Glass Ashes

Chapter 3:

One Year Before

My body lies sluggishly on the cement of the room, light shining through a small window. Two weeks, that's how long I've been in the dark.

The skin on the left side of my ribs is raw and blistered, pink and sometimes bleeding. It hurt's a lot.

Heavy footsteps approach me.

"Get up ya worthless piece of shit." The voice is gruff.

I don't move, I can't.

"Get up!" He kicks me in the stomach, and the wind is knocked out of me.

I cough, spitting out blood. My face is bruised and battered, sore and tender from the hit's I've taken. The scab on my lip opens up, blood dripping from it.

The man grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet, knees wobbly. He and another man drag me, while I try to regain my footing every once and awhile.

Everything hurts.

My dignity -what's left of it-, my bruises, my cuts, my eyes, from crying, and every other thing I can think of.

Everything is a searing pain taking away from the bits of my soul left.

We reach our destination, it isn't much really, just in the middle of a road. I can see gates around the small town. I also see men, mostly big and strong, and some women, fairly tough looking. The gates are pretty large, enclosing a small area, and they aren't much, but they're something.

Mom is being pulled over here too, and the men kick the back of our knees, facing eachother as we kneel.

I can't tell what it is in my mother's eyes, cruelty or sympathy. Maybe neither.

She has dirty and ripped clothes, face battered and bruised yet somehow still perfect in a sense. Blood stains her body, and I can see an 'x' mark on her faintly beneath the ragged cloth of her shirt, just where mine was placed.

"Now listen up ladies…" A man smoking a cigarette says gruffly, drawing smoke from it and releasing it, reminding me of when Mom smoked. "We ain't got room for two in this place, and we need to see which one o' ya got potential."

He drops the cigarette on the asphalt, some ash falling off it and the embers glowing slightly. He doesn't stomp it out.

"So, we want you, to fight to the death. Winner earns their keep." The man chuckles, a sick, ruthless chuckle.

"Please! You can't do this to us! Please, don't make me do this!" Mom screams.

And then it hits me, like a ton of bricks, making me lose my breath.

She has always thought of herself as some higher person than me, superior in all her shitty ways. A shitshow mother who dares to declare herself a good one. A whore, a junkie, a stupid bitch who needs to know her place. She demeans me, belittles me, makes me feel weaker than I am.

She has always been scared to let me know my real potential, she doesn't want me to know that I don't need her, and that I never have.

Too late.

"I can." The man replies, and with that, I smash my forehead into my mother's nose.

Blood drips from it quickly, and I grab her by her hair, throwing her into the concrete roughly.

The rage builds in my body, murder coursing through my veins and the enjoyment engulfing me like a red hot fire. Nothing has ever felt so good.

My fingers grasp the silver chain of the locket, tightening it around her neck to choke her. Her arms flail and she gets a good hit in with a rock, a tad smaller than my palm.

My hand pulls the chain tighter, but the necklace comes loose as she unlatches it, the jewelry skidding across the pavement.

She grabs my arms, trying to force me beneath her. My knee finds her abdomen, and I quickly mount her.

My hands make fists, killing machines, smashing her in the face as the blood gushes out and coats my hands.

I punch her for every time she has hit me, every time she has killed a bit of me on the inside, I punish her for what she has done.

Finally, I stand up, kicking her limp body.

I calm down, breathing heavily and sobs coming from my mouth, but no tears flow down my cheeks. I can't cry, I can't show any weakness.

Turning from my mother's body, a man with a tall stature grabs my wrist, turning my palm facing upwards.

The silver piece is in his hand, slowly dropping the locket into my palm.

"Souvignier." He says.

Present Day

The light shines in from the barred windows, casting shadows from objects in it's path. It's warm on my skin, tickling me lightly. The locket is heavy against my chest, my fingers tracing over it lightly.

The words said to me ring in my head.

'Souvignier'

'Deep down, somewhere inside, that monster will awaken, and you'll realize you liked it...maybe just a little more than you should have.'

I beat my mother to death, marred her beautiful face, and took her wretched soul to fuel my hate and anger.

I liked it…

I'm just another monster in this cruel world.

"You okay?" The girl whom I've learned to be Beth asks.

"I...I'm fine. Just thinking." I reply, shaking my head, trying to shake the thoughts out.

"About?" Her sweet accent comforts me.

"Before."

"Before what?"

"Before I came here." I admit, my fist wrapping around the silver pendant.

"If you don't mind me askin', why are you alone? I mean, most people didn't just start this thing alone unless they had to."

"I didn't. I started off with people...but I suppose you know how it goes, right?"

"Don't we all..." She says it like it isn't a question, making a bottle for the baby.

She gently places the bottle in the baby's mouth, and I try to forget about before...about the things I've done.

"She got a name?" I ask.

"No...not yet. We have all thought about it, but in such times like these...the circumstances aren't great. We're not all in the right mindset."

"I'm sorry...for the people you lost...I know what it's like."

"The baby is gonna have to grow up without a mom. Poor Carl and her lost their mom...I guess that's one thing Carl, her, and I have in common."

"You lost your mom?"

"Awhile back." She nods solemnly.

"I'm sorry."

"You lose your mom too?"

"Something like that."

"Sorry."

The silence is comfortable, but after awhile it is broken by the old man, Beth's father.

"Hey, Clover. We need to clean your wound."

I look down at my wrapped arm, biting my lip.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second."

"All the more charming." I roll my eyes, the thought of it hurting only now coming.

Following the man into a cell, I sit at a small desk across from him, plopping my arm on it.

"Has it hurt in the past twenty-four hours?"

