HURTS LIKE HELL,
CHAPTER ONE!

[ season four, episode one ]

Thirty days. It had been thirty days without an accident. It was near enough to a damn miracle.

Six months post-Woodbury feud, the prison was positively thriving. They had a plethora of new inhabitants, all of whom held their own speciality in helping run and keep the community on its feet. A group of women who were pulled from the rubble of Woodbury's corpse had banded together to make the food. A withering old man Rick and Glenn found on the road two weeks back had the ability to fix weapons in minutes: handguns, rifles, snipers. An ex-professor taught the children math, despite their unwillingness to learn, and they had a woman with enthusiasm to fight the dead if needs be. She was in the military pre-apocalypse.

It was all coming together like pieces of a jigsaw. Eventually, the patchy picture they aspired to create would be full.

They would be safe.

The prison even had a new medical apprentice. Depending on Hershel and Dr S for healthcare would become a thing of the past.

"Okay, you need to keep your foot elevated for at least two days," Marley Whitman ordered firmly, fingers twisting around a roll of bandages. Her eyes flickered to Hershel for approval, and the elder man nodded in encouragement, a small smile blossoming over his lips. Content with that response, Marley turned back to Wendy from Woodbury ─ her newest patient struck down with a sprained ankle, courtesy of the uneven pavement outside. "And don't put too much pressure on it. I'll know if you do. I have eyes in the back of my head."

Wendy didn't seem to appreciate the humour fizzing in Marley's words. She lifted her thin arms in defeat and grumbled out, "But how am I supposed to help around if I'm sitting in my cell all day?"

Marley shrugged, packing away her bandages and medical gauze. "You can be there in spirit."

"But what if ─"

"You need rest, and you can't do that if you're outside, helping with the fences." the medical apprentice interrupted firmly. She placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, "It's only for two days. That's all. You'll be back on your feet before you know it."

Sighing exasperatedly, Wendy nodded.

The woman waved goodbye to the so-called 'prison doctors' and closed the cell curtain ( a mere blanket illustrated with flowers and bees ) behind her. Both Marley and Hershel padded out into the cell block. It was still lacking warmth and character ─ bleak, cold, and drab from corner to corner ─ but the inhabitants had long since declared it a home nevertheless.

In the far right, Marley's cell had a pink curtain pulled over the entrance. Sage's choice. She decided it made their room look less intimidating.

It wasn't Marley's favourite, but she had quickly succumbed to defeat when Sage pulled the sad-face. Pink just wasn't her colour.

"You're doing great." Hershel's voice breached Marley's reminiscence. He placed his hand on her shoulder and began pushing her toward the barricaded door leading out into the courtyard. She could already hear the laughter of the children ─ the mellow chatter of the inhabitants. It sounded like the world before. It was what made her smile so much these days. "You ought to eat somethin' before our next round. Can't be treatin' people on an empty stomach."

Marley flashed a smile, "I know. Carol wants me to eat more of that venison Daryl brought back the other day. She said I need the iron."

"She's right. You're paler than usual."

Deeply offended by that statement, Marley turned to Hershel with her eyebrows furrowed and hands perched on her hips. "Thanks, Mr Greene. I really appreciate the compliment."

The elder merely shrugged and patted her head, a more stern expression pulled over his wrinkled features, "Be back here mid-afternoon."

"Sure thing."

When his back was turned, she saluted mockingly.

She spared a brief glance around her surroundings, seeking familiar faces. Sat on the steps to the upper floor was Mika, trying to stitch together a doll that Michonne found on a run a couple months back, which nobody claimed due to its more-than-dilapidated state. Mika was the only kid who found beauty in it; just like she found beauty in everything. She was using little beads to replace the ripped sockets of the doll's eyes, scraps of fabric to piece together the threadbare dress.

Marley grinned up at her when she caught her eye, and the girl's cheeks scrunched up in delight.

"Hey, Marley!" Mika exclaimed, waving enthusiastically, "Do you like my doll?"

Marley's smile widened at the girl's fondness, "I love it. You've done a really good job, Mika. How's the dress coming along?"

"Awesomely," Mika enthused, beaming. She raised the toy into the air like Simba from the Lion King, and Marley could immediately see the outfit was patched together with scraps of lemon-yellow fabric, "Think the yellow looks good?"

"Definitely better than that horrible blue it had before," Marley told her, scrunching her nose up in reminiscence, "How'd you learn to stitch like that?"

