In The Bird Song | TWD

Chapter 55 - Alone You Wont Be

Harlow pov –

I pace anxiously up and down the living room.

"She'll be fine" Michonne tries or placate me. I stop abruptly, turning sharply to glare at her.

"She should be with me," I insist, before going back to my furious pacing.

Izzy's birthday came and went quietly, to quietly. I gave her the gun; she took it mutely. I made her a birthday breakfast using the last of this season's apples, arranging them in the shape of a smiley face on buttered toast. It was the best I could give her, and frankly, it was total shit. The apples were bloated from being canned, and they squelched unsatisfyingly between her teeth. Not so much as a crunch, no satisfying pop of breaking skin.

In other words, Depressing. It depressed me. I wanted to shoot myself.

The bread was baked a few days prior, and had begun to go stale on the counter where it was carelessly left. Izzy didn't seem to mind, but that was little consolation, she has nothing to compare it to after all. I could have given her a dilapidated raisin muffin and she'd have loved it.

At least I managed to make her laugh in the afternoon through another vibrant rendition of the lion the witch and the wardrobe, complete with vocals and subpar acting. A true one woman show. Its Izzy's favourite story, she loves it even though the events change slightly with each rendition as I try remember the details from my younger days. It makes me wish I had not lost my childhood copy back in the prison when it got over run right at the beginning. I would have loved to give it to Izzy, to share that sacred piece of my childhood carefully preserved between the pages. Like sharing a part of myself with her, the person I was before I became who I am.

But Izzy has never read the book, probably never will, so I make the most of it and cater certain parts for her each time to fit the feeling of the day, and to supplement my lapses in memory. Susan particularly has been given much more of a featured role in my retellings ever since I first recounted it to Izzy way back at the unit and she fell in love with the character. Personally, I was always partial to Edmund growing up, but my affinity for him came with age, trauma, and perspective. long after the righteous goodness we all possess in youth was snuffed out and the waters of right and wrong muddied to the point where I could no longer see my reflection in the surface, clouded as it was with the sweat of my sins and blood of my sister. Enola always loved peter, but he lived and she didn't. She died on the hilt of her own sword. The weapon pushed into her hands before she could carry the weight of it. So, in that way, I suppose she was just like peter. like all of them. Children caught up in the adult's games.

In the end though, it is safe to say both me and Izzy were in far higher spirits come lunch time. I fed Izzy a can of beans from the cupboard that had a thin layer of dust collected around the seams but was still good inside. I didn't take anything for myself, having ate a generous serving of dinner the night before that Michonne had all but shovelled onto my plate.

However, I did make sure to squirl away an extra tin of slightly outdated tuna to add to my newly acquired emergency food supply. It wasn't really a conscious decision to pocket the fish, my hand had already picked it up before I could think to much about it. And once I had it the idea of leaving it behind sent flares of panic off inside me, fireworking in my stomach like familiar punches of hunger. So, I kept it, reasoning that it wasn't stealing. Not really. I would never steal from my family; it was more like...insurance. Yes, that's right, insurance. After all, if we had to make a quick escape or if something happened to the community's food supply it would be a lot more than just me, posy, and Izzy I would be forced to feed.