War Zone ¤ TWD [2]

~No Pain and No Home~

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War Zone Chapter 8
No Pain and No Home
(Season 4 Episode 11)
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I walk around the woods, looking up at the trees and down at the semi wet dirt that covers the ground. It sprinkled a few hours ago but it stopped, there hasn't been much rain lately. Maybe it's a drought. Maybe dehydration will kill me before the walkers surround me and tear me limb from limb.

Its been about two or three days since I fled the prison. Since Bear died. Since I left Daisy. Since the Governor ripped the last piece of hope I had of making the prison my home.

Everyone is probably dead now, and even if they aren't it doesn't matter because I'll never see them again. I'm not to far gone from dyeing either. No food, no water, no weapons. Not even a damn blanket to keep me warm at night.

I've came across about ten or twelve walkers since the prison. The last walker I came face to face with I stabbed, but the knife got stuck and about five walkers were getting ready to surround me so I had to leave it.

So now I'm just wandering around the woods, defenseless, hoping to find a safe place before nightfall.

I drag my feet lazily across the small patches of grass that covers the soft ground I walk on. My tired eyes gaze up at the branches hanging above my head. I look down at my clothes, my ripped up skinny jeans that are covered in so much dirt and blood that you could barely see the dark blue material, my light grey t-shirt also covered in blood and dirt. What I wouldn't do for a change of clothes. I pulled my hand through the tangled mess of brown hair that hangs around my face as a deep sigh slipped passed my lips. I ran my somewhat wet tongue over my dry cracked lips whilst I thought about the last time I had even a sip of the crystal clear liquid called water. My stomach growled as I thought about the last time I had even a crumb to eat.

I felt light headed from starvation and tiredness but I pushed through it, trying to stay alive long enough to find a safe place to sleep. I kept walking through the woods, jumping over a fallen log here and there. I closed my eyes as I walked, not really caring if I stumbled off a cliff or if I bumped right into a walker. My dull brown eyes fluttered open once my feet hit something other than dirt. I look down at my muddy boots where they stood on the old grey concrete. I look to my right where the road lead up a hill, I look to my left where the road led to train tracks. I decided to wonder up the hill to see where it lead, hoping it lead to a place with food and water.

My eyes widened and my breath caught in my throat as I gazed at the neighborhood in front of me. The endless amount of houses that look untouched and safe to sleep in.

"Please be real." I whispered to myself thinking it all might be an illusion caused by my starvation and dehydration, and possibly the fact that I hadn't slept in two day.

I walk down the road and look at all the houses, trying to choose one to sleep in for a day or two. I stop walking and look up at the house that caught my eye. The stairs that led up to the porch were made out of bricks that wrapped around the bottom of the house, the other half is covered in white vinyl siding. On the porch was a white wicker porch swing with a light brown cushion. But what caught my eye the most was the American flag that was attached to one of the railings on the porch. I smiled at the memory of my dad putting one up on are house. I ran up the brick stairs, trying to get in the house as soon as possible. I wrap my slightly shaking hand around the cool metal of the door nob and twist it, making sure to make as little sound as possible. I silently walk into the house and lightly close the door behind me.

I look around the ranch styled home on full alert in case of any walkers. The first room I see as I gaze around the house is the living room. Its basically bare besides the dust filled brown couch that lies in the middle of the room, a side table next to the couch and a few paintings hanging here and there. The couch faces a brick fire place with a mantle above it. I look at the wooden mantle where a rack of swords hang. I speed walk up to the mantle and rap my hand tightly around the bottom sword and pull it down to me. As I inspect it I notice that it is much different than the one Michonne had. This one had a black braid around the handle with a black scabbard that hides the blade, and it was a bit smaller.