𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

          𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌 "Curiosity killed the cat"? Often times Casey heard it when she was little because she used to hear to find things that weren't exactly her business. Like when her parents would fight she'd sit by the door, or on the stairs. When Carl in trouble for getting a bad grade or showing attitude and she'd listen in. But in the end, Rick and Lori would find out and she'd get in trouble for eavesdropping. Casey was oftentimes the cat in that term and her curiosity got her into a lot of trouble.

Right now it was at least.

While everyone was focused on helping Hershel, she'd snuck out of the cell block. Carl had stupidly placed the keys near the bars and she'd taken them, unlocking the cell door and leaving. Nobody had seemed to noticed because they were focused on Hershel.

She followed the dirty footsteps to where everyone else had gone off to, specifically T-Dog, Daryl, and Rick. They'd gone outside, where there were basketball hoops. She'd discovered she hadn't been on this side of the prison yet.

She snuck over to the fence, trying to be as quiet as possible as she listened into the conversation.

There were a few men she didn't know. One was a larger man, actually very tall. The rest were short and lanky. One was bald, the other had a mustache, and he one had a mustache and really really long hair and tattoos. That was the one who asked "Where ya headed?" Rick didn't hesitate to answer that question.

"For now, nowhere." He answered, staring the man down. Casey was watching intently. There was so much tension in the air between her group and the prisoners it made her uneasy.

It was quiet for a couple of moments, the only thing heard was rustling trees and fences as they looked around. Casey was doing her best to hide behind the small wall before the fence started, and so far it was working.

"I guess you can take that stead down there near the water. Should be comfortable." The man pointed in the direction where the group had settled on making a field for crops, which is what Rick later added to that statement.

"We're using that field for crops."

The man wasn't satisfied by that answer. "We'll help you move your gear out." He pushed, acting as if he own the place.

"That won't be necessary. We took out these walkers. This prison is ours." Rick said firmly, which clearly seemed to ruffle some feathers.

"Slow down, cowboy." The long haired man said as another one of the prisoners stepped forward, right next to him.

"You snatched the locks off our doors." The shorter man spoke, pointing a finger at him.

"We'll give you new locks if that's how you want it." If the situation wasn't so serious and dangerous, Casey would have laughed at what Rick just said. But, she didn't. She kept herself consoled, watching the situation go on.

"This is our prison. We were here first." The long haired man let his arms go out as he said this, trying to get Rick and the rest of the group to leave.

Rick wouldn't budge. He wasn't afraid of these guys, he was a cop for god's sake. "Locked in a broom closet?" Rick scoffed, "We took it, set you free. It's ours. We spilled blood." Rick said harshly, getting into his face.

"We're moving back into our cell block." The man shot back at him, almost as stubborn as Rick was.

"You'll have to get your own."

"It is mine. I've still got personal artifacts in there. That's about as mine as it gets.l The man pulled a gun out, which made Daryl take out his crossbow and point it right at him. T-Dog grabbed his gun and stepped forward.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Maybe let's try to make this work out so everybody wins." The tall lanky man with the mustache said, getting in between Rick and the longhaired man.

"I don't see that happening." The long haired man said.

"Neither do I." Rick agreed, which shocked Casey because she didn't think they'd agree on anything.

"I ain't goin' back in that cafeteria for one more minute." The long haired man said, glaring at Rick, which just earned Rick glaring right back at him.

"There are other cell blocks." The mustache man added.

"You could leave." Daryl said, not letting his crossbow down, nor did he let his guard. Casey played with her bandana, slightly worried about this whole situation. "Try your luck out on the road." He added.

There was silence before the long haired man spoke up. "If these three pussies can do all this, least we can do is take out another cell block." Casey didn't know how much she liked the idea of them being in the same place as her, because she didn't know why they were in prison. If they killed a guy, stole, maybe tax fraud. If it was tax fraud or stealing something she wouldn't care much. But, she didn't like the idea with sleeping in the same place as guys who killed people. But, she learned that there's motive. And if you have a good motive, maybe you had a good reason for killing a person...

"With what?" The tall, big man asked.

"Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons. Won't you, boss?" Rick seemed to be contemplating something as the long haired man asked that.

"How stocked is that cafeteria? It must have plenty of food. Five guys lasting almost a year?" Rick questioned, starting to bring up a deal.

"It sure as hell don't look like anybody's been starving." Daryl put in.

"There's only a little left." said the long haired man.

"We'll take half. In exchange, we'll help clear out a cell block." Casey stared through the fence, inching the slightest bit closer.

"Didn't you hear him? There's only a little left." The short man said.

"Bet you got more food than you got choices. You pay, we'll play. We'll clear out a block for you, then you keep it." Rick offered.

Nobody seemed to argue with that.

"All right."

"But let's be clear—if we see you out here anywhere near our people, if I so much as even catch a whiff of your scent, I will kill you." Rick got back into the man's face, who suddenly seemed to start smirking at Rick's threat.

"Even the little girl back there?" Rick turned around and Daryl lifted his arrow at the man incase he tried anything.

Casey went wide eyed as Rick looked at her. She knew she'd be in trouble now... "I will say, she's a cute little thing. Ain't she, Atlanta?" Rick turned around so fast Casey thought he could've gotten whiplash. He pointed a gun at the man's head, pushing it into his forehead.

"You say anything about her again I'll blow your damn head off. Hell, if you even look at my daughter I'll kill you. Got that?" Rick asked as Casey took a step back from the fence. The man didn't answer Rick, he just stood there. "I said you got that?" Rick pushed the gun further into his head.

All the man did was nod...

"Stay with these guys for a minute." Rick said, walking over to the stairs where Casey was. She played with the bandana.

"Well talk later, get your ass back to the cell block. Now. I don't wanna see you next to those guys, you got it?" Casey felt like it was the Randall situation again. Don't go near them, don't go near where they are. Don't talk to them. Stay the hell away. "Casey," She looked at him. "Got it?" He asked once again. She nodded her head.

"I'm sorry." Rick nodded his head, sighing.

"Back to the cell block, we'll talk later."

Curiosity really did kill the cat, or in this case, curiosity killed Casey Grimes.

                       𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Casey was sitting cross-legged next to Beth, leaning in just a little, trying to be a presence that felt comforting. Beth's face was drawn, her eyes red and watery, focused intently on the pile of Hershel's pants she was cutting up. She had a sort of mechanical determination about it, snipping precisely through the left pant leg on each pair, leaving the right untouched. Casey knew that determination all too well—it was like watching yourself focus on a task to keep from breaking down completely. She'd been here before, more or less, sitting and waiting, not knowing if her own dad would survive, and now she was here again, just this time, to help someone else feel a little less alone.

"Hey, Beth?" Casey asked softly, tugging at the laces of her scuffed-up shoes, feeling the gritty texture under her fingers. Beth glanced over, managing a tight-lipped smile, but her face still held that ache Casey recognized. She bit her lip, looking at Casey, waiting for whatever she had to say.

"I know you probably think I'm crazy—" Casey started, feeling like her words were a bit clumsy, like she was still figuring out the right way to do this.

Beth quickly shook her head, her hand pausing on the fabric. "No, no, it's just—" She took a quick breath, a soft waver in her voice. "Do you want to help? I mean, if you want to. It'll be easier, maybe, when he...wakes up." She handed Casey a pair of scissors, her fingers a little shaky, and then passed her a pair of pants to work on.

Casey accepted the scissors, testing their weight in her hand before starting on the fabric. She glanced over at Beth, seeing the glint of tears in her eyes. "You know, before all this, my dad got shot, too," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "We all thought he was gone... But somehow, he made it. It took weeks of waiting, and we didn't even have doctors around like your dad does." She glanced over at Beth, trying to give a reassuring smile, though she wasn't sure it would help much. "But your dad has Carol here, and she's learned so much from him. That's gotta count for something."

Beth's shoulders relaxed just a bit as she gave a soft smile. Casey couldn't tell if it was genuine or if Beth was just too tired to hold back her feelings. But it was something. She let out a small, shaky laugh as she finished the last few snips. "I accidentally cut off the right leg this time," she chuckled, half covering her mouth as if to catch herself.

