.
This was the world now. You killed or you were killed. You slept when and where you could, ate whatever was at your disposal, and hoped to God you didn't roll over onto your knife in the middle of the night. Or maybe that was just Beth. You got used to being chased by the living dead, got used to the spray of black blood when you killed them, got used the rotting flesh slipping off their bones and onto you. There was no time for hesitation - and certainly no time to be grossed out. Kill or be killed. Fight or flight. Aim true. Never second guess.
Beth looked out at the treeline, not really seeing anything. She tried not to think of the people that she used to know. They were either dead or gone. Maggie, Glenn, Rick, Michonne, Carl... they were all ghosts. She closed her eyes, willing herself to finally add another name to that list - the name that had brought her both comfort and pain for so long - Daryl.
The fire in front of her crackled while she tried to shut out the sound of his voice telling her to run. Run, Beth. Run! She shouldn't have left him. She dug her nails into her legs trying to ground herself with the pain. But soon the memories started - the hot, suffocating heat of the trunk of the car - she ground her back teeth together so hard her jaw cracked. No. Beth wasn't doing this again. It was over. It had happened. She had survived.
Well, most of her had survived - the parts she had needed, the ones she had never used before. The hard and the mean ones. She gleamed like a cold stone in the night. Beth had left those she loved in the past where they belonged - she had left herself there, too - the girl she was, small and soft and singing silly songs. But Daryl... he never stayed where she left him. She would think of him and say is after a week of telling herself was.
But still, sometimes she woke up from dreams of hearing herself say, You're going to be the last man standing - you are. The first couple of months on her own she had been angry, so angry. Daryl, you were supposed to be the last man. I'm not strong enough for this. It was supposed to you. It was supposed to be you remembering me. Just another dead girl, but I'm not dead, am I, Daryl? Everyone is gone, and someday I'll be gone too, but not today. Not today, Daryl, do you hear me?
After putting out the fire, Beth laid down on the hard dirt and looked up to the stars. She used to love staring out at them on the big wooden porch of her old house, but found no solace in them anymore - no higher meaning - no God, or at least none worth praying to. The stars seemed to blink on and off, like her heart. Full and empty. Hurt and strong. Was, she told herself again, trying to sleep.
"Gone," she said softly to herself.