There are monsters everywhere. There are the obvious ones, that are out to devour the flesh of the living. But there are also the less obvious ones, the ones inside ourselves. They tell us to do bad things, things that are not us. They make us do things we aren't proud of and try to us into monsters. No one is without these monsters, for if not, we wouldn't be human.

I tell Carl this. And while he looks relieved, he also looks shocked. Well and truly shocked. "That was... deep." his brow furrows, and a whole new light claims his eyes as they study me.

"Is that a problem?" I look at him inquisitively

"No," he shakes his head

"You hesitated," I lift a teasing eyebrow

He cheeks flush, "No I didn't." he looks flustered, but his eyes are still bright, "There's nothing wrong with it, it was just... unexpected." his eyes dart nervously, "Not to say you can't be deep. It's just, you're normally so quiet, I just... Ah forget it." His entire face is red now.

"Being quiet leaves a lot of time to think." I shrug. He nods and I'm still very aware of his hand intertwined with my mine, and the exact pressure of his body next to mine. And I'm also thinking about my messy hair and my dirty clothes and body which is overdue for a shower, but shit happens.

I think about Patrick again and how good he was and how impossibly nice and sweet he was to everyone, "The good ones never last. Only the bad and the weak survive. Patrick had too much good to live in this world." The words bleed out of my mind and through my mouth, releasing into the air. I pause for a moment and consider telling Carl. How I saw Patrick in his last moments, the last one he spoke to. I saw Patrick before he died and did nothing to help. My arms start to shake uncontrollably. I can't do it. I'm scared Carl will reject me for it. That he'll hate me because I was too selfish to try and get Patrick to someone to who could've saved him, saved everyone. I'm terrified any bond we had will be shattered. All because my monsters made me ignore the obvious. I have monsters too, can't you see Carl? It's not just you. I don't say anything.

I rest my head back on my knees, and I wrap my one free arm tightly around my legs, trying to control the shaking, "I understand what you're going through, with your dad and all."

I look at him with confusion for a moment, but then I remember the stories that have gone around the prison. Why Beth tends to Judith, the baby that's not her own. The way Carl looks at Judith with such love only a proud older brother can provide.

His mom, Carl lost his mom.

He gears up for another story that I'm scared will break him, and I want to stop him, I really do, but he's already beginning before I can.

"It was nearly a year ago I lost my mom. Out of all the things this damn world could've taken her with, it had to be child birth." He grits his teeth, his eyes blink hard with images of the past, "I was there, I had to put her down." His voice chokes up, and I grimace. I can't figure out for the life of me why he's doing this to himself. Letting all of the pain bleed out. But sometimes, you just have to be sad. And I guess this is his way to let it out.

My voice is low and I can't control its shakiness, "At least you got to say goodbye." I never had that with any of my family.

He nods, his tone somber, "I did have that much."

"You had your dad." I tell him. His gaze drifts off.

He swallows and his sneakers push against my boots, trying to distract himself. "My dad, he used to be leader before my mom died. And... He kind of lost it when she did. He saw things that weren't there. He heard things." I look at Carl in disbelief. Maybe he does get it. He lost his mom and his dad in a way. I think about Rick and I know he's not a farmer either. The Grimes' men are fighters, not farmers. I let go of his hand and I wrap my arms around his lean chest.

I feel his heart beat rapid against my ear, and his arms embrace me too, after I moment I speak up, "We should be getting back. And I think you should talk to your dad. About Carol and the knives. He needs to know." I let go and I stand up, offering Carl a hand.

Carl takes my hand and we're face to face again, he hands me my jacket, and I take it. Our fingers brush for a moment, "I know what I said, but I think they should continue. I've thought about it, and I think the kids should be able to protect themselves like we did. But I also don't think they should bullshit them into believing everything's ok." His eyebrows are knit with seriousness. And I nod, agreeing. We climb down and part ways for real this time.

I find the pavilion empty and decide that food must be being served in the mess hall for dinner. I open a thick door with a hard, quick pull and step into the hallway. Its winding mysteries make the air cooler than the outside and I slide on my jacket again. My footsteps echo throughout the silent coordinator, I have to think my way through to access the mess hall. I follow the dark and dank hallways until there's a light at the end of the hallway and I almost run to grab open the door. These hallways have always been a bit eerie, but to think that Patrick wandered them to the showers makes my stomach churn.

When I reach the mess hall, I close the door behind me and I walk over to the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. I find Carol at a sink, there's some cans stacked on a counter and the window to the mess hall is open. The gray is overwhelming. Gray like the polo Patrick used to wear. Carol is working alone now, that Patrick's gone. My chest heaves at the weight of everything piling up, but I force it back down. I'm supposed to help Carol, those were Dad's words. I can at least respect his last wishes, can't I?

My heart feels like it's in my throat and I swallow hard so that I can speak, "What do you need help with?" I walk up beside her. She stands about two or three inches taller than me. Her gray hair is messy and she's washing her hands, trying to clean them of blood and memory. I recall her emerging from D Block, the heart of the attack and taking Lizzie and Mika back in with her. I wonder what they saw.

"You shouldn't be here," Carol chastises me, wiping her hands dry on a dish rag. Her worn blue-gray eyes study me with concern, "I'm exposed, you aren't safe."