For a moment, Mika looked longingly at the needle and thread nestled in the crook of her palm, "My Mom taught me . . . Lizzie used to break our dolls all the time, and we couldn't afford to keep buying new ones. I couldn't sleep without holding one so I learnt how to fix 'em."

Fleetingly, Marley wondered where the girl's older sister, Lizzie, was. She still hadn't worked her out quite yet. The world had changed her, that much was for certain ─ but to what degree?

Before Marley could reply to Mika's melancholic statement ─ mentioning her late mother was a big thing for the young Samuels ─ she shifted into her upbeat-self again, glancing pointedly around the cell block, "Uh, have you seen Sage?"

Marley briefly recalled glimpsing the notorious shock of blonde curls near the pig pens earlier that morning, "I think she's gone with Carl to visit the piglets."

"Oh. Please can you tell her to come and see me after?" Mika requested politely. "She said she would braid my hair."

Marley gave a complying nod, "Of course, Mika."

"Thank you!"

As Marley departed the cell block, she gave Mika a quick wave goodbye. She shouldered the courtyard door open and stepped out into the blinding sun's glare ─ a stark change to the doom and gloom inside. She threw a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight as she padded into the main courtyard. It was still quite early in the morning, so the prison's exterior was looking rather desolate. There were still a few people milling around, engaged in flurries of conversation, but not as many as Marley expected. But the days were gradually getting warmer, after all ─ warmth increased fatigue. Fatigue increased the number of people tucked up in bed after sunrise.

Almost as soon as she had breached the thick prison walls and ventured deep into the courtyard's main locale, an arm snaked around Marley's shoulders, pulling her flush against the side of the culprit's body.

A puff of warm breath tickled the shell of her ear, "Carol's looking for you."

Marley rolled her eyes and ─ with a displeased scoff ─ shoved Theo away. His arm flopped back down to his side, and his expression dropped with feigned disappointment. As of late, he'd acquired an aggravating talent for teasing her.

"You stink," Marley told him, using her pointer-finger to push him further away from her personal bubble, "Surprisingly more than usual. Have you been with the pigs?"

Theo snorted with mirth, completely unabashed at the fact she'd called him smelly, "I have, actually. They're growing fast. We'll have bacon on the menu again in the coming weeks."

"They're just babies, Theo," Marley reminded him. They walked side-by-side toward the clusters of picnic-benches, their shoulders bumping with every step, "You can't slaughter babies. Give them a chance to see the world first."

"See the world? Sure ─ in all it's dead glory." He gasped dramatically as he launched into his next sardonic remark, extending a finger beyond the prison fences, "Look, little piggies! Flesh-eating dead people! How beautiful!"

She elbowed him hard in the rib cage, "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do, but ─" He slung an arm around her shoulders and leaned heavily, vexingly, into her, "─I just love testing your patience."

"Which is wearing impossibly thin," Marley bit back, shrugging out of his arms.

"How thin?"

"Very."

"But approximately how thin?"

She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously, "What's the thinnest substance in the world?"

A new voice joined the conversation ─ seemingly from the abyss of thin air, "Graphene. And it's technically not a substance, it's a material."

Theo jumped in fright as Patrick ( a lone survivor whom Tyreese and Sasha found hiding in the cupboards of an abandoned pharmacy three months back ) crept up behind them. He was clutching a paper plate in his hand and donning a toothy grin that shifted his black-rimmed glasses to the very top of his nose.

Marley flashed the enthusiastic boy a genuine smile ─ he was the sweetest person she had ever met. He was smart beyond his years and overly polite. Neither were bad things just . . . unexpected in this world.

"Graphene?" she repeated. Patrick nodded in approval, so she turned to Theo, arching a brow at him, "Well, in that case, consider my patience on par with graphene."

"Yeah, yeah," Theo grumbled, waving her off dismissively. He redirected his attention to Patrick, eyes drifting to the empty paper-plate in his hand, "What's on the menu today, Pat? Still no bacon?"

The corner of Patrick's mouth curved down in disappointment, "Unfortunately not. We have a choice between deer or . . . squirrel. I'd very much advise you choose the former. Squirrel is an acquired taste ─ one that I'm not fond of."

"Nobody is," Marley admitted, then shrugged indifferently, "Well, nobody except Daryl."

"If you close your eyes when you eat it, I think it tastes like beef," Theo mused candidly.

At that, Marley's brow pinched, "How does closing your eyes affect the taste?"

"'Cause you can imagine it's something else."

"That didn't work for me," Patrick stated. He fidgeted with the rim of the empty paper-plate, folding it inwards, "I tried to imagine the squirrel was chicken. But the unprecedented flavour that attacked my tastebuds was very misleading."

