A/N- Thank you for reading! And thank you Guest ;).
-OhSoOriginal
. . .
If yesterday was to be considered a "good day" then I officially declare today a bad one. It started off with me as a nervous wreck due, at least in part, to my cell door being open. I'm assuming the nervous feeling had nothing to do with Merle and my constant maiming of his person. I slept lightly and sometime during the night I moved my mattress into the little corner I systematically had my melt downs in. It didn't fit very well. It was bowed and lumpy but the small 'hidey hole' that I had made made me feel better. I think this is ironic considering my hate for small closed in spaces.
Tension was high and yes, I understand some of that had to do with me. However, a woman named Andrea came to the prison today. I find it strange that I had not heard anything about her until now. She seems to be important to people here although I can't work out why. I think if she were to kill the man that caused mass mayhem here then I could see her importance. I don't think she will and it bothers me. Hell, put me in a room with the man they talk about and I'm pretty sure I could kill him on accident. I tried to be empathetic but apparently I'm still unable to figure out how. Due to her coming Michonne was angry as was almost everyone else.
My presence, as well as Michonne's and Merle's, apparently caused a slight bone of contention between her and quite a few others. She threw Merle under the bus almost instantly and I'm beginning to realize this is a trend for most of the people here. I'm not sure but I think that Andrea is as crazy as me. When she was informed that I was not allowed outside without a guard (she wanted to 'get to know me') she berated them for allowing 'someone like me' here. Really? Someone like me. Just the phrase and her attitude have me wanting to stab her a few times. I immediately berated myself for thinking things like that.
As soon as she left we sit down to lunch. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I can't sit with everyone and thankfully Hershel realizes this.
"Would you like to sit with me outside?" Hershel looks at me with a smile. "I've got watch and wouldn't mind the company."
I smile back and nod enthusiastically. Yes, I would love to be outside. Outside apparently was a long caged in walkway with wooden pallets propped up through the length. It was just fine for now. Especially as I still didn't have any shoes. As I walked out with Hershel Daryl walked in having been on watch prior. The walkway is actually quite large. That didn't stop me from walking along the opposite edge to stay as far away from Daryl as possible.
I feel sometimes like the walls are closing in on me and I have to wonder if insanity creates hallucinations. Do I imagine things like shrinking rooms because I'm crazy? Or is my over active imagination a stepping stone for madness to take hold through? Somehow I feel like this is a chicken or the egg question. Hershel is silent and I'm thankful; I don't know if I could bring myself to pay attention, much less actively engage.
I pick at my food under Hershel's watchful eye. I don't feel hungry but to waste food seems a horrible no-no. I don't pay attention to what I'm eating and force myself to swallow it down, trying not to wince when it feels as though I've swallowed a rock. After everyone has eaten Rick calls a meeting that I am obviously not invited to. He has been conveniently absent since his attempted murder of me. I don't think I should call it that though; it seems obvious he was trying to kill a ghost. By that I mean one of the mistakes that haunts him.
It begins to rain and I follow Hershel inside, stopping as everyone, even Michonne and Merle, head into the other room and leave me here alone. I quickly slip back outside and walk up and down the walkway trying to feel the rain. The metal from the fence obstructs a lot of it though. Suddenly it feels imperative that I escape in a sense. Not the prison or the people, and not to run back to the woods without my knives, but to escape the caged feeling that I've had ever since being brought here.
An idea strikes me and I slip inside and slide into Merle's cell. I have no doubt that he has at least one blade hidden in here. I check beneath the pillow and have to grin- jackpot. It seems a little too conventional of Merle to hide a knife under his pillow but I wasn't going to complain. I carefully checked to make sure that everyone was still occupied and then hurriedly ran back out onto the walkway. After a few minutes of searching I find what I'm looking for; on the far side in the upper right corner there is a small piece of fence curling back from the others. I doubt anyone else but Carl could fit through it and I grin. I'm going to get some clothes that fit.
There is something good and bad to be said about being crazy. The good things? I lived in the moment, I had to; thinking too far in advance would make me melt down. I wasn't afraid like I was supposed to be either. I knew what I was doing-slide through, climb along the roof, find a reasonable down point, and then to clothes shopping. It was actually kind of nice to have zombies modeling them for me. I found two that looked like good candidates and in fairly good condition and went to work. Unfortunately I forgot about all of the other growlers I was going to attract. I didn't have time to take the jeans and t-shirt off of one. That meant I was stuck quickly sliding a dress off the other.
The dress was shockingly easy to get off and I took advantage of the ballet flats she was wearing as well. I eyed her outfit with some disdain- she really chose the worst colors and just clothes in general for the end of the world. What used to be a white sundress and matching shoes is now a dingy tan grey mess complete with slashes of dried blood everywhere. Surprisingly there are only a few rips, including the strap on one shoulder but I'm sure that its fixable.