Casey grinned, nudging her a bit. "Well, he'll just have to wear 'em backward, then," she joked, lightening the air a bit, and Beth's chuckle turned into a real laugh.

"Maybe my dad'll let Glenn go out on a supply run once things settle here," Casey added, the hope in her voice clear. "He could get your dad some new pants. Real ones, without all these cuts."

Beth squeezed Casey's shoe in gratitude, her fingers lingering for a second as if to pass on some strength she'd been holding. "And maybe they'll find you some shoes too. Those look about two sizes too small."

Casey let out a laugh, pretending to wiggle her cramped toes inside the worn-out shoes. "Yeah, my toes are crammed in here." Her laugh was a little louder than she expected, but it made Beth smile in a way that seemed a bit more real, a bit brighter.

After a while, Beth picked up another pair of pants, folding them carefully, and looked over at Casey. "You don't have to do this, you know," she said gently, brushing a hand over Casey's messy braids. Casey shrugged, the gesture small but firm.

"Hershel saved my life," she murmured, focusing on the pants she was folding. "When I got shot, he was there. He didn't even hesitate. I'm not a doctor, but I can cut up and fold pants." She gave Beth a little smile. "Feels like the least I can do."

Beth gave her a soft smile, a gratitude in her gaze that seemed to come from somewhere deep. She didn't say anything more, but Casey could feel it, the way Beth was starting to relax, like someone had taken a bit of the weight off her shoulders, even if just for a moment.

Eventually, Beth got up, giving Casey's shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading down to see her dad. Casey didn't mind. She knew what it felt like to just want to be close to someone when you didn't know what was going to happen. She remembered practically living in the hospital when her own dad was there, doing whatever it took to stay by his side as much as possible.

And for a while, Casey just stayed there, folding and snipping away, knowing she'd be there for Beth and Maggie as long as she was needed. Hershel had given her a second chance at life, and if her small gestures could return even a bit of that kindness, she'd do it.

Casey folded up Hershel's pants and placed them neatly on the edge of his bunk, glancing around the cell with a mix of hesitation and determination. The prison's dim light filtered through the bars, casting faint shadows. She heard a sudden knock on the metal bars and turned to see Carl standing there, his expression unreadable but his eyes focused.

"Casey?" he asked, stepping inside, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" She tilted her head, wondering what he could want.

Carl looked down at the floor, kicking at a loose rock, before meeting her eyes. "Can you help me with something? For Hershel?"

She didn't need more explanation; she simply nodded and stepped toward him, leaving the folded clothes behind.

Following Carl's lead through the cell block, she felt a prickling unease settle into her spine. Leaving the block meant venturing into the darkened halls of the prison, filled with the unknown. But how could she say no? Hershel had done so much for her—and everyone else. If he needed her help, she wasn't about to back down.

They moved in silence, the faint sound of Carl's keys jingling against his belt echoing ominously. Casey gripped her knife tightly, eyes scanning the shadows that lingered at the end of each hallway. The prison was cold, damp, and smelled faintly of rust and decay.

"Carl," she whispered, her voice low enough not to disturb the silence, "do you think this is a bad idea? I mean, what if we're outnumbered?"

Carl didn't slow down, just gave a quick shrug, glancing over his shoulder. "I mean, we're fast, right? We've got weapons, and we know how to handle walkers. We've done it before."

Casey nodded slowly but couldn't shake her unease. "But there's only two of us. When Hershel got bit, there were what, seven people with him? I mean, dad and everyone barely got out!" She whispered.

Carl stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his face hardened, eyes narrowed. "Do you wanna help Hershel or not?"

She met his gaze and nodded firmly. "Of course I do. He helped me when I got shot."

Carl's expression softened, a faint flicker of understanding passing between them. "Right, then. Stop overthinking it. We're just here to help him, that's all." He continued walking, adding, "And no offense, but Hershel's...well, he's old. He probably couldn't handle the walkers as well as us."

