KAIYA'S POV:

I wandered around aimlessly, feeling my consciousness and sanity slip away with each passing hour. Every tree looked the same and every step I took felt like a marathon. I needed sleep and I needed it soon.

I stumbled around in a circle, thinking about what the rest of camp might be doing. If they were worried about me. Or if they had already passed me off as dead. What about Glenn? Was he alright? And Daryl? Did he even notice I was gone?

By blind luck, I stumbled into a barded wire fence and, again by pure chance, back out unscathed. Some of my rationalization must have stuck with me, because I was able to come to the conclusion that this fence was bordering something.

I hopped the fence, wobbling slightly when I landed on the other side. I was lightheaded, hungry, tired, emotional, and probably a little coocoo. I stumbled along through the waist-high grass until an old brick house came into view.

I felt around in my pants and in the waistband, I felt the gun Daryl had given me. I didn't know if there were any walkers in here and if there were, I didn't know how many, or even if I would be able to see straight enough to shoot one. I opened the chamber and checked the clip. Only three more bullets. So much for "Should be loaded."

I gripped the gun tightly in my right hand and, in my light-headed haze, I made my way, somehow silently, into the house. I peeked around the corners, checking for any signs of walkers. There were none. I searched every room in the house before I set up a barricade of furniture against the three windows on the first floor and propping a chair up under the handle of the door.

I was in desperate need of a bath, but I knew that would have to wait until I made it back to the group. I found some bed sheets and pillows in one of the upstairs cupboards and set up a pallet in the bottom of the pantry in the kitchen.

When I was looking around, I found a spiral bound notebook and a few pens. I took them down to the kitchen with me. You gotta have something to occupy your mind sometimes, right? I sat down on the floor and began writing.

At the top, I put: To whom it may concern. Or to anyone who is still alive enough to read.

I skipped down to the lines and wrote, I'm not sure what day it is, or I would put the date on this. My name is Kaiya Caston. I'm a survivor of the apocalypse, just like whoever is reading this. Now that I think about it, I'm not completely sure who I think is going to read this. I've got to have something to hold my attention or I may go insane. I was traveling with a group before. I really miss the group.

I skipped a line and wrote a little about every camper, underlining their name.

Glenn. We've been best friends since birth, us two. I really hope his nightmares haven't been getting worse. When we were kids, he had them really bad and I used to have to calm him down in the middle of the night. I hope he's doing alright without me.

The kids, Sophia and Carl. I got separated from the group saving Sophia from two walkers. At least if I got lost it was doing something good and saving a little kid. Carl is the son of a police officer and he's a very handsome young boy, always striving for the approval of someone.

Rick Grimes. He's Carl's father. Its because of him that Glenn made it back out of Atlanta after a supply run about a month ago. I owe him just about everything. He also helped save me from a group of Mexicans that kidnapped me, but ran a nursing home.

T-dog. I don't really talk to him much, but he helped get me out, too. He's pretty nice from what little I know about him.

Lori Grimes. Wife to Rick and mother to Carl. She's very overprotective of her son and her family as a whole.

Dale Horvath. An old guy that owns the RV we travel in. His wife died of cancer before all this shit hit the fan. He's a very friendly old man, but he has a tendency to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

Carol Peletier. Sophia's mom. Her abusive dickhead of a husband died in a walker invasion that happened back at our camp by a quarry outside Atlanta. She's a very sweet woman.

Andrea. I was very close with her younger sister Amy before she was turned in the same invasion that took Ed Peletier. She's been rather broken down ever since that incident and sometimes she seems like she's just going through the motions and doesn't know what to do anymore.

Amy. She might be dead, but she'll always be like a sister to me. She was my friend. Her favorite color was green. She loved to watch the stars. She loved the smell of cinnamon because it reminded her of her grandma's house in Christmas time. Rest in Peace.

Daryl Dixon. What can I say? I think he might be the person I miss the most. Maybe even more than Glenn. He's a rowdy hillbilly with a mean temper and quite the arsenal of insults. But I think I might love him.

But see, there's this problem. I'm sixteen and he's… well, I don't even know how old he is, but it sure as hell isn't sixteen.

We got drunk one night and I'm not sure what exactly happened, but when I voice the fear that maybe we had done something, he kind of blew up. I hadn't wanted it to be true, but that didn't make his words hurt any less.

He told me, "You think I'd sleep with you? Even if I was drunk?"

I knew he was just angry and confused, but his words cut deep. I had wanted him badly, dreaming almost every night of his deep blue eyes, running my hands through his sandy brown hair, and listening to him say my name. But when he told me off, I realized he didn't want me.

So I was mad at him. I was still mad at him and wasn't talking to him when I got lost. I bet he doesn't even care that I'm gone.

Part of me wants to believe that I know him better than that, that he is actually worried about me. But the other part of me is saying that I was just some stupid little girl to him.

So yeah, I think I love him. At least I'm pretty sure I do… I've never felt this way about anyone. I don't really have any experience with the L-word. I've got nothing to compare it to.

Sure I've dated, but it almost always only lasted for a few days. Very rarely two weeks. But with Daryl, I want this to last longer than that. I want him to hold me forever.

I want to be with him now, but I know he doesn't feel like that. I want him to hold me like he did the night Amy died and tell me its all going to be alright just like he did that night. I want to make him laugh again. I want to see his blue eyes twinkling mischievously as he plans to do something evil to me (such as throw me into a lake, that buttface.)

I guess I'll just have to wait and keep searching for them.

I skipped to the very bottom and wrote: Kaiya Caston. Age 16, but I'll be turning 17 in a few days, I think. In love and lost. Hoping to be found, but knowing my luck isn't good enough for that. Lets hope I don't die. Goodbye.

After the slightly depressed note, I searched the kitchen, finding only a few cans of tuna.

"Oh," I whined quietly. "I hate tuna." I swallowed the urge to vomit at the smell, but when I scarfed down one can, I figured I was hungry enough to endure a second. I tossed the empty cans into the black plastic trash can and then went into the pantry, closing the door behind me and snuggling down into the bedding.

Compared to my big fluffy bed and comforter back at home, this was terribly uncomfortable, but I was so exhausted this cramped little space filled with stuffing was heaven.

I sighed and placed Merle's gun on the ground beside me. Close enough that I could reach it if I needed to get to it quick, not so close that I would roll over it in my sleep and shoot myself by accident.

I pulled the sheets up around me, thinking one last time about the camp before drifting off to sleep.

Was it just my subconscious, or was I really hearing the sound of the back door screeching open against the linoleum accompanied by a low moan and shuffling feet? I assumed it was my imagination just because I was too tired to do anything even if it was real and kept my eyes closed, thinking one thing before the blackness came.

I'm sorry, Daryl.


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