As I balled up the dress and shoes (no, I was not going to wear the shoes without them being washed) I noticed the bra. Yes, I know it's disgusting but I need a bra, and at this point this woman didn't. At least it wasn't underwear. I shuddered, apparently Carol had carted around a few old things of her late daughters. I was currently using a pair of little girl shorts as underwear. At least they fit like boy shorts but the fact that they belonged to a little dead girl made me feel like a necrophiliac-ish pedophile of sorts. I couldn't wait to raid a store. Until then this stuff would do.
A cold hand swiped near my neck as I came back to myself, attempting to turn the dead woman and get the bra. Great. I yanked hard, wincing as I heard it rip and took off as fast as I could. My over large pants started to slide down my hips. When did this simple trip become so much work? To hold up my pants I could let the dress and shoes go from one hand, I could drop the bra and knife from the other, or I could forget about the damn pants. For safety's sake in climbing I decided to hold still for exactly one second, let the pants fall, and hop out of them to continue running.
Of course once I get to the point where I need to climb I just transfer everything to one hand. Was this part of being crazy or just part of being plain stupid. Was general imbecilic behavior a side effect of going insane or a precursor? Of course I do remember hearing about some psychotic people that were genius so I think maybe I just make bad decisions. My point is proven when I slide back into the walkway. Daryl is standing out in the rain, arms crossed, and a scowl on his face that is all for me.
He reaches out to grab my arm and drag me inside and I panic. I throw myself into the corner of the fence, intent on going back through the hole. He stops abruptly and sighs as he puts his arms down at his sides. It is quite obvious that he is still angry because his hands are clenched so hard they are white. I feel like a child in trouble and I'm torn between anger and terror. He growls and turns on heel, disappearing back inside.
I am going to go for a little while. There is no possible way I can go in there right now and I'm sure that everyone is standing just inside the door waiting. I slide through the hole just as Michonne, Hershel, and oddly enough Merle come through the door. I don't want to be around people anymore, in fact I don't think I ever did. I swing up on top of the walkway and run. I need space and I'm going to get it- whether they like it or not.
. . .
I find what must have been 'the big mans' office at one point and after dispatching the warden, who apparently was dumb enough to lock himself up with with two guards, I look around. Obviously at least one in the group had been infected. The doors were very thick though which I find ironic as I have just managed to break in the window. What good are amazing doors if someone can break in the flimsy outside window? I will concede that the office is on the top floor. It was a simple matter to gather rain water and stop the bathroom sink.
It was strange- two days ago, before I had met all of these people, I couldn't care less about cleanliness. Dirty was actually good as it encouraged the growlers to ignore you. But for some strange reason now that I had gotten clean it seemed imperative that I stay that way, at least a little. I have a feeling I go more mad the less human I feel. Wow. That sounded ridiculous even in my head. But I still feel that way. I used the hand soap in the bathroom to wash the dress, bra, and shoes, getting them all to a passable faded white before conceding defeat. The dresses blood splatters did not come out- they faded to an ugly light brown...I felt my lip curl in disgust. I wring everything out and then hang it as best I can to dry.
I think I must be incredibly morbid for all that I'm insane. I go through the wardens desk and cupboards almost giving up when my hand hits an old coffee mug on a higher shelf and I hear clinking. I grab a chair and grin when I see the mug sitting full of permanent markers, all different colors. I grab them and then decide to look around and see if there's anything useful- if nothing else I'm sure those dead guards have to have something good.
Each guard has an ugly run of the mill handgun with two spare clips. Was that even supposed to be allowed? I didn't know much about prisons but I had always assumed they used rubber bullets like in the movies. Aside from that they each had a baton and taser. I sighed heavily; I should bring this stuff to the people I had run from, even if I didn't like guns they obviously needed them. In that case I needed a bag. Ten minutes later I found a bag and promptly tossed it aside, almost squealing with delight at two boxes I had found hidden in a false bottom of the desk.
I didn't like guns-they were loud, they eventually ran out of ammo, and in general if you needed to brave the risks of shooting you were more than likely surrounded. In that case more were on their way and unless you just run you're dead. If you want to shoot at just a few you're wasting ammo on a job your knife can do. To me dumb either way. Of course if you're trying to assassinate the living they make a little more sense. I think that people just make excuses to use guns. But holy moly, I might make an excuse to use one of these. In the first velvet lined box sat two nickel plated engraved colts with nacre grips. Holy hell these things were breathtaking. And now they were mine. Maybe it's selfish to take two entire guns that I have no intention of ever shooting...but I don't care.