Casey shot him a sharp look. "Don't finish that thought—it's gonna make you sound like an asshole." He smirked, brushing off her comment as they continued down the dark hallway. "Is that it?" She pointed to a room, Carl opened the door, then shaking his head.

"No, it's a boiler room I think." He answered, she nodded her head as they continued down the hall.

As they turned another corner, the stale air grew thicker, carrying a faint, metallic tang of blood. The walls were smeared with long-dried crimson streaks, reminders of past battles. Casey's stomach tightened at the sight, and she realized she was holding her breath, listening intently for any movement beyond their own footsteps.

Then, they heard it—the faint, unmistakable shuffling of feet.

Without a word, Casey and Carl exchanged a quick glance, drawing their weapons. Casey adjusted her grip on her knife, her heart pounding as she scanned the hall. Three walkers staggered into view, their hollow eyes locking onto the two young figures.

Casey lunged forward, plunging her knife into the skull of the closest walker. She grunted as she pulled it free, stumbling back to steady herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carl take down another walker with a quick, clean shot from his pistol. The echo of the gunshot ricocheted down the hallway, filling the silence with a heavy, unnerving reminder of just how exposed they were.

She barely had time to think before a third walker lunged at her. She ducked, slashing upward to bury her knife into its skull. But just as she wrenched her blade free, she heard her name echo through the hall.

"Casey."

Her head whipped around instinctively, thinking it was Carl calling her. The sudden distraction was a mistake.

The walker she had just stabbed was somehow still moving, its bloodshot eyes locked onto her. In a swift, jerking motion, it lunged forward, reaching out for her. She froze, feeling her heart slam in her chest.

A deafening shot rang out, and the walker dropped, inches from her. Casey felt the splatter of warm blood across her face as Carl's pistol smoked in his hand, his expression tense but relieved.

"Gross," she muttered, wiping at her face. She was still catching her breath when something caught her eye—a faded red cross painted on the wall, next to an arrow pointing toward a door just down the hall.

"Hey! I think I found it!" she said, gesturing toward the door.

Carl looked at her with a hint of frustration, probably wondering why she had stopped attacking the walker mid-fight, but he quickly shook it off and nodded, heading down the hallway with her.

They moved cautiously, stepping over the fallen walkers as they approached the door. The sign read "Infirmary," with a rusty padlock hanging off the handle.

Carl pulled out his keys, his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with the lock. Casey kept her back to him, knife ready, eyes scanning the hall for any more walkers. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward them, every creak in the building an ominous warning.

With a click, Carl unlocked the door, and they slipped inside. The infirmary was dark, the few windows covered in grime and dust, casting only faint patches of light across the room. Metal shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of antiseptics, bandages, and other supplies.

"We should take as much as we can," Casey whispered, grabbing a nearby bag and quickly stuffing it with gauze, painkillers, and anything that looked remotely useful. Carl did the same, moving through the shelves methodically.

As they gathered the supplies, Casey couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking just outside.

"I thought you were organizing the food,," Glenn said, eyes narrowing as he took in Carl and then shifted his gaze to Casey. "And, Casey, what the hell happened to your face?" He gestured toward the smudges of blood and grime streaked across her cheek.

Casey quickly wiped her face with the bandana tied around her wrist, realizing she still had traces of walker blood clinging to her skin. She shot Glenn a quick, almost embarrassed look before Carl stepped forward with a grin.

"Even better," Carl replied with a sense of pride, swinging the bag forward and dropping it on the floor with a small thud. He pushed open the door to Hershel's cell and walked inside. "Check it out,"

Carol was the first to react. Her eyes widened as she dropped to her knees beside the bag, sifting through its contents. She pulled out bandages, gauze, and a variety of other supplies they'd scrounged from the infirmary. Relief flooded her face, her shoulders visibly relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. She looked up at Carl, her voice soft but urgent.

"Where did you get all this?" she asked, her hands clutching a roll of bandages. There was a glimmer of hope in her expression, like this small bag might just be enough to keep Hershel fighting a little longer.

"The infirmary," Carl said casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "There wasn't much left, but we cleared it out."

