A/N: This is just something my friend and I cooked up, and he wanted me to post it. He's terminally ill, and so I let myself be bossed around by him. He really liked fiction and shit, and right now, with whiskey and cigarettes, I find solace.

Ramblings of a Warped Mind: The Intersection Between

Weird and Wicked.

Chapter 1: Chesire

I'm trying to not cry right now.

But seriously, I'm being chased by my brother. And that is not good. I don't like it when my brother chases me. Especially when he wants to eat me alive.

So, no. I don't like what's happening to me right now, and I do not appreciate my being chased by a zombie. It's not that fun, like in the games, you know. In my mind, if there was ever going to be a zombie apocalypse, I'm going to be that super cool person that cuts of zombie heads with my bare hands, but right now, I'm kinda regretting that I'm not. So, I'm going to.. uh summarize why this happened.

I was walking to—no, I was on my skateboard. I was skating over towards Wal-Mart, where my brother wanted me to pick up some.. stuff. For him. As the ever responsible and stupid sibling, I did go there, only to find when I get home that my brother wanted to eat me. Alive. And I try to talk to him, thinking he was just high from weed, some shit like that. Anyhoo, I ran towards the bathroom, closing the door behind me and locking it- hey, is that Brittany from school? Uh, returning to my.. story, so I got into the loo, picking up a rubber duck. I don't know why, though. So I throw it away, getting the toilet lid instead. He was breaking the door down, and I was proud for him, I never knew he had it in him. He was incredibly scrawny, and he couldn't break that door down if he was just his normal self. Trust me. So, he broke it down, and as I always see in zombie movies, I hit it on the head. Well, bash, actually. I tear up a little, but quickly gain my resolve it when I remembered he was a heartless son of a bitch and he always woke me up with a bucket of cold water and put Jalapeño in my cereal.

So, yeah. I hate my brother.

But he's still alive for some reason, maybe because the lid broke first before his head did. So that brings us to my current predicament:

I can't seem to shake my brother off.

I run to the woods, which is actually not a bad idea, and I have a few pros and cons about it. I'll send you a PD- oh yeah. Zombie apocalypse. I'll just recite it instead.

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE I'M FUCKIN' GOING!"

There. And I just remembered one more thing I learned from zombie movies. Noise attracts them. Damn. I climb up a tree, 'cause I don't have anymore better ideas, but it actually helps me, 'cause they can't climb and I'm safe and sound up here. I can't believe I don't have anything but my skateboard with me. I'm so stupid. And it's down... there. I look down, actually groaning in exasperation when I see my brother with a few other buddies. I'm proud of him again, 'cause he's not actually a social butterfly, and what do you know? It only takes a zombie apocalypse for him to make BFFs.

And people say I think too much. Meh.

At some point, I fell asleep, one of my legs dangling in mid air. Good thing I was wearing borrowed (which may or may not mean I have stolen them) jeans, or my leg will be a beautiful sight of flesh, meat and veins. Not exactly pretty, yeah? I pull up my legs, and look down at the persistent little shits, feeling incredibly unique and well, alone. I've always been alone, be it Fireside Girls, Dodge ball, even Xbox live.

I'm pathetic.

The sun is rising, so that means I've been in this tree like a chipmunk for a day. I climb up higher, for my brother and his homies to not see me anymore, but I doubt myself. My hair is practically a beacon to them, being an annoying red color. I'm ginger, don't judge, you pieces of shit. Okay, while I'm up here, I'll tell you all about me.

The names' Gail 'Ale' Parker. Age: 23. Parents: deceased. Eye color: blue and grey.(hetero-chromatic. Cool, right?)hair color: blood red. It's weird. Others, Nah. You probably don't want to know about that. I'm-was-majoring in history, but nobody likes history except old, bald men. I was born in Florida, but when my parents died, my brother, John Parker took me in Georgia, Macon. My life wasn't rainbows and sunshine. At all. My parents was abusive, my brother loved pot, I had to pay for my own schooling. Kinda sad. But I had a distraction from all of that.

Yeah, video games.