I'm almost worried that I'll find another beautiful set of guns in the next box and that I'll have to chose between the sets. A gasp escapes as I open the lid. Another set of colts sits beautifully but this set is what I believe is called the "Peacemaker" or single action army. What looks like vines and leaves are engraved across the barrel and I think the warden must have liked the nacre grips because these ones had it as well. But the best thing about these guns, to me at least, is the spade symbol at the bottom of the beautiful nacre grip. I grin; I know exactly where these guns were going.
. . .
It has been at least three hours and its beginning to get dark. I smile as I look at my new dress. It looks more white with the vibrant color I've splashed across it. The blood stains have been colored in with a bright red marker and to me it looks just like paint splatter across a canvas. Along the hem which went just past my knees I had done symbols in thai. I don't want to think what they mean though, I think that may reveal just a little too much of me to myself. Although I think this dress is pretty I'm rethinking wearing it now. It stands out. I don't want to stand out. I sigh and shake my head, maybe I can find the pants I left later... At least now I have a bra and shoes, however impractical the shoes may be. I fold the dress up carefully and slip on the shoes.
I grab the bag I have filled and groan at the weight. The wardens office, while not necessarily a gold mine, had turned up some nice, if heavy, things. At least twenty smoke bombs and twenty canisters of tear gas, miscellaneous boxes of ammo, two sets of handcuffs and keys, two giant tubs of instant coffee, and twinkie's. The twinkie's were mine. And a bar of dark chocolate, a bag of hershey's kisses, and as if all that wasn't odd enough I found baking soda. I don't cook and I have no idea what they could use baking soda for but I figure why not. Oh, I also found two gallon size ziplock bags, one with yeast and the other with what I believe is flour. I'm just hoping I'm not bringing back a bag filled with coke but I'm too lazy to check. My biggest surprise is the giant bottle of whiskey I found. There is quite a bit of liquor here but it seems like overkill to take it all. The warden has an amazing collection of books ranging from classics like Mark Twain to self help. I found one entitled "Dealing with Grief" and I grab it. I also stole the gun holsters from the guards and was pleased to find "my" set of guns has a holster belt in its box. All of this plus my dress, the markers, and every single scrap of paper I could find are now in the much too heavy bag. It's going to take forever to get back.
I lean out the window and figure the only way to get the bag to the roof is to swing it. It was almost a stupid idea as the weight of the bag threatens to pull me down and out of the window. Finally after half a dozen near misses and managing to draw a crowd of growlers below (just to make sure if I survive the fall I'll still die), the bag is on the roof and so am I. It takes me three times as long to get back as it did to get there and I'm starting to get angry that I left my pants somewhere on the ground. I'm tired, it's dark, this bag is looking dumber and dumber and I wonder if I'm crazy to have brought all of this stuff. At this thought I start to giggle and then suddenly I am laughing hysterically. I realize I sound like a maniac and it makes me laugh more. Tears are streaming down my face and my belly hurts from the laughter when I finally stop. I think it's funny that I had forgotten that I'm pretty sure I'm crazy.
I finally reach the walkway and drop my bag with a thunk, almost groaning when I realize the hole is much too small for it. I stand there debating the best course of action when a click sounds below me and a voice speaks.
"What in the hell ya doin' up there? Got a body in that bag or sum'thin?" Merle's sarcastic voice sounds. I'm startled enough that I almost fall off of the fence. I want to scream at the man but I settle for glaring. I then realize the source of the odd click was Daryl's crossbow and I roll my eyes at him.
It takes them some time to realize that I want to make the hole bigger and I can feel the heat in Merle's glare as I pull his knife out to assist. He doesn't say anything and it worries me. As soon as the hole is big enough I motion them away; I'm not just throwing my bag to them and I'm not jumping down when they are that close. Merle rolls his eyes while Daryl just looks exasperated, but both of them move back. It's not far enough and I motion them again, this time they both look agitated. Finally it seems far enough and I slide down.
A loud ripping noise breaks the relative silence and I stare at the edge of my shirt that now is attached to the top of the fence. I can't stop staring. I wonder what it is I'm supposed to feel right now. Embarrassment? Anger? That throw your hands up in the air and exclaim 'of course' feeling? I don't think I feel any of those. I just feel exhausted. Ignoring the ripped shirt that is still partly on me I climb up a little way and yank on the bag. The 'of course' feeling is there as it lands on top of me knocking me to the ground. Merle is laughing loudly and as I get up Daryl looks at me like I'm stupid but I see his lips twitch like he is struggling not to laugh. I give a small grin at Daryl as I stand and surprise myself and both brothers as I slap Merle's hand off of the bags zipper.