Lori's face morphed from shock to outright disbelief. She stepped forward, arms crossed, her eyes flicking between Carl and Casey. "You two went out there by yourselves?"

Casey met her mother's gaze, a touch of defiance in her posture. She nodded firmly. "Yeah, we did."

Lori's face drained of color as she tried to process it. Her voice, tight with a mix of anger and fear, came out harsher than she'd intended. "Are you two insane?" She glanced at Casey, disappointment and worry etched into every line of her face. It was one thing for Carl to take such risks, but Casey—she had specifically been told to stay put. Lori's frustration spilled over, unable to hide her fear.

Carl shrugged off her reaction, his tone nonchalant. "It's no big deal. We took down four walkers together." His voice was light, almost dismissive, as if he had done this a hundred times before. But Lori's eyes widened even further, horror filling them as she absorbed what he'd just said.

"Four walkers? Just the two of you?" Lori's voice was trembling now, caught between disbelief and anger. "Do you two understand what you did? The risks you took?"

Carl's face hardened, his eyes narrowing. "We needed supplies, so we went and got them," he said flatly, refusing to back down.

Lori sighed, clearly struggling to keep her composure. "I appreciate that, but—"

"Then get off my back!" Carl cut her off, his tone sharp, almost daring her to challenge him. The silence that followed was thick, like a heavy weight pressing down on the room. Everyone froze, the tension crackling as Lori stared at her son, stunned by the defiance in his voice. Even Casey looked taken aback, her expression betraying her shock. Carl had always been close to his mom, always followed her lead, but lately, he'd been pulling away, pushing boundaries and challenging her at every turn.

The silence stretched on until Beth, standing quietly by Hershel's bedside, finally spoke up, her gentle voice suddenly sharp with disapproval. "Carl! She's your mother; you can't talk to her like that." She looked at him with an intensity that surprised everyone. Casey noticed it too—Beth had always been so soft-spoken, a calming presence, but right now, there was an unmistakable firmness in her voice that left no room for argument.

Carl looked down at Beth, visibly surprised, as if he hadn't expected her to say anything, let alone raise her voice. Casey felt the tension too, the sudden quiet pressing down on her as she rocked back and forth on her feet, shifting uncomfortably.

"Listen, both of you," Carol began, trying to ease the tension, "I think it's great that you want to help, but—"

But before she could finish, Carl turned on his heel and stormed out of the cell, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he disappeared into the shadows. Casey stood in place, her gaze falling to the floor as the weight of what they'd done finally settled over her. She swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in her throat.

"Mom?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Lori looked up, her eyes softening slightly as she met her daughter's gaze. Casey took a small, shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

Lori let out a slow sigh, nodding as she placed a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Sweetheart, your father told you not to go off alone. Do you understand what could've happened out there?" Her voice wavered, her anger giving way to fear, the reality of what her children had risked gnawing at her. "I don't know what would possess you to do something like that."

Casey nodded, guilt washing over her as she absorbed her mother's words. "I know, Mom. And I shouldn't have done it. I'm really sorry." She paused, glancing back at the door Carl had just left through. "It was a stupid idea, and it won't happen again. I promise."

Lori's face softened as she reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Casey's face. "Alright," she said quietly, the hint of relief in her voice evident. "Just...don't do that to me again. Please."

Casey gave her a solemn nod, the weight of her promise hanging heavily in the air.

                      𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋. His breathing had stopped, and for a terrifying moment, they thought they'd lost him. Lori had acted quickly, her face strained with effort and fear until she had learned that she saved his life.

When Rick returned, Hershel was lying still, his skin pale, but the fever was gone. And then, to everyone's astonishment, he started to stir. His breathing returned, shallow but steady, and faint mutters slipped from his lips, fragments of words lost in a whisper. But it was enough to fill the room with a hope none of them had dared to hold onto.

Slowly, Hershel's eyes opened, blinking as he adjusted to the dim light. Casey's heart swelled as she watched, a grin spreading across her face as she heard Maggie and Beth gasp and say their father's name in soft, trembling voices. Rick reached down and uncuffed Hershel's wrist from the bed, the dull clink of metal echoing in the room.