Predictable, yeah? I'm actually one of those people that pretend they're a guy, online. For equality, kudos. And I think I'm hallucinating 'cause the zambies- that's what I'm going to call them- are calling me. They're like "Girl," and I'm sure zambies don't talk. And most certainly the don't have sexy southern accent. "Girl!"

"My name is not 'girl', zambie. Leave me alone, and let me be insane," I deadpan, closing my eyes a bit. Yeah, a nap would be really, really good right now. "GIRL!" I jump up, almost falling from my tree when the zambies shout- hey. There's a person there.

I'm going fucking insane.

"Get down there fore' the geeks go down on us." I look at him, not believing my eyes. "Nuh-uh. I'm going to die here. 'Cause I'm going insane and I'm- you're really a person?" The man eyed me with those brown eyes, and I notice he has a crossbow.

Cool, a crossbow!

"Girl, do I not look like a person to yah'? Is yer standards that high?" he snapped, looking around possibly for zambies. "Don't get your panties up on a bunch, I'm goin', I'm goin'" I hastily, carefully go down the tree, and- the fucking branch broke.

"SWEET BABY JESUS!" I scream, flailing my arms around for a grip, or something that might save my life. I hit my head on a particulary hard branch, and I see stars. Sadly, finding no branch in my concussed state, I just close my eyes, telling myself to immediately go to the light if I ever saw it.

"Easy, Carrot Top."

I open my eyes to find myself in the muscly arms of the man, immediately feeling blood rush up to my cheeks. I kinda wanna pass out right now. "Please don't— don't call me that," I get out of his hold, saving what was left of my dignity.

In this case, was none.

"Let's go," he said suddenly, his eyes alert and his hand pulling mine along. I feel like a school girl for god's sake. I let him drag me along, my mind in a haze. I really have a concussion. "Stop. Mr.." I slur, the surroundings swirling in a nauseous vortex, and I drop to my knees, vomiting what little food that was inside my stomach. "C'mon, no time to be girly," he tugged at my hand, and I glare at him best I can, drawling "I'm concussed, you..you..fiend,"

I don't really know what happened next.

Good lord, this girl is really proving to be a pain in the ass. "Hey. Carrot Top. Don't, don't go on me," I hiss, looking around for any lurking walkers I didn't swipe out. "Yeah. More work fer me," I pick her up in my arms, surprised by her lightness. "Why the hell am I doin' this?" I run, not looking back. There was a steady stream of blood flowing from her forehead, and she really is concussed. I feel my crossbow bouncing on my back painfully, but all I really want to do is to hole up in a shack and drink beer til' I pass out. I see a small run down house in the distance, and I smile.

Jackpot.

I enter it quickly, almost throwing the possibly brain damaged girl on the ratty bed, I opted to put her down a little gently. She slowly stirred awake as I pressed a hand on her forehead, stemming the bleeding. Her eyes opened, the blue retina blown wide, wider than it should be, really comforting me that she doesn't have a concussion. But I already know that. I sat her up, tipping her head down. Her red hair immediately tumbled down, she reached out to me, trying to probably touch my face, but missing epically. "He'lo.. mistah.."

Yep. Concussion.

Her bleeding was gradually slowing, and thank the Lord Merle always had one, or else this girl will be fatally damaged. "M'Aleeeee.." she slurred, finding something funny. "Sorry, Carrot Top. I dun' have ginger ale," I say quietly, wrapping her head in gauze that I found in one of the drawers. "Naw.. mah names.. ALEEEEEE.." she said a little clearly, her head pressing on my shoulder for comfort. "You.. have a.. bad ass crossbaw," she giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck. I flinched, and she pulled away, closing her eyes. "Please don't hurt me, papa," she said in a small, scared voice, curling into a fetal position. "I'm sorry," she said before falling to sleep. Well, I think her concussion is gone, atleast. Without thinking about it, I pushed her sunset colored hair from her forehead. I recoil, mentally slapping myself.

I just met her!

I dreamt about my pa hitting me again. I wanted to just cuddle up my dog and cry. Like I always did when he hit me. I wake up in a small, run-down shack, not really remembering anything that happened.

Oh yeah. My brother turned into a zambie.

