Two weeks after the Woodbutts arrived, I start making friends. About half a month in with them staying, I've grown closer to them.

There's this guy my age, Jacks, he originally wasn't from Woodbury. He doesn't think Walkers are not dangerous like the other kids. I mean, Zay is okay too when it comes to walkers after Carl lectured some kids on naming the Walkers. She will literally listen to Carl and do whatever it takes to meet his expectations.

He obviously doesn't have very high expectations though.

Exhibit A: Me.

But we don't believe in high expectations because, well, the world had ended.

But Zaylee gets annoying, especially to me.

You won't believe what she did today.

I aim my bow at the deer in the woods. Daryl has his crossbow up too, in case I miss; which is extremely unlikely.

I steady my bow and breathe. I pull back the arrow with the string with three fingers and release, careful not to put my bow down too early and effect the string's vibrations.

I hit the deer in the neck and it yelps, but doesn't yet fall down. Daryl fires, killing it for good. "Nice one, sis." He says and I nod.

"You too, dude." I smile and we approach our game. "It's a big one," I say and Daryl nods,

"Yup, I'll get 'em back." Daryl heaves the limp deer over his shoulder with a grunt. I stand there, staring at the rays of sunlight shafting and filtering through the green leaves of the forest, I adjust my backpack strap as I gaze awestruck at some positives of nature. "Ya coming?" Daryl asks as he peers back over his free shoulder at me.

I nod, not taking my eyes off of the magnificent lighting. "Yeah, just go ahead. I'll catch up soon." I tell him and he shrugs.

"Alright, don't take long, Em. And careful." He warns and I nod. He walks off back towards the prison and I shrug off my backpack.

I lay my backpack down against a log and extract my sketchbook and pencil from it. I lean against my backpack and draw.

I draw with elaborate, amazing detail.

During that time, there is no Zaylee, no walkers, no Governor, no burdens.

I finish and tuck my supplies into my backpack. I equip my backpack and bow, then sprint back to the prison so people don't get worried that I'm taking so long.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-----—-

When I get back to the prison, Daryl is already working on the deer. My bestie, Jacks, approaches me.

"Hey, you're back!" He says and I half-hug him. He's been my supply run partner when Carl worked the farm. His hair is the same dark shade as mine, like dark chocolate; his eyes venom green.

"Since when did I not come back?" I ask jokingly.

Jacks shrugs. "Hmm, well, these days you can never tell if someone's coming back or not." He replies ruefully as we walk back into the prison together.

I nod while rolling my eyes. "So optimistic of you to say that." I comment.

Jacks nods. "I know, right?" He turns to me. "Well, it's time for my shift. I'll see you later."

I nod. "See ya." I say and we both walk off in separate ways.

I head to my cell and brush aside the privacy sheets. I gasp in horror. My drawings I had hung up are gone!

WTF!?

I search my cell frantically, finding no trace.

SOMEONE CALL THE CSI, FBI, SOME SORT OF POLICE FORCE, MY ART IS MISSING!

"Wow Zay, that's so amazing." A voice says down the hallway,

I freeze. Carl's deep voice is unmistakable.

And I'm thinking: I swear if this scenario is the scenario I am thinking of—

"We're you an artist before everything?" Carl asks and I slap a hand to my forehead.

Dafuq? That little bi—

"Yeah, and I used to have lots of spare time at Woodbury since I'm horrible at shooting." Zay says all "cute"-like.

I'm just mad a Zay for FrEAKing STEALING my ART!

I need something to punch, but Daryl doesn't let me punch him when I'm mad anymore.

I look to my pillow like: Hey pillow, can I beat you up?

And pillow's like: why the freak not.