"I was around Patrick," I shake my head at her, "I'll be fine, you can't do this on your own."

She gives me a disapproving look and lets out a sigh, the corners of her mouth pulled tightly, "You can open up the cans over there. Five should be enough now." the word 'now' hangs dead in the air like the people it implies.

My work is fast and quick, and soon the beans are in the pot and before too long their cooked up. Carol sets out the bowls and the spoons and I take my share and head to the spot I'd normally take. I sit alone now, without Patrick as company, and I'm left to my own thoughts again.

The mess hall is one of the largest areas of the prison, in terms of open spaces. Like everything else, it's gray and depressing. Late evening light seeps through a window foggy with grime and time. There are tables with attached seats. In total there are around fifteen tables with six seats attached to each. There's an observation tower connected to the wall in the middle of the room. I can't recall it ever being used for our purposes. Facing me, about 25-30 feet away is the kitchen area. There's the window that we distribute the food from and has iron bars that can slide down to protect the kitchen staff, back when this place held prisoners. I'd like to say dangerous people, but we've got plenty of those. About five feet from the window are the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. The kitchen itself is obscured by a wall that makes it unseen, save through the window. To the left of the kitchen wall is the way I walked in from the hallway. At the other end of the mess hall is a door that extends to the C Block.

I used to think that the prison mess hall was like a high school cafeteria. Where each group of people had their own table and they kept to it. Now, there is still some similarity, but now the room isn't loud and warm with conversation, but cold and somber like the dank hallways. We're missing so many, and now we're separated, the exposed and the clean. This is as much instruction as we've been given thus far, but I fear more is soon to come.

Rick, Carol, Hershel, Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn claim one table, normally Tyreese or Sasha would join them, but now Tyreese sits by himself, and Sasha isn't anywhere to be seen. I look at Tyreese again, alone? Tyreese is never alone. Where's Karen? Then I notice his black eye, and his fatigue stricken face. The dirt on his hands, the sweat that soaks his shirt, the way his one good eye scans the crowd of us suspiciously. Something is wrong. Then I notice Rick, he maintains one eye on Tyreese while he shovels down another spoonful of Pork 'n Beans with a bandaged hand. My brow furrows further, but I tell myself it isn't my business, and if I needed to know, I would.

On my side of the hall, Beth holds Judith at a table with Carl, Hershel, Lizzie, Mika, and Luke. If there was an empty spot, I'd be tempted to move. But another thing alarms me, why would Lizzie and Mika sit with Carl? Why not their dad. Unless. And then it hits me. I'm not the only orphan.

Along with Sasha, David and Dr. S are missing as well. Bob sits at a table with survivors that didn't come from Woodbury and a deep rooted hatred boils at me and I can't look at him for too long without wanting to shove my spoon in his eye. There are a couple more tables filled with my fellow Woodbury survivors, and the rest of the seats are only filled with spirits.

After a while, the present Council members and Rick stand.

Hershel speaks first, he was always the most patient, "As you all know too well, there was a break out earlier today. We lost 12, but they were not the only ones. There were two more murdered in cold blood. Karen and David." Tyreese's eyes are cold and dark as they analyze each of us. A wave of shock hits me, though I know it shouldn't, the signs were all there, I was just blind. I clasp a hand over my mouth so that I don't gasp out loud. I wonder for a moment if they'll ask if someone will come forward and admit to it. That's what they'd do in Woodbury, the Governor'd use his nice voice and say 'ain't nobody gonna be in trouble. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding.' But that's bullshit, and I'm relieved when they don't try that here.

"These two showed the same signs of the illness that took Patrick. And we've all decided that we can't risk losing anymore." Hershel finishes, and Glenn picks up where he left off.

Glenn shifts back and forth uncomfortably, and casts his wife, Maggie, an apologetic glance, "To try and prevent any further spreading. We're going to try and contain the illness, and quarantine the ones who are most at risk, the children and elderly to the admin building. Any ill, or show signs of ill need to report to A Block immediately." Death row, God, isn't that fitting. Way to boost morale guys.

"The rest of us, just carry on. Work shifts will probably be stepped up to compensate for the lost, but other than that, try and go about your business as normal," Rick finishes, I think the last time I heard Rick give any kind of leader-like speech was when I first arrived on that bus from Woodbury, grieving and afraid. It was good to hear again, almost calming.

They take their seats after that, and dinner goes back to quiet. I know that separating isn't good, but it has to be done. We can't afford to lose anyone else. We all still know the Governor is around.

Once everyone is done, I help Carol with the dishes. And once those are complete, I decide to take a walk. I just need some fresh air before they put me away for who knows how long.

The trees past the prison walls are silhouetted by the late orange light. Above that, the sky glows red and purple, melting into the vast blue which fades darker the farther you look. Thank God this day is finally ending, it's gone on far too long. It feels like eternity since I last watched Carl and Patrick laugh at some stupid joke. Tomorrow's another day, with its own complications and achievements, I sincerely hope the latter will outweigh the former, unlike today.

So as my feet carry me down the gravel driveway toward the fences, I kick up the small pebbles and study the world and all its beauty. But I have to look upward, for if I look down, or even listen to the world, the beauty shall fade. And the ugliness and evil in the world is exposed, revealing its true colors.

It will release its monsters.