NOTE: I tried to make it sound as journal-y as possible, but sometimes the stupid in me switches around the tenses. Her
thoughts jump around, and I did that to make it as realistic as possible, to try to capture her thoughts as they came- so
it's not bad writing, I promise! xD Also, I wasn't really going to make this a plotty story, just more of a specalitive
look into Beth's day-to-day life, plus very little plot (and eventual Bethyl). So, please don't be mad at me if it doesn't
follow a plot- be mad at Beth for not undating her journal right!
P.S. I hope I don't make the characters too much OOC!
Prologue
One day it was normal. You never know what you are able to lose until one moment it is gone. Then you realize after that
moment- then you see what is important and what is not. They tell you not to let your life pass by too fast, but you can't
help it. Sometimes you have to step up to the plate and accept your fate, you let your childhood slip away from you
because you don't need it anymore. Your childhood is a burden, your memeories will weight you down. You have to forgive
and forget, live and move on.
That's what I had to do. That's what I fight for right now- that bit of carnal survival that will push me to believe that
one day everything will be okay. Of course, I could be lying oto myself, even now as I stare off into a darkened room with
a knife in my hand. I could be way over my head. I could be lying to myself when I say everything will be okay one day.
I'm sure I'm lying to myself- Daddy always said that I was good at making up stories. Now I wish this was only a story.
1
In the morning light filters through the prison windows, they land on the sheet over my door and I watch and wait for
shadows. The light puts the image of bars over the sheet, metal mesh that once kept in hardened criminals. Even though
there are no bars that close off my room, I still feel caged in the tiny gray cell, that could have held any number of bad
people, now the only protection I have against the outside world.
In the morning I can't move, there's a moment where I think maybe I could have died in my sleep, like Patrick, I could
already be dead and I wouldn't even know it. Then I finally form thoughts and my body moves when I tell it to, and I feel
an overwhelming relief. Yes, I am still alive. And no shadows darken my doorway, and the prison is still with sleep. I
don't hear the growls of the dead, and I wonder how long the silence will last.
When I push open the sheet and let the filtered light illuminate my room I look at the cell and I feel a twinge of regret.
Once upon a time my room looked bright and full of life from a girl who didn't fear anything but a bad grade or getting
made fun of in front of a boy. Now the room before me stands as a gray, sparse area only made to survive, hardly meant for
living. The pictures on the wall are made on the backs of prison papers and show the faces of the people I once knew. At
night they watch over me when I sleep and sometimes I see them in my dreams. My mom would have laughed at the picture of
our old horse standing with the rest of the family. I'd tell her I miss the horse too. She'd tell me I always had a big
heart. Sketching them can be hard sometimes... but in my spare time I perfect them, pressing a piece of broken lead
against the paper and hoping that I haven't forgotten too much of their faces.
My mother wouldn't even recognize the person I am now. Horror has chipped away whatever girl was left at the farm-
Elizabeth Greene is turning eighteen in a week and can hardly even smile.
-
The morning bustles with people just waking up, lines to the shower form and I distantly remind myself to tell Zoe to
refill the vats that hold the water. (Sometimes she'll forget and the complaints are kind of annoying). It's surprising
how fast the water can go, but its easy to refill them. On one of the runs I remember Maggie and Glenn brought back gallons
and gallons of water, they couple of days that followed it were pretty happy. Michonne went to the traps and brought back
a deer, Damian made sausages and we celebrated for days. Wouldn't think celebrating for a couple of gallons of water would
become something that I would do... but it was a happy occasion nonetheless.
I didn't take a shower this morning, instead I decided to wait for the afternoon, since not many people did it then, and I
wasn't a big fan of getting buck-naked in front of anyone.
Judith was in a happy mood when I saw her, she had gotten plump in the past couple of months and sometimes when she smiled
her chubby cheeks exposed dimples. She looks a lot like Lori, and I hope one day Judith will sit down with Rick or Carl
and talk about Lori. I hope Lori doesn't get forgotten like Otis did, or Nelli, or Axel. If I was going to make a list of
people who died and were forgotten... I wouldn't have enough room in any book available. The mention of Lori is still
upsetting for Rick... although lately he's been in a better mood, must be the longer days and baby Judy. He doesn't have
as much weighing on his mind, the prison makes it easier on everyone. I think that maybe he doesn't want to lead us
anymore, now that we have the prison we're protected and he doesn't have to take on the responsibility anymore. We're not
out in the woods anymore, where he had to make sure we were all safe by himself, assuming the position of Leader. Now
we're a community. Now we're a driving force with people and connections to back us up. I think Rick likes the space we
all have now. After Lori's death I was sure that he was going to lose his mind, but he came back after Baby Judy was in
his arms. I think Judy is like the glue of us all now- she makes us remember what's at stake and she helps us to remember
that sometimes people die but that doesn't mean it's the end.
