Junebug • TWD

53. Things I Don't Say.

"Junebug!"

Gosh. I do not like that sound at this time in the morning. And by that sound, I'm talking about my daddy's voice calling out my name. At other times of the day, sure, I'd like it just fine. But not in the morning. Not when I can already smell the food cooking outside. The food that is just so, so gross. No offense to Carol.

"C'mon, girl." He's in my room now, drumming on my desk three times. "Breakfast time. Let's go." I let out an annoyed groan, making sure it's loud enough for him to hear it. He comes over to my bed and pulls my notebook out of my hands, pencil and all. "You can keep writin' later. Mom's waitin' for ya."

I've been writing a lot a lot lately. Mostly notes to people. Even some alive people. Just things that I can't really say out loud to their face, so that I can get it out of my head. Mostly the type of stuff that keeps me up thinking about at night. If I don't get it out of my head, then I'll never sleep again, and there are lots of things I need out of my head that I just can't tell anyone. Except for my journal. My journal gets to know all of the things in my head because only I get to see it.

"I don't wanna eat that, Dad. I can smell it already and it ain't smellin' good," I murmur, getting up off of my mattress. "Don't tell Carol I said that."

"The protein's good for ya. And we're runnin' low on food right now, so you're just gonna have to settle, Juni." I hate settling. And I hate running low on food, because running low on food means running low on choice.

I ain't much of a meat-eating girl no more. I used to not mind some kinds of meat, like chicken nuggets or even fish sometimes, which I know is real surprising. But since we had to eat meat when we were on the road for so long, I started hating it more than anything. And for a while, we had a whole bunch of other foods from the cafeteria in the prison that I could eat. But now that we've got soooo many people staying in the prison, we're all out of the cafeteria food.

Mostly, now, we eat meat my dad brings back, vegetables Rick's been growing with Hershel, and sometimes we eat some other foods that Michonne brings back for us. She's still out looking for the Governor, who disappeared. Anyway, she hasn't been bringing back much food lately because all the food nearby we already took.

All this goes to say that my choices are getting pretty limited. And that totally sucks. It sucks times a thousand.

"Venison ain't so bad. You'll get through it," Dad tells me as we start walking through the cell block.

"I'll suffer through it. And then I'll barf. And I'll do it on your shoes just 'cause you're the one makin' me eat it in the first place," I murmur. It's mostly as a joke, but it's also because I am a bit annoyed.

"You barf on my shoes, I'll put worms in your bed," Dad teases, poking me in the side.

"That's not even a lil' bit funny," I say, even though I have to say it through giggles. "Plus, you'd be killin' the worms 'cause they need dirt and all. And worms deserve to live. They help grow things. That's what Hershel says."

When we step outside, which is where everyone's sitting around eating their venison (barf), a bunch of heads turn to look at us. Everyone's smiling. People have been smiling around here a lot. It's nice.

"Mornin', Daryl," Dr. S says, waving at us. "Mornin', June."

"'Sup, Dr. S?" Dad replies.

"Good morning," I say, waving back at him.

"Morning, Daryl!"

"Mornin', Daryl. Mornin', Juniper."

"Hey, Daryl!"