In The Bird Song | TWD

chapter 47 - Rabid

Harlow pov

At the breakfast the atmosphere is subdued. nobody talks much, none of us seem to know what to say. Izzy stares quietly at her bowl and lethargically swirls her spoon in lazy circles through her watered-down milk. I thought she might have been exited at tasting cereal for the first time in her memory but instead she sits hunched over with glazed eyes, her feet swinging absentmindedly beneath the table.

She has barley spoken a word all morning, I asked her what was wrong but only got a shrug in response. I didn't ask again. Its obvious what she is upset about and for once, I don't think I can cheer her up.

Michonne and rick are the only ones still at the table with us since Maggie and Glenn slipped out 30 minutes ago for a 'walk.' Which was odd considering the sun had, at that point, only just peaked over the horizon. Rick and Michonne nibble silently at their toast whilst looking completely exhausted. They keep shooting subtle glares at each other in the way people only do when they have either had an argument or are about to have one. I wonder which it is. Rick himself has barley looked at me since I have arrived in this place save for the furtive glances, he keeps sending me when he thinks I'm not looking. His eyes sodden with guilt.

When I came down this morning Michonne tried to coax me into eating, and the only way I could get her to relent was by promising I would eat later. Last night after carl made his mark in the sand, I woke Izzy up and we shared the leftover half of Deanna's shitty casserole. That is more than enough sustenance to keep me going 'till tonight's dinner at the very least. I don't want to waste food needlessly just because I can, especially when I don't even know where the food is coming from, nor how I can secure more.

Beneath the table posy is munching on fatty cut offs saved from some unknown meat that I found this morning piled into a Tupperware box labelled 'dog' sat in the freezer. However, when I initially opened the container, I was confused at the sheer amount of meat inside. 'shouldn't we save these?' I asked Michonne who looked at me with in confusion before smiling. 'Nobody will want the fatty bits and posy is a big dog.' And despite the gentle tone in which she spoke, her words made me feel judged, like she thought I was trying to underfeed posy. Or perhaps that I couldn't care for her properly.

All I meant was the food could have lasted posy multiple meals, and I was hesitant to use it up all at once lest she go hungry. I felt like an idiot standing frozen and conflicted by the open freezer but my irritation rang through above all else. When we were on the road, we ate every bit of fatty, chewy, burnt, undercooked, aged, and unappealing meat we could get our hands on. This, it appeared, was another just another way my family moved on without me.

In the end however, I did end up giving posy all the meat despite every fibre of my being calling out for me not to. Not to be stupid? not to be wasteful? I don't know. But I did know that I could not allow anyone to doubt my abilities to care for my own family, not after all I've done to keep them with me.

The air is heavy in my lungs and I know I must sound like I have ran a marathon with how deeply I am breathing, but I can't help it. Every breath I take seems to never be enough whilst simultaneously being so much I think my lungs might burst from the pressure.

The air crackles around the silent table and an unfamiliar grainy voice sounds out from the radio clipped to ricks hip. I want to sneer at the stupid cop uniform he is wearing but I cannot because Michonne is dressed the same. It irks me that they are going along with Deanna's made-up jobs like two kids dutifully playing house, but I would never say such a thing to Michonne. "Rick you there?" the voice asks whilst having to battle over the rushing of the wind to be heard.