Theo nodded in agreement, "It didn't work for me at first. You have to keep imagining. Eventually, you'll gaslight yourself to the point you think you're eating a three-course meal in a Michelin star restaurant."

An expression of disbelief crossed Patrick's face, "That doesn't sound particularly healthy. Isn't manipulation detrimental to the brain long-term?"

Theo blinked incredulously at him, "Uh ─ I don't speak genius . . . so I'll have to wager a guess and say probably?"

"His brain is already far beyond damaged," Marley added, jabbing a finger in Theo's initial direction. She reached up and knocked her knuckles against the side of his skull ─ prompting him to dramatically wince, "See? Hollow. Nothing is up there."

Patrick chuckled.

Together, they walked over to the smoking grill. Carol was standing behind it, staring pensively into the crackling flames clawing through the slats in the metal barbecue and searing the slabs of meat. She heard their footsteps before she saw them, and her head shot up, grey-eyes narrowing at the unlikely trio. It was usually Theo, Beth and Marley together ─ never with Patrick.

"Hey, you three," she said softly, beckoning them over, "Second helpings already Patrick?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Patrick waved off politely, "I'm quite full, thank you."

"Well, I could eat a horse," Theo muttered, snatching a plate off the side of the grill and loading it with scrambled eggs.

Carol grimaced as he started shovelling the food into his mouth, "We don't have that on the menu. And even if we did, I think Marley would protest."

As she filled her own plate with eggs and venison, Marley nodded, "I would. Horses are strictly forbidden, no matter how hungry we get."

"Why, may I ask?" Patrick inquired.

"Because horses aren't food. They're ─"

"─ friends," Theo interrupted, speaking through a mouthful of decimated egg, "We already know."

Marley scowled and launched a vicious slap-attack on his arm, "Patrick didn't know."

"He does now," Theo grumbled, ducking away from her assaulting hand. He rubbed his arm, pouting petulantly, "Ow. Why are you so determined to wound me?"

"It's her love language," Carol informed him, raising a comical brow.

Heat rushed to Marley's cheeks at the woman's false proclamation, "It is not."

Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by Daryl's forthcoming presence. He was like a celebrity walking across the courtyard ─ everyone stopped what they were doing just to greet him. And Daryl being Daryl, he simply grunted at them, waving his hand feebly. Marley and Carol exchanged an amused look.

"Smells good," the Dixon observed when he reached the grill, sliding himself between Marley and Theo.

"Just so you know," Carol said, loading a plate with eggs before passing it to him, "I liked you first."

Theo snorted and held out his paper plate to Daryl, "Please can I get your autograph, Daryl?"

"Stop," he grunted, tossing a chunk of venison up in the air and catching it in his mouth, "You know, Rick brought in a lot of them, too."

"Not recently," Carol reminded him, "Giving the strangers sanctuary, keeping people fed ─ you're gonna have to learn to live with the love."

Marley nudged him, a teasing smirk blooming on her lips, "Aw, Daryl. Your fan club is growing."

He rolled his eyes and gently pushed her away, "Whatever."

When Daryl met her eyes again, Carol jerked her head to the side discreetly, "I need you to see something. Theo, you wanna take over?"

He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, "I think that's a job for Patrick."

"Patrick?" Carol pried with an exasperated sigh.

The bespectacled boy darted forward as if spurred on by a sergeant, "Yes, ma'am. I'll do it. And, uh, Mr Dixon."

Daryl turned around slowly, an unsavoury expression sliding over his face.

"I just wanted to thank you for bringing that deer back yesterday," Patrick said, nervously swaying on his feet, "It was a real treat, sir. And I'd be honoured to shake your hand."

He outstretched his hand, which Daryl peered at sceptically. But, upon realising Patrick was being deadly serious, the Dixon emitted an almost indecipherable grunt. He licked his fingers, sucking the meat-juices from each one, and then slammed his palm against Patrick's ─ a handshake in the typical Daryl Dixon fashion.

Carol turned her back to hide her laughter and began to walk away. Theo snorted, and Marley's entire face screwed up in disgust.

How many germs had he just transferred to Patrick?

      · · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Over the last six-months, everyone had been making an effort to learn sign language. During group conversations, they would use it to communicate with Sage ─ to ensure she felt included. Michonne, Beth, Glenn, Carol, Tyreese and Maggie were the quickest learners of the bunch; they didn't need handbooks or lessons. They picked things up much faster than expected. Maggie could almost have full-fledged conversations with Sage, even if she did need correcting on her hand movements sometimes.