I groan pitifully, my head pounding so hard I felt the vibrations violently. "Huh. Figures. Mr. Crossbow left me." I say, remembering my savior from last night. "I'm right ere' Pepper." I turn my head to the man's direction, who was currently holding his crossbow in his hand. "Oh. Hi, then." I smile lightly, standing up and shaking my head. "I need aspirin." I deadpan, holding onto a chair for support. "We need ta go, the walkers might stumble ere'" he said hurriedly, not looking at me before he went out, his crossbow up and loaded. I look around for a possible weapon, my eyes settling on a small, rusty knife.

Well, beggars can't be choosers.

I follow him outside, my eyes temporarily blinded by the light. It's like I have a fucking hangover. "Were goin' in," he said, pointing to the entrance of Atlanta, about a mile away from where they are. "Lucky we ain't deep nough' into the woods, cuz' that'd be a bummer." He mumbled to himself, walking before her in quick, graceful steps. I have never been graceful, since ever. I watch my footsteps, frowning as I felt my feet ache a little. My converses were comfy from being used too much, but I just feel tired to the bones, for some reason. I play with the rusty blade of my little knife, whistling as I followed the man. It hit me that I was following a complete stranger. Biting my lip, I ran up to him, taking a real look at him, he was really, really attractive, a rough stubble on his chin and on his upper lip, and his eyes weren't actually brown, they were a beautiful shade of baby blue. His tousled dirty brown hair completed the look, and God thought it best to put that head on a hot body. I blush a beet red, opening my mouth to say something but then closing it. Finally mustering up the courage to talk to the man who was ignoring me, I said:

"Hey, um, what's your name?" He growled quietly looking at me in the eyes. "Daryl Dixon." He answered gruffly, and I nodded, letting him lead me again. He was actually scary, though. His grip was tight on the strap of his crossbow as he slung it over his shoulder, his knuckles actually white. I purse my lips and watch him walk away, me following slowly behind.

I felt nervous because of the zambies, and because I do not know what to do with them. I do know you double tap them, but I didn't, can't. Some say I'm too soft, too innocent. We finally make it into the clearing, a highway filled with a quiet graveyard of cars. I close my eyes, blocking out any thought, focusing only on following Daryl. When I finally open my eyes, Daryl was in my face pulling me down with him and rolling under a car. I was about to yell at him when I heard the all to familiar grunts and groans of the undead, seeing their rotted, uncoordinated feet shuffling along. I bury my head in Daryl's chest, feeling pathetic and filled with rage that I only see red. I claw at my chest, feeling an unfamiliar burning sensation eating me alive. "Stop. Please. S-stop." I say into his chest as the shuffling continued, and all I want was to get out there and kill them all, with this knife or something... just..

Something.

Daryl clutched me close, one hand wrapped around my waist and the other covering my mouth. I felt angry, alone, scared, anxious, I felt my head flow with the memories I had managed to block out, making my head pound harshly. And I start to cry. I'm so suffocated. "No."

My voice wasn't like my voice at all, and my hands were now holding the little knife, which was slowly melting, and my chest.. my chest was glowing, like lava was in it. Daryl looked at me, at my eyes, then moved farther away, like I had burned him. The shuffling was now imprinted in my mind, making me feel more furious, and the blade melted more quickly, and I scrambled out, not caring if the walkers saw me. I felt more enraged when they turned their little heads towards me, only one command in my head.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

I release a loud war cry, charging towards them, the metal of the blade infusing with my hand. I clutch the thing's face, hissing as I felt its teeth brush against my hand, and I push it down, pressing my hand into its head and I smiled wickedly as it popped like a bubble gum under my palm, brains and bits of flesh and bones staining my hand. Another shuffled annoyingly towards me, and I looked at Daryl, a horrifying, manic grin on my face as I put a finger on my lips, signaling silence. My hands flew towards the other walker's greedy hands, pulling him down and sending my fist flying through its head, going through it cleanly. The soft thud of its body hitting concrete was music to my ears as I stood up, looking at my glowing hands. I stretch them out, looking astonished as fire emanated from my body, sending a big wave towards the herd of walkers, burning them and the other cars into smithereens in a matter of seconds.

"No."