Unsure what to do I trudge inside with my bag in tow and rush to my cell as quickly as I can. I sit in my corner and stare at my hand, unsure what to make of this. Part of me realizes that staring at my hand like it has a mind of its own and has personally wronged me is a little crazier than I want to admit I am. From there I begin to wonder what it would be like if our hands really did have brains of their own. What an...interesting concept really. Insane concept? Yes, of course, but a thought provoking one nonetheless. If our hands could think for themselves would they allow us to kill? To steal? To destroy? Would they be able to recognize a path to self destruction, or the destruction of the world around them and stop it? Refuse to shoot that man? Refuse to hit that child? Refuse to set fire and watch the world burn? As crazy as I am I find myself sadly wishing that this was something that was possible. Somehow, somewhere, someone's hands were responsible for the world that was now around us. I continue to stare at my hand as I drift off to sleep, wondering if that person also wished their hands had stopped.
. . .
Merle is glaring at me and I'm close to laughing. I think last night he decided to befriend me and my silence angers him. I think he's even more mad because he is the only one here who hasn't heard me speak. Apparently he hasn't even heard me make any noise. The one person here who I think could kill me without remorse if it benefitted him and I want to laugh. I'm reminded again how mad I am. Daryl and Michonne are openly staring at us and I think they are amused as well. The rest of the group gathers, keeping their distance from me, but I see the way they keep glancing at Merle and I as well.
Rick clears his throat and I realize how angry he is. "Mind telling us where you went." It's not a question.
I get out of my chair and head to my cell, ignoring the commotion as everyone thinks I am ignoring him. I quickly grab both boxes for the four guns as well as the ammo for them and shove them under my mattress. I grab the book and toss it on the mattress for doesn't occur to me that I'm still in my ripped shirt and tiny shorts. As I heave the bag out of my cell I listen as the room goes silent. It amuses me when Michonne gets out of her chair and grabs the bag, letting it thud onto the table. I walk behind her with my head down and give her a nod of thanks and unzip the bag. There are small exclamations as I begin unloading and dispersing the contents. The small armory of sorts is handed off to Rick and Daryl who stare openmouthed. The baking soda, yeast, and what I hope is flour are given to Carol and Beth while the coffee earned excited whoops from the adults. The bar of dark chocolate I handed directly to Michonne and she grinned. Everyone was excited about the bag of hershey's kisses had everyone, even Carl smiling with excitement.
The bottle of whiskey has every male grinning madly, eve Merle, while the paper and markers earns raised eyebrow while I shrug. At the sight of my twinkie's there are a few excited noises and I glare, shaking my head. As I start to crumple the bag to take back to my cell I hear Carol gasp.
"This will look beautiful on you!"
I want to crawl away in embarrassment as she holds up the dress that must have fallen out. I start to shake my head no when a voice sounds.
"Woman, I think we all enjoy the view righ' now. Ain't no reason to ruin i'tall wit a dress." Merle addressed Carol while leering at me.
I looked down at my clothing and grit my teeth as I snatched the dress from Carol and stomped off to my cell. Merle's loud chortling follows me all the way there. I sit in my cell staring at that damn dress before I sigh and put it on- I probably should have been wearing it to start with. I listen with vague interest as Rick announces to everyone that he, Michonne, and Carl are going on a run that will probably last all day if not two. As soon as they leave I grab the "Dealing with Grief" book and hand it to Hershel who looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"Can you please put it in Ricks cell." I ask lowly. I sigh with relief when he smiles and says yes.
I spot Daryl and Merle talking in a corner and I motion them over to me. As soon as they decide it might be worth finding out what I want I start to go to my cell, hoping that they will follow. I cross my fingers that I am making the right choice here. I have attacked both of these men in the past two days and feel like I owe them a bit. Plus I stole Merle's knife. I really should give that back. They follow me into my cell and just as Merle's mouth opens I give the universal shushing gesture with a finger to my lips. I'm nervous. What if they tattle on me? What if they don't like them? What if they decide to just up and shoot me? Wouldn't that be the cherry on top of the irony pie; to be shot with a gun I've found and gifted?
Both men are staring at me clearly waiting to find out why they are here. As I reach under my mattress I can feel the air shift and tension build as if they think I'm going to whip out a gun and kill them. In all fairness I am whipping out a gun but I'm not going to kill them. Both men look confused as I pull out the box with the two spade guns. As soon as I open it they both step forward and I flinch-it's hard enough to have them in my cell, I need them to keep their distance. Luckily they realize this and step back, both giving a low whistle as I hand them each a gun.
"Damn." Is apparently all Merle has to say while Daryl looks at me strangely.
"You jus' givin' these to us?" He asks.
Pleased that they caught on I nod and hand them each equal amounts of ammo. Merle gives me a wink and says something with the words sugar tits and Daryl implies that we will be speaking later. Within moments they are gone and I feel drained. Why are people so taxing? I always feel as though I've run a marathon while bawling my eyes out after I've been around them. Part of me can't wait to leave and escape all these feelings and the other part is grateful for the small amount of normalcy being here affords me. I end up staring into space and drifting off. Hopefully a quick nap will help.