My chores basically consist of the same things I did when I was home on the farm. I wash the clothes with a handful of
other women, fold the clothes, hand out the clothes, sometimes I help with dinner, hand out dinner. Most times I watch
over Judy when Carol doesn't have the time- I don't like leaving Judy with any of the women from Woodbury. It's not that I
don't trust them, it's only that Judy is like family to me. She almost feels like a younger sister... and I am like a
mother to her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if Judy was hurt. I doubt anyone would, not even Daryl Dixon, who
affectionately calls Judy "little Ass-kicker".
It's fun to watch them together. Sometimes, when he has nothing better to do (or so he tells me), he'll come visit Baby
Judy. I'd never thought I'd see such a sigh as Daryl Dixon, a redneck biker with a crossbow and a scary demeanor, sitting
on the floor with an eleven month old baby and play with her. There's a stark contrast between the two, it's like
innocence and reality. Sometimes there'd be blood on his cheek, or his arm. I'd wipe it away before he'd see the baby.
He'd say, "What, now you're cleaning me like I'm a baby?" and I'd smile and tease back, "If you did it yourself I wouldn't
have to." I'd get a dangerous look for that, but he'd be smirking so I knew I wasn't in too much trouble.
He really should clean up before seeing Judy though, but I can understand how he can miss some... being as the state of
being covered in blood is almost natural now.
The washroom is strange to stand in. The machines are huge, and they rattle loudly when they're turned on; we have to yell
at each other for anybody to hear anything being said. The loud machines scare me, and the thought that dangerous criminal
once stood in the very room and put his own clothes into the same machine I put my clothes into makes me slightly nervous.
The thought is almost laughable. I'm more uncomfortable about criminals than the Walkers. The world is a strange place.
Putting clothes into the big mouth of the machine is a comforting repetition, though. It reminds me of an older time, when I
used to do laundry with my mom in the evenings and Saturday mornings. She'd never get up on a Sunday morning, except to go
to Church. "Only God can wake me up on Sunday," she'd joke to me. And no matter how many times she'd say it, I always
laughed.
Sometimes I miss Church, miss the sound of Mass, the prayers of the Pastor and the prayers of the people around me. The
sense of community under the house of God. How everyone was family under that roof, how everyone was one of God's children.
Now it seems people are segregated. Maybe the Walkers are agents of the Devil... although that is really crazy talk.
I should make a cross for Judy, if Rick'll approve... of course I'll have to make sure it's safe for her to chew on.
-
The shower room was quiet when I stepped into the stalls. I held some clothes against my chest as I walked in, looking
around the showers tentatively. I wasn't so shy before. Carol, Andrea, Maggie, Lori, and I all used to bathe together
(safety in numbers) and then I wasn't shy. But with all the new women in the prison, I got a little self-conscious all
over again. I liked the system set up by the others in the showers, to make them pump water- the thought that even though
the world isn't working, the brains in it still were. Once I was sure that no one was in the showers I put my small piles
of clothes down and picked one of the stalls. I was sure no one was in the room so I sighed softly, letting myself relax.
Relaxing can be dangerous business. You should never truly relax, then something could catch you off guard. But within
the prison walls I was sure I would be safe to at least relax for a millisecond. The brush of fabric was the only thing I
heard in the large room as I removed my t-shirt and shorts, the sound seemed to echo among the shower stalls. I wondered
what it was like for the prisoners.
They didn't have the luxury of being shy, they didn't have a choice but to be in this room filled with other people. I
shook my head slightly, disappointed in myself for not having any strength when in came to indecency. It was almost silly
to be so scared of other people seeing my body. Although there was another reason. I idly stroked the scar on my wrist
before sighing once more, and reaching behind myself to unhook my bra.
The quick, brisk walk of a man's boots echoed through the stalls and I nearly jumped half way out of my skin. Without
thinking I yelped in surprise, no words forming in my panic and embarrassment as I spun around and went to scramble to
pick up my discarded clothes that left me only in my thin underwear and the bra that was a little too small for me,
because I found it in a thrift shop we raided before arriving at the prison.
"Jesus!" Came a familiar voice and my cheeks started to burn. I was pretty sure I was bright red as Daryl Dixon whipped
around and put a hand to his eyes like it would erase what he had already seen. My throat burned and for a second I
thought I was going to cry. "M'sorry," Daryl said quickly, his voice wasn't the normal cool and drawling tone I usually
heard. "Maggie's looking for you, somethin' 'bout medicine." With that he walked out even faster than he came in.
I burned alone in the showers and let out a shaky breath. I couldn't possible have left the shower with my dignity intact
after Daryl saw me with my bra nearly off, standing in only the pink printed underwear Maggie let me have, slightly lacy
around the edges and a bit too revealing of my hipbones for comfort. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but instead I
crawled out of the shower in clean clothes and red cheeks.
My shower can wait, I can hardly write anymore. I'm going to talk to Maggie and sleep- I'll tell you more tomorrow.