But Sage was ecstatic. She felt honoured. To have so many people willing to learn a new skill, a new language, just for her was overwhelming. She could actually talk to people without needing Marley at her side, translating things.

Since their arrival to the prison four months ago, the Samuels sisters, Mika and Lizzie, were making it their mission to learn as much ASL as humanly possible to eradicate the restrictive communication barrier. Well . . . Mika was slightly more determined than her older sister. She had the handbook ─ which Glenn managed to find in a library during a run ─ sprawled over her lap, hands shifting together in what Sage could somewhat decipher as 'my hair is blonde.'

It sparked a smile to bloom over her mouth. Her fingers weaved strands of Mika's honey hair into a tight braid, as promised. They spent much of their afternoons this way. Sage would consider the girl a friend ─ someone who made her smile.

She tied one braid off with an elastic band and flipped it over Mika's shoulder. As she started on the next one, the girl whirled around, her hands forming bizarre shapes and patterns that had Sage's mouth wobbling with unshed amusement.

She lifted her palms toward the ceiling and wriggled them side-to-side, "What?"

Mika exhaled sharply, her sepia eyes darting back down to the ASL handbook. She hoisted it up and jabbed her finger at an illustration of a cartoon-hand meticulously forming the word braid.

"Braid?" Sage signed conscientiously.

With visible joy, Mika scrunched her hand into a fist and bobbed it up and down, "Yes!"

She turned back around and signed braid over and over again, until it was well and truly seared into her memory. It would be an extremely useful ASL sign to know ─ Mika always wanted her hair braided. Her sister, Lizzie, usually sat and watched, leaving her own frazzled honey-locks untouched, but today she was MIA. Sage last saw her pacing up and down near the fences, muttering to herself as she gazed out at the abundance of walkers clinging to the mesh.

Carol assumed it was Lizzie's personal way of getting things off her chest, clearing her mind: by talking to herself. But Sage was unsure. Lizzie didn't seem the most stable. Obviously, for children growing up in this world ─ their fragile brains were going to be irreversibly altered. It took a while for the trauma to truly settle in, to warp the tainted world into a terror-plagued purgatory, but it seemed as though the horrors that Lizzie witnessed had already crystallised and hardened in her brain cells.

Unlike Mika, she possessed many burdens. Her girlhood innocence was shedding day by day, paving way for a toughened war-child that couldn't discern the difference between living and surviving. And that was no way to be. For anyone to be. A mindset like that was a one-way ticket to an insipid depository of fractured souls, where bones were reformed with stone, and hearts were replaced by ice. There was no joy to be found in that barren land ─ a lamented mind.

Despite a matter of opinions, joy did still exist in an apocalyptic world. It just had to be found.

For a period, Sage was stuck in her own lamented mind after the Governor's attack. The open wound on her throat served as a reminder of her plethora of weaknesses, her inability to protect herself, how utterly useless she was.

But once she peeled away those bandages, revealing all but a slither of white scar-tissue marring her throat, Sage packed away the boxing gloves. She stopped beating herself up over something she couldn't control. She buried it. And she stopped pinning the blame on the only person in the world who prided Sage's safety above all else.

Marley didn't deserve it ─ not back at the farm, not here at the prison, not ever. Sage knew that now. Her unsolicited cold shoulder had certainly warmed up over the last six months. Now she just felt guilty. Stupid. Why did she ever treat her own sister like that?

The Samuels sisters arrival only highlighted the necessity of holding your loved ones close. They had an unbreakable bond, further strengthening in the wake of the dead rising. Lizzie looked out for Mika, just like Marley did for Sage. She suspected that was what had prompted her to slowly gravitate toward the youngest Samuels sibling; she reminded Sage of herself.

But in the midst, she felt an urge of protectiveness over Mika, too. Her innocence was radiant, as was her unblemished soul. Something so valuable in this world had to be protected.

Sage truly didn't want Mika to end up like her. Not even months of healing could eradicate the gaping void cracking open in her chest cavity. That couldn't happen to Mika ─ it couldn't. Lizzie wasn't able to look out for her like Marley did with Sage. So, she had to prevent the worst.

She couldn't end up like her.

Lost.

                        ━━━━━━━━━━

                         AUTHORS NOTE !

short-ish chapter to kick off the start
of book 2. i thought why not have
some feel good moments before it
all shatters?? so this is what y'all have.

make the most of it. my ocs have a
tendency to fall victim to my
cunning-author ways 😌