All the Love Gone Bad
(Turned My World to Black)
ONE
All five horizons revolved around her soul as the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn
-Pearl Jam, Black
The prison walls seem more oppressive than usual to Carol, as she sits in her cell and does her best to mend a ripped t-shirt. She doesn't really know whose t-shirt she is mending, just that it was thrown into her cell with the other laundry. With Lori hobbling around after Carl, patrolling his actions, and Maggie taking up her role as one of the guys, it leaves only Carol and Beth to tend to the mundane day-to-day things.
Fiery discontentment seethes beneath the surface, behind Carol's mild smiles and nods. Something shifted in her over the winter. Her survival instincts were truly awakened. Now she itches for a weapon, for a purpose beyond darning socks and scrubbing sweaty underwear. It feels cruel, to Carol, for the others to only trust her with the task of protecting the group some of the time. She is expected to be flexible – to be both a mother figure and a gun-toting badass – while everyone else has one solid role.
Carol is sick of washing clothes and cooking meals.
With a sigh, she throws the shirt onto the thin mattress of her bottom-bunk and meanders out into the cell block. The early morning sun sheds orange light through the barred windows. Rick is shrugging into a clean shirt while Lori sets breakfast in front of Carl. The young boy grew so much over the winter. Seeing him only makes Carol's heart sink, her old wounds open anew. She wonders what Sophia would look like, after a few months of harsh winter.
Her eyes are misty when she looks away from Carl, and sees that Daryl is watching her from where he leans against the bars of his cell. His bow is lowered to his knee, his eyes are unreadable.
Oddly disturbed, Carol returns to her cell. She sees the heaps of clothes, the tub full of washing water, and is reviled. She passes them by to retrieve a worn-out little diary tucked away beneath her mattress, as well as a barely-there pencil. The others do not know about the diary, and Carol likes it that way. Living with so many people so close, it feels good to have a secret or two.
Carol's second secret is how many times she has contemplated suicide. Suicide, or maybe just leaving the group and taking her chances alone. She writes about this often in her journal, testing out the idea, fantasizing about it. But she knows she will never have the courage to do something so dramatic. Something so damn reckless.
Maybe it's the imbalance among their group. The ones who work the hardest to keep things going – Carol, Herschel, and Daryl – are the most unappreciated, the most overlooked. Carol brings a sense of normalcy to the group. She prepares meals to the best of her ability, keeps their things clean, and makes the prison feel like home. Herschel provides the only medical knowledge and skill of the group. Daryl… well, it is pretty clear how Daryl contributes. He keeps them all safe, is willing to sacrifice himself if needed, carves out a path ahead of even Rick.
She scribbles these troubling thoughts on the yellowing pages of her diary. When she hears scraping metal, she stuffs the little blue book beneath her mattress and jogs out to see what's going on. Daryl, Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog are lined up around the exit to the cell block, toting weapons and wearing serious expressions. Maggie holsters a gun and joins them. Carol seethes.
"Where are you guys headed?" she inquires, as calmly as she can, and saunters over to where they are chattering at one another. Rick gives her an annoyed, dismissive glance before placing a hand on T-Dog's shoulder and giving instruction. Carol prepares to turn away, but Maggie steps forward to speak to her.
"There's a breach on the east fence. Glenn and I noticed it this morning when we were walking the perimeter." Her cheeks flush, which indicates to Carol that they were doing more than walking the perimeter.
"What can y'all do about it?"
"Put down the walkers, tie up the fence," Maggie replies with a breathless smile. "I sure am tired, though, after spending half the night scanning the trees for a herd. If one sweeps through here, the fence won't hold."
"I can go in your place," Carol responds, her eyes suddenly alight. "I know how to shoot. I can take your place and get the job done."
Maggie tilts her head, as if Carol is adorable for such a suggestion. "Thanks, but I'll be OK." Maggie turns and listens to the last half of Rick's speech about staying together, working as a unit. With pursed lips, Carol returns to her cell and shuts the door as much as she can without it locking her in.
It is difficult for Carol to live with a group that, after so much time together, still doesn't trust her. She is stir crazy, ready to do something outrageous to show them just how adept she is at taking care of business.
There is a gun on the kitchen table. She saw it beside Carl's breakfast bowl. Biting her lip, Carol emerges from her cell to see that everyone has pretty much dispersed to their various duties. Herschel and Lori are discussing the pregnancy from where he is recovering in his cell. Carl and Beth are chattering together in a corner. She is alone to do what she needs to. The gun slips into the waist band of her pants easily, and before she can really register what she's doing, she's leaving the cell block.
The prison's labyrinth seems suddenly massive, now that she is alone in the dark, the narrow beam of her flashlight the only illumination. The exit is just up ahead, she reasons. I can make it there without trouble.
But soon the barely-lit corridors are pitch black, and the exit seems to have vanished. The withering white beam of the flashlight seems helpless against such thick darkness. Panic fills her chest like a balloon that is too full of air. The low grunts and snarls of a walker can be heard in the distance, up ahead, and in an impulsive moment she ducks into one of the doors along the hallway.
It is not quite as dark, here. One window, more like a barred-up vent, lets in some of the early morning sun. Outside, she hears the muted sounds of the footsteps of walkers – several of them. She sits in the dark, waiting for them to pass, and watches the sun drop in the sky.
I can't believe I got lost on my first try alone.
Carol stands on a barrel and peers out of the barred vent. The walkers continue to rasp and shuffle outside the door of her fortress. In the yard, she sees the tightly-bound group as they take down walker after walker, systematically and fearlessly. Rick, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog, and Daryl work tirelessly until the last remaining walker is put down.
She envies them, and watches on with a frown.
Daryl's bow fells a walker that meanders beneath the vent of her fortress. Daryl looks up from the fallen walker and Carol sees it in his eyes. Their gazes lock and she knows, without a doubt, that Daryl sees her cowering behind the bars. Humiliated, she sinks to the ground and waits for the cavalry to come charging in to save her.
My first ever Walking Dead fanfic... let me know if you like!