intact ➵ beth is alive

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The blood that washed over her stained the skin underneath her nails, and it reminds her of the scars that hide underneath woven bracelets on her wrist. It reminds of her silent confessions of the night that would remain hidden underneath the bed she insisted they share. Confessions of her suicide attempt and secrets from his past.
Beth finds herself humming, of all things.

ladybird ladybird fly away home
your house is on fire and your children are gone

She can almost hear him tell her to keep singing.

➵

She finds a barn.
From the distance, anyways, she can tell that it's a barn.
But her heart pangs deep inside her chest, because it looks all too familiar, too much like the moonshine cabin that's burnt to the ground.
She's surrounded by trees but there's one in particular she's pointed out, however it isn't even the tree itself. It's the burnt out cigarettes surrounding the it that catches her eye, and there's the sliver of hope that reminds her of the times he'd smoke at the prison outside, leaning against his motorcycle. She'd rock Judith, lull her to sleep whilst singing what came to mind, mumble words in a cooing voice. Look, Judy, look out the window. See the birds? See—
And then she'd find him, dark hair and angel wings and smoke dissipating into the air like nothing.
Him, it has to be him.
Beth stoops low and crouches to her knees, staring at the cigarette buds. The odor is still there, the familiarity of him. She briskly shakes her head, unconsciously dusts her jeans off, and treks forward towards the barn.
The wooden thing was barely kept together, but did its job in itself, it's rickety supporting beams holding up the roof.
The size of it was somewhat similar to her father's, which brought forth melancholy memories all together. As she steps inside, hay and leaves crunching underneath her boots, she shuts her eyes, the smell all too similar.
"Miss you," she finds herself breathing quietly, her gaze darting from point to point around the barn, scoping the area. The main area was completely empty, however as she walked further into the empty space, she found a hidden room, much smaller and secluded to a small corner in the room. There lay a walker, decaying in itself, dried blood seeping from its skull. The walker wore a pink colored drape around its neck, it's crinkled grey face reeking of death.
Beth heaves a sigh and hunkers to her knees, drawing the drape that was once around the walker's neck now covering it's head.
It don't matter, she's dead.
It does matter.
She purses her lips, stands, unable to stand the foul stench any longer, and roams to another area of the empty barn, slumping herself against a wall.
She drops her head into her hands, makes pathetic crying noises, yet finds herself shedding no tears. She feels pathetic, but she allows herself this. The pity, the aching.
"I miss you," she chokes out, as if he's here. "Should've found a way out, shouldn't have—"
Here, right here is when he would've held her, maybe. If he was here. When he was a ball of drunken rage, she'd held him and hadn't let go, until they both crumbled to the ground and sobbed in each other's arms. If he was with her, maybe he would've. Or maybe he would've cut her off, shaking his head and refusing to listen to whatever else she'd utter, insist she was brave and strong and tough and held her own and did her best.
"I tried, I'm still trying," she mumbles breathlessly, her eyes hazy with sleep. Soon, without locking up the barn or building a fort of hay to ensure the least bit of safety, she's already asleep, her head buried into her knees, her arms wrapped around the shins of her legs.

➵

It isn't until the next morning, when she notices the stamped out fire built not by her hands. People had been here before her, they were just here, not too long ago, she's sure of it. He's tracked and hunted and passed almost everything he knew down to her in the quiet moments in the woods, where he trained her to use the crossbow, bent down to point out foot prints and urge her to figure out who they're from, and she's able to identify the ashes and roughly estimate the two weeks that it's been burnt out.
It's a lead, and she can only hope and pray it means her family was here. It means something, it has to. She remembers of a time when she'd insisted that Maggie and Glenn made it out of A-block, reminds herself of when she picked berries for children she silently prayed were alive.
It has to mean something.

➵

She's hungry.
It's been days, and though she's hoped that her stomach would adjust to factor itself, it hasn't. Her stomach growls and she yearns to lay down and sink beneath the dirt and cold earth, but she directs her feet forward, heeds herself onward.
She shuts her eyes, prays for just about anything good to happen to her, to show her a sign.
And then, she sees it.
It's almost comical, the way it happens, all too fast, but there's a tree, yet another tree, and strapped to this tree in rope was a walker, dead, an arrow that belongs to the man she sought shelter with bolted to it's head.
And soon after she examines this walker, her eyes swelling with tears of joy, leafs crunch underneath boots that aren't hers.
She spins around, her knife already in her hands and pointed out in front of her.
"Yikes, didn't mean to startle you...don't worry."
She takes a breath, eyes wide with shock of seeing another who hasn't tried to hurt her.
"I won't hurt you." The man speaks easily, a wide grin on his face as he holds his arms out in front of him.
"I have good news."