The ground crunched and squished beneath my boots. Everything from grass, to dirt, to twigs, to squishy mud and leaves, going underfoot.

This place keeps tricking me into almost believing it's peaceful.

The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the canopy, the lack of unnatural dead things. Birds chirping and forest creatures going about their business as if nothing is wrong. As if it's just another day in the life of a forest dweller— though technically it is.

This place, looking so untouched by the outside world. I didn't think places like this still existed; and not just because of the apocalypse.

To think at one time the world was safe enough to take a walk through the woods.

No matter how many times it dawns on me, it never quite feels ...real.

I've had this same revelation everywhere I go on this rock; it's always the same, yet always different.

If I had been this philosophical in high school, maybe I actually would've passed my English class. God I hated that class.

I was happy my chem lab partner set my textbook on fire, accident or not, but I still had to sit through the droning teacher repeat the same garbage for an hour.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for philosophy. It's an interesting topic, but that man— Good lord. He told us a thousand different quotes which basically all said the same thing. Every. Day.

I don't know what I expected from English class, but it sure wasn't that. I'm not even sure that stuff was in the curriculum.

I half stepped on a rock and my heart leaped into my throat as my ankle rolled and I stumbled sideways. My forehead nearly colliding with a tree.

My hands shot out and saved me from hitting my face, but I felt my sternum painfully impact with the rough bark and I immediately pushed away from the tree, hissing and clutching my aching bone.

I glanced down as if I'd be able to see the damage and caught red on my hand instead.

Great, and I thought these scabs would be gone soon. What is it with me and trees?!

It's like they've declared me their mortal enemy.

A throaty gurgle drew my eyes to my left, and I froze, every muscle in my body tensing at the sight of 2 walkers stumbling my way side by side.

Without thinking, I ducked farther than I'd already been and pulled a knife from my thigh as I moved around the other side of the tree as fast as I could without making any noise.

I glanced over my shoulder, towards the farm.

I don't think they saw me and there's not a lot of wind, so they probably can't smell me either.

I can't just let them stumble onto the property though.

I looked back at the walkers, pulling my other knife and flipping the two around to make the blades parallel with my forearms, edge facing out.

I watched them shuffle closer and carefully moved one quiet step at a time around the tree as they passed, and the tree had kept me hidden until I was behind them.

With a quick inhale, I came up behind the closest and stabbed it straight through the base of the skull. Quick and clean.

It dropped in a heap of deadweight, and just as the other began to turn, I spun my other knife around in my hand and drove the point through its temple with a gross 'squish' all the way to the hilt.

I put my foot on the walker's chest and pulled my blade with a bloody slick, as it fell back.

Ew, this blood looks like melted gummy worms.

My face scrunched in disgust as the smell hit me and I struggled not to cough.

I almost forgot what they smell like up close, being out here with all the fresher air.

My throat constricted with my not breathing and I went straight into a jog away from the bodies until I was well on my way back towards the fence; which is almost in sight.

I went to slide my knives back into their holsters but stopped, watching a globe of congealed people juice drop off the edges.

I tried, I really did try not to draw parallels between it and a woman's period but being a woman myself, I'm all too familiar with that unfortunate monthly event.

I sighed and took a rushed deep breath, returning my eyes forward and decided to just carry the deadly little objects in my hands for once.

Oh yeah, searching back through the woods was a great idea.

I'm gonna… keep this to myself. No need to worry anybody when nothing actually happened. And it's not like two walkers is a herd and we need to sound the alarm and get everyone to safety.

Besides, Rick's got enough on his mind these days.

I'll leave our "room & board" bartering to him and just… try not to give him any extra concerns —even take a few off his plate where I can.

I reached the edge of the Greene's land, and the metal of blades clanked against the old dark wooden fence as I hopped it. This battered fence and I are getting to know one another all too well.

How many times does this make it? How many times have I come back with nothing to show for my efforts? Aside from there are two less walkers in the world. That makes just over 8 billion to go.

At least Daryl finds shit when he goes out. He found that farm house, he found her doll even though he got hurt doing it. Hell he even found me, when all my dumb ass has found is a sinkhole and a whole lot a jack shit.

I've been out here every day. I must've covered miles of this forest by now.

How can I keep coming back here and letting Carol know her daughter's still alone in the woods?

She could be hurt, dehydrated, starving, exhausted, sick— she could be dead.

All because we're a sorry bunch of useless half-assing "adults" stumbling over everything in our paths, pretending we know what we're doing. As if that'll magically make everything better.

Surviving is arduous enough, but searching for a little girl in a forest of corpses and untold dangers, is like searching for a firefly at the bottom of the ocean. Hoping beyond hope it's somehow still glowing.

The dim lights of the house drew closer as I moved on, but the glow of the campfire only came into view as I got a little over halfway through the grassy field between the house and the treeline. And that's where I collapsed. Collapsed on the long damp grass, rolling onto my back with a ragged breath.

Staring up to the sky with half-lidded eyes, stars brimmed brilliantly out here in the countryside but for the first time in my life, they're doing nothing to lift my mood.

I've started to feel like we're always swimming against the tide. Everything we do is countered by nature, chance, even luck seems to have abandoned us for better days.

Humanity's been forsaken, and I honestly can't say we don't deserve it.

I've been asking myself a lot of things lately. Since when did I start to doubt myself? When did I start to lose my head —whether I'm alone or not— when things aren't going my way?

Things have never gone my way— why did I start expecting them to?

Have my senses dulled so much in such little time? When did I become lax and so unaware of my surroundings that a couple a walkers can trudge right across my path and I don't know about it 'till it's right in front of my eyes?

I can't be like this; Being caught off guard is why Sophia ran. Why Daryl was nearly killed —twice; the first arguably being his own fault, the second being Andrea's— and partially the group's for getting too comfortable.

Why I've found nothing but near death experiences for the last 3 days. Why I have failed to notice the blatantly obvious, and become unaware of my surroundings. Why there are people in the group suddenly keeping secrets and I have no clue as to why, or even shots in the dark as to what they could be about.

I spend half my time in the dark about what's going on around me, despite being right in the center of it. So caught up in my own thoughts. Have I really become so blind?

I've dismissed and been outright angry about what everyone's been doing while I've been out there, but they've hardly been idle.

Half of 'em go out every day, just like I do.

Rationally, I know we can't spare the manpower to search the forest grid by grid for a moving target and leave our camp, the farm, and all of our supplies— our lifelines unprotected. But part of me is still fixed on the notion they've been sitting on their hands, while I —and a few others— work our butts off to find that little girl.

People have gotten hurt putting their lives on the line again and again, same as I have. Pushing against all odds, hoping to gods we're not even sure exist anymore that she's okay and we'll find her.

I can't speak for what they've been doing in their down time, but that's the problem.

I've been blaming them —subconsciously or not— for being lazy when I know next to nothing about what they've actually been doing. For all I know, they've been doing exactly the same thing as I have.

Exhausted beyond measure, chipping away at everything they've got just to keep searching and trying to keep worry at bay; spending every waking second with the sole focus of replenishing enough strength to get back out there.

I have no right to blame them— blame anyone. It's no one's fault but I keep acting like it is. Like there's someone to blame for everything that's happened.

Letting my own frustration determine my actions, my thoughts.

I blinked up at the clear cold deep blue sky, growing darker with every passing minute.

No more blame, no whining, no more aimless wandering, no more retreating into my mind out of boredom or anything else, no more dismissal of anything. I have to figure out what's going on, to figure out where I need to go.

I'm putting a stop to this.

For my sake, if no one else's.