The days seem to be speeding up since I got to the prison. The music room yesterday feels like it had happened eternities before today, a distant dream which gets fainter the more you think on it. I've since read halfway through 'Born to Run' and have turned it over to Karen this morning. She asks if I enjoyed it, to which I shrug and tell her it was pretty okay.

The prison is yielding to the night's eminence, but there are still a few hours left until I need to turn in for bed. So with these few hours, I decide that I want to be useful.

In my search for something to do, I find a young woman with dark brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. A sniper rifle sits comfortably in her arms as she walks towards a guard tower. I get the impression she is both capable and dangerous.

"Hey, it's Noah, Right?" She sees me staring.

"Oh um, Rhys, actually."

She purses her lips and nods. "Right."

She's about to turn and leave when I blurt out, "can I help?"

"Aren't you on fence duty?"

"No, not my shift today."

She nods and walks away. I'm not sure if I should be following until she glances over her shoulder with an expectant look. "Coming?"

The tower has a nice breeze running through its bones. The walls are missing, replaced by sheets of crude metal, which hide scorch marks from something I choose not to ask after.

Using a pair of dirty binoculars, I scan the tree line for Deadheads and other threats, while the dangerously capable woman uses her scope to do the same. A small crack in the lens irritates me while I search.

"You're Tyreese's sister, right?"

"That I am." Her responses were short and to the point.

She notices me watching her while she fiddles with a small dial on her scope.

"You want to try it out?"

"Can I?"

She hands me the rifle, which I swap for the cracked binoculars. The weapon is heavy, and I almost drop it but manage to save it at the last minute, getting me a bemused eyebrow raise as a reward.

I lean the rifle against the guard tower's rusted railings, looking through the scope at the Deadheads clustered against the chainlink fence.

"Try and hit the one in the green Nirvana shirt," She points over the binoculars to the fence.

I find the one she's looking at, a yellow smiley face with crossed-out eyes on his ripped green shirt. Line up the shot, breath in, pull the trigger...

A quiet chook sound spills from the silenced rifle.

"Wow, that was terrible," I see out the corner of my eye her smirking through her binoculars, "You know you gotta get the head, right? Not the shoulder."

"At least I hit it."

"Barely."

I miss another shot, then another. The third, hitting the one behind Nirvana in the chin.

"Stop holding your breath," Sasha tells me.

"But, that's what you do in games."

This makes her laugh. Once again, just like earlier, I feel proud about making someone laugh.

"Well, sadly, this isn't a game," she adjusts my elbow slightly, "Alway pull the trigger on empty lungs. The best advice I can give."

I nod.

I line Nirvana up with the crosshairs.

I inhale.

I empty my lungs.

I pull the trigger.

"Closer," Tyreese's sister tells me, almost letting a hint of pride enter her voice when my bullet splits through the Deadhead's throat. The faded green shirt, now adorning trickles of blood down its front.

Two more shots with the new technique finally ends with me blowing a hole in the Deadhead's skull, Nirvana falling to the ground with a far off thud.

"Good job. Apart from wasting seven rounds to kill one walker."

"Well, next time, it will be six."

"That's still too much."

"Baby steps."

I hand her back the rifle, thanking her for teaching me something. She says no trouble and sends me on my way.

Just as I'm about to climb down the ladder exiting the watchtower, she stops me.

"My name's Sasha, by the way. Since you didn't ask."

I realise I seem to be making a habit of this.

"Sorry about that. Thanks for the lesson, Sasha."

"Hey, Rhys!"

I've only told a few people my middle name, yet word seems to travel quickly in the prison. People I haven't even met calling me by my preferred name was both flattering and unnerving.

I look out towards the long gravel path leading from the gates to the cell blocks, the woman who saved me when I first arrived is approaching me with a friendly wave.

"It's Mia, right?" I squint past the setting sun as she nears. A bloody apron tied around her waist tells me she was on one of the other fence clearing crews.

"Maggie," she corrects me. Her southern accent is the second strongest I've heard since I arrived.

