"Why do you care?"
"Because you let me. No one's let me care for them before...but you did."
"I've never allowed anyone to care for me before you showed up."
"Well..."
"I suppose we're in similar predicaments."
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A Carl Grimes/Walking Dead F...
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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ
I can't sleep, I can barely even bring myself to close my eyes. My thoughts have been overwhelming my senses for the past few hours. The information that has been placed in my brain has been taking up the entirely of my mind with anxiety over what's to come.
Once Carl, Daryl, Rick and I made our way back into the prison from outside, a council meeting was immediately called. Carl and I explained everything we saw, every detail about the three men, every last word they spoke.
Through that meeting, I came to the understanding that the man adorning the trench coat was none other then the Governor, the same man that had his eye stabbed out via Michonne.
While I do not know the members of the council very well, nor have I spent enough time with them to dissect their average personality, I noticed an immediate decline in the joyfulness of the people. Michonne went dead quiet as the council spoke among themselves about what to do. They all came up with the conclusion that risking an ambush on a group of people in which we are unaware of their population, fire power, and location could end horribly. Eventually, they came up with a set of basic rules to ensure the safety of the prison while we anxiously awaited the Governors attack.
Rick sets of rules included a mandatory cell curfew, meaning that after the sun had completely set, everyone must remain in their cell and may not exit their cell block under any circumstances. Along with this, the amount of guards in watch towers has been raised to three as opposed to one or two. People in the prison, mostly the council members, we're all provided with Walkie-Talkies, meaning that if anything was seen, they could be notified immediately.
With these rules, Rick provided one that was more specific to me. He informed me that I wasn't allowed to stay in the office any longer, due to the fact that it was on the outside of the prison and more exposed then the cell block that people had been residing in. Beth, Herschel's daughter, was kind enough to loan me the top bunk of her bed, where I am currently struggling to relax by any sense of the word.
After twiddling my thumbs together for what feels like hours and letting my thoughts consume me, I call out to Beth for some support. "Beth?" I whisper quietly into the still air. Not a singular response reaches my ears apart from soft snoring coming from below me. A gentle, frustrated sigh escapes my mouth as I sit up from the mattress, running a hand through my hair.
The pale moonlight illuminates the cell very faintly, some bare shine escaping through the transparency of the sheet hung above the door frame.
"Fuck it," I whisper, shifting off of my mattress and down from the ladder connecting Beths bunk to mine. I toss on my jacket I had hung on the wall, snag a red box of cigarettes and a steel lighter from the small desk, and step as lightly as possible on the stone flooring of my cell. I push aside the blanket covering the doorway and make my way very slowly through the cell block, carefully ensuring to not disturb the sleeping residents.