I fell to my knees, suddenly disgusted with myself as I kneeled there, surrounded by ash. The glowing stopped and my normal self was back again. "Fuck." I said, looking at Daryl who was smudged with dirt and looking as horrified and scared as me. "I didn't mean to do that," I offer, putting my face in my hands. He ran up to me, miraculously still okay with what I did. "No!" I push him away, looking into his baby blues. "I'm gonna.. gonna burn you," I scamper backwards, waiting for him to call me a freak, an alien, something. I was waiting for the back lash, the punches, the kicks, because you didn't do it well enough. "I'm sorry.." I say quietly, standing up and backing slowly away from him in little, meek steps. "I'm sorry," I repeat, hearing my mother's nagging voice shouting how useless and different I was. I feel strong, warm arms wrap around my trembling body as I repeat the apology over and over, unconsciously snaking my own hesitating hands around his warm, normal, safe body, clutching him close as I cried, apologizing. "I'm sorry," he made me stop, putting a hand on his lips. "Calm yer' shit, kid." He patted my head before pulling away, a scowl on his face as he surveyed the surroundings, his hands stroking his crossbow absently. "Fucking fuck. We needed a car. And I saw that beaut." He grumbled, walking towards the patch where my fire ball shit didn't reach. "Ya know how ta hot wire a car, kid?" I nodded, not thinking. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for her answers. "I raced. And I- uh kinda needed cars and just.." I said awkwardly, not wanting to talk to anyone about work. Like, ever. "Get ta work, then," he gestured to a silver Audi R8, and I put my hands over my mouth, scrambling over to it. "Good lord. I only needed an apocalypse to have an R8!" I smiled faintly, pulling out a small iron pick that I always had with me opening the car without the alarm shrieking their ears off. Popping the compartment just below the steering wheel, I set to work, and it was so easy. Even those smart cars I once stole was harder. "Voila!" I say, sliding into the passenger seat. "I'm gonna drive?" He asked, looking at me expectantly. "Yeah," I didn't really want to drive, even if I really, really wanted to. My hands were suddenly shaking so badly. "Ya sure?" I nodded, looking back down on my shaking hands. "Aight. Ya git ta hold mah crossbow then, kid." He carefully put the crossbow on my lap, looking directly in front the road. I smile, because seriously, a crossbow. "Ya take care f' that," he said lowly, before driving off. I lean forward, pressing my head on the dashboard and I grunted exasperatingly, hugging myself. The crossbow was pressed snugly between my chest and my lap, feeling a little uncomfortable, but I don't really care right now.

So, about my 'profession'.

Figured I'm going to die sooner or later 'cause I'm one pathetic fucker, better said. I started my little profession when I was 15, I was just stealing random shit for people. I needed to feed myself now, don't I? It was my brother who entered me into my first race, I was just 16. He said if I'm going to steal all my life, why not do underground racing? I was friking frantic. 'Cause the people that race there were either racers that were put to jail and just got bailed out or those tattoo people. I, on the other hand, was a little measly ginger that wanted money. So I used a battered up Challenger, from an Asian in the same line of work called Glenn.

But I shit you not, I won the effing race.

From then on, I've been the measly little ginger who won every race they throw to her. I don't know why I win, though. I just crank up AC/DC and drive, careful not to let them close to the tail of my car. And then, I start stealing cars for myself. Can't sell them, everybody'll know it's stolen, 'cause police.

"Ey, kid."

Daryl's voice cuts our storytelling, kids. "Yep?" I pop the 'p' 'cause it's fun. He looks at me indifferently, pointing to the mouth of Atlanta, which was swarmed like ants on peanut butter. "Ah. Crap," I say, smiling as I see a long trail of cars, making a clear path towards a building. "We use that car path, then maybe use the ro-" he settled me with that scary you-fuckin'-kidding-me-right-now? Look, and I stopped immediately. "Well then, I'm no human GPS, then," I mutter, slumping on my seat, sliding my finger back and forth on the crossbow's string. He looked down, blushing lightly before frowning again, and I swear, he still looks how even while doing that. How can people do that? "Naw. That shit ain't good." He looks around, then looking back where we came from. "We make our way up the mountains, redneck?" I tease, half meant. "Ya betcha sweet ass," he said, reversing the car and driving off.

It was more than a week of traveling, for god's sakes. Luckily, no walkers come up this far up the mountains.