"Sorry." I curse under my breath for making myself look like an idiot again.

"That's fine. The place is full of new faces. I'm sure you're doin' your best."

I give her a smile for her understanding nature.

"I was just gonna grab some food with my husband, Glenn. Want to join us?"

"Sure."

The food was delicious here. The meat Daryl had bagged the other day was still feeding us.

Once we all finish and wash our dishes, we sit at the dinner table talking. Maggie and Glenn sit on one side, while Beth and I are on the other, Judith babbling in her arms.

"I think I've eaten more in the last few days than I have in the last few months!"

Beth giggles at my claims, while Glenn's smiling politely. But Maggie has a solemn look about her.

"I'm so sorry you had to be out there for so long." She squeezes my arm from across the table.

"It's just how it is," I tell her, "no need to be sorry."

"How it was," Glenn corrects me. "You're with us now."

"Thanks, it means a lot."

"So Rhys," Beth turned to face me, "the music room. Are you into music?"

I feel myself getting hot all of a sudden. I squint at the vents on the walls. Maybe the air conditioning was broken? I then shake my head at my own stupidity when realise prisons probably don't have air conditioning. Finally, I deliver myself a prompt facepalm when I remember the world is over, and the air conditioning probably hasn't been prioritised.

Beth watches all of this, seeming amused by my strangeness as she awaits an answer.

"Yeah, I like music."

Smooth.

"Great. What do you play? Maybe we could perform somthin'."

"Um... yeah, I'd like that. Only... I play guitar, and there aren't any here."

Beth nods, seeming disappointed with that.

"I can kinda sing too."

Shut up.

Her face lights up.

"Really?"

"I guess."

Why!?

"That's great! Maybe we can do a duet sometime?"

Rick appears from the crowd of people cleaning their plates, taking Judith from Beth while thanking her, unknowingly rescuing me from embarrassing myself in the process.

"How are you settling Noa- Rhys."

"There's a lot of names to remember," I admit.

"Well," Rick pats my shoulder with his free arm, "You've got the rest of your life to remember them."

Normally the rest of your life meant a day. Maybe a week if you're lucky. But for the first time since the start, the rest of my life sounded like a long time.

Rick smiles at me, the first one I'd seen from him. He usually seems to wear a weight around his shoulders, but maybe holding his daughter changed that.

"Carl was lookin' for you. Seemed pretty excited." His smile grew with this, and then I realise that Judith isn't the reason he was smiling right now. It was me. Carl had told me how his father was desperate for him to make friends with Patrick, that they just never clicked.

"I'll go find him," I tell Rick, Judith grabbing a fistful of my hair as I try to stand up.

Rick pats my shoulder again, waiting for me to say my bye to everyone before handing Judith to me, still clinging to the ends of my fringe.

"I think she wants to hang out with you boys."

I have to call out to Carl when I get to our cell. Unable to pull back the curtain with Judith filling my arms.

"Hold on!" I hear him call out. Followed by a series of crashes and hurried footsteps.

He pulls back the curtain.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," I laugh as I enter the cell, "what were you doing in here?" I ask warily.

"Dude, shut up, not that." Carl takes Judith when she reaches for her brother.

I can't help but snicker at how red he goes. "Alright, then what were you doing?"

"Well," a faint southern drawl comes out with his excitement. His father's influence, most likely. "I got you a present."

"Where?"

Carl seems delighted by my sudden interest, "Check under your sheets."

I give him an apprehensive look.

"Well, I don't exactly have wrapping paper." He explains.

I climb up to the top bunk while Carl sets Judith down on a blanket lying on the ground, giving her a small stuffed giraffe toy from beneath his bed. We'd found the Giraffe while looking for Carl's shoe in the music room, hidden beneath the drumset. I told Carl I thought the Giraffe looked like a Gwendolyn. He said he loved it. Clearly, Judith does too.

I pull back the sheets on my bed to reveal Carl's gift. An old wooden Banjo is lying there, small cracks in the tarnished neck leading up to a set of slightly rusted tuning pegs.

