Who We Were | TWD²

.004

    The grave. The one for Maggie. Gabriel had dug it to fool Negan. It had worked. Foolery will have to become a new game around here if we want to live because there's no doubt that we'll be killed without it. I think of this as I roll the bullet casing in between my fingertips, feeling the delicate weight of it all in my hand, imagining how heavy it would be if it were to be reloaded. The funny thing about bullets is that, after you fire one, it's lighter than before, a shell of what it once was when it first came into your possession. These days, however, the weight doesn't go away. It might not be held in the bullet itself anymore, but it's held in the mind of the shooter, the weight being transferred from an inanimate object to that of having to take someone's life. If it was Negan's life I was taking, I don't think I'd feel that way. I think I'd feel lighter, like I did the right thing. No guilt. No regret. No sorrow. I would feel heroic.

    I tuck the casing back into my pocket, standing up from the ground. I'd much rather be laying in my bed, but there's no mattress on the metal frame. When Michonne had gone on a quick scouting mission after the Saviors left, she came back and reported to us that she had found all of our mattresses on the side of the road - each one burned to a crisp. They didn't need them. They were just selfish enough to take them. I've already crafted a makeshift bed on the floor by using my blankets and pillows, but it's not the same. Luckily, sleep isn't my concern at the moment.

    I see my pack in the corner, glad that they hadn't found it in my closet. After a quick inventory, I had found that everything was still there. I'll make sure it stays that way.

    I start for the door, noticing that dusk has arrived and most of the others in my house are asleep, or at least trying to be. I think about going into Carl's room to talk to him, but I decide that, even if he's awake, he's not the one I want to see right now. I quietly walk down the dark hall and down the stairs. Once I make it out the front door, I have a nagging feeling that Alexandria isn't the same as it used to be and it will never be the same again. Too many people have died and I'm sure more will join the dead as long as Negan is ruling over us, watching our every move and taking everything from us. When we originally came here, it was supposed to be a safe, homey place for Judith to grow up, but now, all of those feelings are gone. She won't grow up in safety anymore; she'll grow up in terror.

    I walk to Rosita's house, not having seen her since the other day. I had been meaning to talk to her, knowing she probably feels more alone than ever, but haven't had the energy. Now, I'm desperate to talk to her, knowing her insight on this situation will be similar to mine.

    The porch light of her house is on when I get there. Through the front window, I can see the lights in the living room are on, too. I think about knocking on the door, but just let myself in. "Hello?" I call as I close the door behind me.

    "In here," Rosita says quietly from the other room. I scrape my boots off on the doormat before looking for her. I find her in the living room, kneeling by the bookshelf as she slowly places books from the pile on her floor back where they belong. A portion of her living room has been put back together, but another part of it is more destroyed than I could've ever imagined. "They tore up my shit looking for the guns."

    "I'm sorry," I mumble.

    "Not your fault," is all she says as she continues the task as hand. I walk across the room and settle down beside her, sliding a few of the books back onto the shelves to help her. "What's up?"

    "Nothing. I just haven't seen you for a while."  I pause, staring at her for a second. "Where'd you go earlier? While the Saviors were here, I mean."

    "Spencer and I had to go look for Daryl's goddamn bike. Dwight wanted it." She takes her aggression out on another book as she harshly slams it onto the shelf. "We got it, but came back to nothing. Well, both of us got to come back to messes." She motions to everything around us, including the overturned couch and coffee table.