Scarlett (Rick Grimes/OC)

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

{ A few weeks later }

I wipe my forehed with the back a' my hand, cringin' when I see that it's slick with sweat. I wip my hand on my pants and start diggin' again, churnin' up the dirt beneath me with my shovel and then steppin' left ta' do the same with another patch. Sweat drips down my neck and face and my shoulders cry out in protest.

Summer came early this year, and now we're scramblin' ta' get seeds in the ground before it's too late. Every able-bodied person in the prison's been pitchin' in, even Carl and the other kids his age. Everybody's got a job, and we've been workin' from dawn 'til dusk fer the last three days. It's hot and humid, and the work is brutal and backbreakin'.

Farther back down the row I just plowed up, Carl's droppin' a couple seeds into the holes I've made. He nods at me, and a couple drops a sweat drip off his chin. He's just in a t-shirt and shorts, hat perched on his head like always. He looks exhausted, and it's only noon. I know how he feels though- I can't wait fer the lunch break so I can just sit down.

I pause ta' tale a swig a water from my canteen and then I start workin' again. Push the shove in the ground, take it out, push it in again, mix up the dirt a little, don't focus on the pain in my whole damn body, and repeat. This is what the eighth ring a' Hell is, I think to myself. Platin' crops by hand in the summer heat- yup, this is definitely the eighth ring a' Hell is. I sigh and make another hole.

{ ~~~ }

The sun cooks us like the fires a' Hell as we push on after lunch. I shed off a tank top in a fit a' frustration, and I don't even care that I'm left workin' in a thin white wife-beater and some rather short shorts. Some young guy workin' a few rows ahead a' me looks me up and down, but I just scowl at him and make another Goddamn hole in the ground. I'm sick and tired a' all this work. Now I ain't no princess- I ain't afraid of a little hard for the sake a' the group- but this is wearin' me out in the worst way. My back and legs hurts, and I got knotted muscles formin' on top a' knotted muscles 'cause I've been workin' long day after long day. Better still, I've got a nice sunburn comin' up on the back a' my neck and I've sweat through my clothes. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.

I keep workin' in a fowl mood 'til Hershel and Rick call that it's time ta' be done fer the day. I peel off my gardenin' gloves and shake out my hands, wincin' when I straighten my back up and roll my neck. Carl comes siddlin' up next ta' me, and I manage a strained smile.

"I think I'll scream if we gotta work like that all day tomorra'," Carl grumbles. He snatches his hat off his head and shake his real fast, makin' a few beads a' sweat fly off the damp ends of his hair. A little splashes on my arm, but I hardly care; I'm just as sweaty as he is, and I quite frankly find it within myself ta' give a damn about anythin' other than eatin' some dinner, showerin', and then goin' ta' bed. Honestly, I don't even care if dinner's good. Eatin' dirt sounds fine ta' me, long as it fills my stomach.

"Carl," I sigh, "I'm with you. The sun's fried my head and my neck, and everythin' hurts." Carl nods and rolls his shoulders.

"I don't think my back's ever gonna be the same," Carl mutters. I laugh at him while he rubs his lower back and sling an arm around his shoulders. My muscles tell me not ta' do this, and I quickly drop my arm, sighin' and sayin', "You're young and you're gonna heal. I'll be feelin' these three or four days fer the rest a' my natural life." Carl grins at me and I grin back, feelin' a little less homicidal now.

Everybody eats dinner fast and then hits the showers. I decide ta' wait even though I feel, smell, and look like a bag a' smashed assholes. I just wanna be alone while I take a long shower, and I don't want anybody tellin' me ta' hurry up.