I hop down with the string instruments in hand, stunned into silence.

"I know it's not a guitar, and I know that they're not the same thing. But I thought you might know how to play, maybe not, I guess. But I thought you might. And when I say I got you a present, technically speaking, Bob found it. But I was the one that asked him and Daryl to look for one while they were on their run today, so technically-"

Carl's ramblings were long and full of awkward hand gestures, only stopped when I pull him into the tightest hug I can manage.

He was surprised for a moment before he hugs me back, wrapping his arms around me. His shirt was muddy from his work in the garden, but his hair smelt of artificial pine trees. A shampoo I had borrowed only the other day.

"Thank you," I mumble into his shoulder.

We stand there for a moment, letting the hug last for as long as we want it to. Neither of us needing to pull away. Not until Judith laughs up at us, pointing with a chubby finger, getting us to pull away quickly, and laugh along with her only if slightly more awkwardly than her pure giggles.

We don't realise why she's still grinning at us until we look down, my hand having somehow latched onto his, fingers interlocked. We let go.

"Well?" Carl looks at me expectantly.

"What?" I ask, my mind spinning.

"Can you play it?"

"I've played one before, once or twice. It's the same basic principle as a guitar."

Carl's grinning wide- He and his sister could look so similar on occasion.

I know what he wants, so I sit on the edge of his bed, strumming gently and tuning accordingly, reacquainting my fingers with the strings.

I play Carl and Judith some songs that I know, while others, I just make up, only to get called out when it sounds too severe. I hum along to songs that bring back memories that make me smile, then make me sad, until I see Carl sitting on the blanket, bouncing Judith on his knee to the tune, making my cheeks rise, my smile showing again.

"Wanna try it?" I hand the banjo to him after finishing another made-up song.

Carl nods, putting Judith back on her blanket, returning her giraffe toy, which she takes, aggressively bitting on Gwendolyn's stuffed ears.

I scootch up, and Carl sits beside me on the cot, taking the banjo in his hands.

His strumming sounds awful.

"No, don't grab the strings!" I laugh, moving his hand off the neck, "you need to let the strings breathe, man."

"Okay, okay!" he snorts. "Teach me. What song?"

I think for a moment, Carl thumbing at a loose sticker of a sunflower on the banjo while he waits.

I get an idea.

"How about, you are my sunshine?"

Carl stops picking at the stick.

"Really?" He looks at me, his eyes flashing. "You could teach me that?"

"I should be able to teach you the melody pretty quickly if you'd like that."

Carl goes quiet for a minute, looking away before turning back to me, "I'd like that a lot."

I move his fingers on the strings, showing him where to apply pressure. Teasing him when he gets it wrong, but showing him how to get it right.

By the time we finish, his fingers are thrashed. Carl shakes his hand in pain.

"Don't worry, just need to strengthen your calluses."

Carl ignores me and keeps playing the tune, remembering the order but not mastering the speed yet.

"You'll get there."

He smiles and nods, concentrating on his fingers.

"Hey, Carl?"

"Yeah, Rhys?"

"My Dad made me take piano lessons. Cello too, and even harp lessons at one point. But my Mum taught me how to play the guitar. That's why it's the only thing I like to play."

Carl's looking at me, a smile on his face.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask.

"I'm glad you told me."

"Me too." I wipe my eyes on my sleeve.

"Anything else?" Carl chuckles.

I think for a moment.

"Yeah. My Mum did sing. She loved singing, just didn't sing me to sleep. But she would always sing in the kitchen. She had a really nice voice."

"I bet."

Lights out came quickly. Rick tells us to get to bed as he takes Judith from her spot on the moth bitten blanket. She kicks and screams in protest.

"She can stay here tonight, dad," Carl tells his father.

Rick, dodging flailing hands from his daughter, hands Judith over to his son and leaves the cell, returning shortly with her fold-out crib.

Judith is quick to fall asleep with Gwendolyn's tucked in beside her.

We all say goodnight, and the day finishes silently.