Then, something surprising happened. Hershel, still weak and barely coherent, lifted his hand toward Rick, reaching out in a gesture of gratitude. Rick seemed momentarily caught off guard but then clasped Hershel's hand in a firm handshake, a quiet understanding passing between them. Maggie and Beth hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to each other, sharing a moment of relief after a day of fear and helplessness.

Hershel's strength faded quickly, and he drifted back into sleep, his breathing now deep and steady. Rick gently motioned for Maggie and Beth to come closer, allowing them to hold their father's hand. Casey watched, her face glowing with a smile, overjoyed that Hershel had come through against all odds. For the first time, a sense of peace filled the room, like a weight lifted from all of their shoulders.

Later, when the sun went down and everyone was going to get to sleep, Casey retreated to her cell. After all they'd been through, Lori had made sure she got cleaned up, and now her hair was freshly washed and free of the grime and sweat from earlier. Lori had even braided it neatly, securing it so it wouldn't get tangled in her sleep, something Casey appreciated more than she let on.

She looked up, and there stood Rick, leaning against the doorway, his face unreadable but his eyes fixed on her in that familiar, discerning way.

Casey played with her bandana, already anticipating a lecture. She knew she was in for it this time; she'd been scolded enough by Lori earlier. Still, she couldn't shake a small flicker of pride for what she and Carl had managed to do. Rick stepped into her cell, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, something that shocked Casey.

"You know what they call people who commit the same crime more than once?" he asked, folding his arms as he looked down at her.

Casey tilted her head, pretending to think about it, but couldn't help the small grin forming on her face. She shrugged, watching as he moved closer, sitting down on her bed beside her. "A repeat offender," he said, giving her a gentle nudge on the knee. "And you, Casey Quinn Grimes, are a repeat offender." Casey glanced down at her hands as she tried not to smile, but Rick saw right through her. "Going out on your own not once, but twice? Specifically after I told you not to?" He questioned, she shrugged, her smile fading.

"Sorry," she apologized, shrugging her shoulders.

"Don't do it again, or we're gonna have consequences. You got that?" She nodded her head in understanding.

Rick let off his serious demeanor and sighed. He patted the bed beside him, signaling for her to lie down. "Alright, time for bed," he said, lifting the corner of her sleeping bag as an invitation.

"Since when do I have a bedtime?" she teased, sliding under the cover as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Rick chuckled softly, tucking the edge of the sleeping bag around her. "Since I said so," he replied, the hint of a grin breaking through. Casey nestled into the pillow, watching as he adjusted her covers to make sure she was comfortable.

"Tomorrow morning, you're helpin' clean up around here," Rick told her firmly, raising his eyebrows as if daring her to protest. Casey only nodded, already knowing he wasn't about to budge. "Maybe if you hadn't snuck out twice you wouldn't have to."

Casey held his gaze, her lips curving into a faint smile, and nodded. "Yeah, I got it," she replied softly, watching as he brushed a few loose curls from her forehead. She could feel the warmth of his hand, the steady, calming presence that she relied on so much.

Rick's face grew serious, and he sighed, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Listen to me, Casey. I hear that you've gone out alone again, and we're going to have a real problem. You understand?"

Casey nodded, seeing the worry etched into his eyes and realizing how much it had scared him. "Uh huh,"

Rick's expression softened, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Casey Q," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

"Love you, too, Dad," she replied, her eyes already beginning to grow heavy as she felt the comfort of his presence beside her.

Rick stayed by her side for a few minutes longer, his hand resting on her shoulder as he watched her drift off to sleep, the faintest of smiles on his face as he saw the peace that had settled over her. And for that moment, as he sat there beside his daughter, he felt a rare and quiet sense of relief, knowing they were all safe, even if only for tonight.

                      𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A/N:

i'm not gonna lie, i really do like how i wrote this chapter. it honestly took FOREVER, but i feel like it's the best writing i've done in awhile. i feel like highschool english is helping me soooo much more as i continue to do this and it's definitely a HUGE help.