"Well, Doc, I haven't exactly been conscious for the past twenty-four hours."

"Any pain at all?"

"No. Just a little sore, but that's it."

He unwraps the gauze, and a ghastly cut with stitches in it makes me grimace.

"It isn't a pleasant sight, but it'll get better."

"Eh." I shrug. "How bad of a scar?"

"Well, can't really say, but my best guess is pretty bad. Sorry."

"Add to my collection." I snort. "I'm used to them."

Hershel looks curious, putting some peroxide on a cotton ball.

"Collection?"

"Well, let's just say this is nothing compared to the other ones I've got. But that's our little secret."

"These scars..." He says in his southern, deep accent. "Where do they come from?"

A smile spreads across my face.

"Many places. If we're talking pre-apocalyptic world, then regular kid stuff. Falling off my bike, jumping off roofs, being plain stupid. The list goes on and on."

"And post-apocalyptic world?"

"Jumping out of moving cars...falling off a motorcycle, jumping off of roofs, among other things."

"And these other things happen to be what?"

"Bullet scrapes, stab wounds..." Brandings...

"How many times?"

"How many times what?" I ask, watching the cotton ball go over the cut and stitches, stinging mildly.

"How many times have you been stabbed or shot?"

"Three times scraped with bullets. Luck mostly. Stabbed once. Not so much luck there."

"You seem different than the other kids, you seem unfazed."

"I think I'm just more of a 'what have I got left to lose?' kind of person."

He wraps up my arm, and as I'm leaving, I look back.

"It's nothing by the way."

"Hm?"

"The answer is I've got nothing left to lose."

I lay back and watch the stars from afar, indulging the sweet air as some of the group sleep and some of them take watch.

I'm on the roof, a rather sweet escape, ignoring the groans and moans of the rotting and just focusing on the white specks against the midnight blue sky.

They glow with a purpose, and I try to make out constellations, something I have studied for a long time. Mom knew all about them, she helped me.

It kills me knowing what I did to her.

It was in the spur of the moment, but although the pain it has caused me, I strangely don't regret it.

"There's a ladder around back." A voice says.

I gasp, taken aback, my hand flying for my knife.

I'm relieved when it is just a boy, a boy with crystal blue eyes, a sheriff's hat, and brown hair. He wears a blue plaid button up and worn out jeans.

"You must be Carl." I say, taking my hand away from my knife and laying my head back on my bag, using it as a pillow.

"And you must be Clover."

"Why yes." I smirk, but suddenly remember his recent loss. "I'm sorry by the way. I heard-"

"It's fine." He says, a distant look in his eyes. He is close but so far away.

"Yeah..." I say. "You want to join me?"

"I...uh...sure." He walks to near me, sitting about two feet away from me.

It's quiet for awhile, and we sit in silence.

"I lost my mom too."

He remains silent, but his head turns towards me.

"We...we went to a camp." I begin the story, but don't intend to tell the truth. "We...were interrogated. They beat us, cut us...starved us..." My eyes sting with tears, remembering the horrible things I did when I joined them, and the things they did to my mom and I before that. "They sat us in front of each other, made us choose who was going to die. But...my mom was so desperate to kill me...she wanted me dead..." The story I tell is similar to the truth. "And then they handed me the gun...and I did it! I pulled the trigger and...she was completely fine when I did it...she wasn't bit...she wasn't hurt...she was okay and breathing and I did it...it was my choice!" I say, gritting my teeth.

"I...I'm sorry..." He says softly. "What was it like after that? If you don't mind me asking."

"She was just gone...nothing more. I knew I'd never see her again, speak to her again, but at the time it didn't hurt...it was just it, and that's all."

"That's how it is for me too." He whispers.

"You're lucky your dad is some leader, strong. He may be a bit out of it right now, but he'll come back."

"What about your dad?"

"Maybe he is out there somewhere, kicking walker ass...or maybe he is not as brave, or maybe he is just dead...or maybe he could be one of those walkers on the fence. I don't know."

"That sucks."

"I'm used to it." I shrug.

After that we sit in silence, and I stare at the moon, a beautiful crescent moon, glowing white and beautiful.

The sun streams down from the baby blue sky and onto the roof, where I fell asleep.

I look to my right, Carl gone.

I fall back onto my bag, sighing. The air is warm, the ground below bearing long grass, a pale green from being dried out from the Georgia heat. Flowers bloom in disarray, small patches of little tiny white and purple flowers, an occasional dandelion here and there.

Glancing to the other roof, I put my bag on my back and jump to the other one, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush. My mouth curves into a smile, and I break into a run, hopping from roof to roof, ladder to ladder, free running. Something my mother taught me. It was something I was always better at her than, and I took much pride in it.

Showing off a bit, I do a somersault on the ground before my feet touch the ground, and I quickly push up, jumping on the ladder. I climb up it quickly, jumping to a watch tower, looking down at the clapping and whistling, bursting with pride.

"Hey Spider Monkey," A rough voice says. "How about you go down to the fence and help with the walkers." Daryl says, still not very happy, but maybe impressed.

I nod once, and take a regular route down the ladder.

"Looks like someone's getting popular around here." Glenn says, an Asian guy.

I shrug, walking to the fences with him.

Grabbing a rusted metal rod, I position it, looking a walker in the eyes for a second.

Closing my eyes, I jam the pole into it's eye.

AUTHORS NOTE: I am so so so so sorry! I haven't updated in awhile and I feel so guilty. I'm not gonna make excuses. I'm sorry! I'm going to try and start updating maybe every Saturday. But I will have to see. Please review, although I might not deserve it.