On our way there, we found a little group, who was now encouraging us to stay with them. I was not all for it, and neither was Daryl. But then, I saw a possibility of clothes, a shower, food. "Uh- I'll just have a word with him," I smile plainly, dragging the angry redneck along with me. "This is jackpot, man," I hiss, pissed with his anti-socialness. I was one, too, until I saw that can of tuna. "Naw. Ya stay here, I'll go on mah own. Ya have a choice, it's simple," I stop, looking directly in his eyes and pursing my lips, as if in deep thought. I nod, turning my back to him "yeah. You're right. It is simple," I deadpan, going back to the twitchy brunette from earlier. "Naw. Ey- ey! Stop," he sighs, looking at me as if I was the most difficult thing on earth. "Now. I'm going to make 'this' easy for you," I'm actually pretty angry now, so I come up to him, my face merely inches from his own, and I feel my heart thundering like crazy against my ribcage. "One potato, two potato?" I hiss, and he stands up, looks me in the eye and frowns heavily, taking ahold of my shoulder and turning me back towards an equally scowling 'Leader'. I have a feeling he doesn't want us here, though. The hunter all but chucks me away, his face stoic and unreadable.

Oh, he is gonna pay.

The man- Shane?- looks at me absurdly, and I thought they wouldn't dare pick on me when my friend (I don't think that redneck considers me as a friend) is a really short-tempered, crossbow wielding redneck hunter, right? "Hi."I smile, and he tells me everything about the camp, what I was supposed to do, and somewhere in that long tirade was me, wanting to kick his balls up his throat.

He wanted ME to wash clothes.

And goddamn, it wasn't even my clothes I was washing. It was theirs. "Say what?" I dare him, stopping and straining my ear to hear better. "Ya wash the clothes with them," he states again, pointing to that willowy, brunette woman and the two blondes and the pepper haired woman. I nod, walk towards Daryl who was setting up camp, far from the other tents. "Daryl. I don't like it here anymore," I say, and he smiles, a wisp of smugness in it, making my left eye twitch. "Naw. Ya wanted this, kid. Ya git it," he finished putting up the tent, before chuckling and picking up his crossbow and leveling her with a predatory grin. "M' goin huntin', " he grumbled, and I smiled best I can, seeing the group's eyes on us I put a menacing finger on his chest, hissing under my voice, "You manipulative son of a bitch," he nods, leans in but then walks away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

God.

I do what's thrown to me, be it getting 'shrooms, washing clothes, cooking and shit. Daryl still wasn't here yet, and I hope it's because the deer and squirrels is making his life miserable. I meet every other person in camp, there's the lovely siblings, Andrea and Amy, the willowy woman Lori, her kid Carl. Carol, Sophia, Dale, the Martinez family, Jacqui, T-Dog. There was one more, but they said he was on a run. Night was falling when Daryl came back, a buck slung over his shoulders, and a string of about more than a dozen squirrels aloft his hand. He was grimy and dirty, his sleeveless plaid shirt dirtied with mud. I don't stand up, I just chat with Amy, who was being a great friend to me. I can definitely feel his eyes boring behind my head, I almost flinch. "So, I think- hey, are you listening to me?" Amy babbles when I nod, I'm not actually listening, she was talking about her past boyfriend. "Yeah. I-uh, I'll just go to the.. yeah," I mutter quietly, all but running towards the RV. Dale was there, looking at me with those kind green eyes that make me so uneasy. I smile lightly as I pass him, quickly entering the small, cramped rest room. "Why..?" I inhale deeply, calming my upset nerves. For one, I know what happens when I get angry, I have a Hulk episode. Pulling my hair up in a bun, I went out of the restroom, only to find myself hitting something face first.

"Watch where yer' goin' kid," Daryl said gruffly, taking ahold of my shoulders and pushing me at arms length. I stop, taking in his smell, it's like leaves, and dirt and aftershave that smells so.. manly and woodsy. It's unnerving. "I.." I mutter distractedly, pulling at the sleeve of my new (borrowed) two sizes too big shirt, pushing myself past him.

I feel so stupid.

My head feels hazy, my hands numb, and my heart fluttering in my chest like it wants to just burst out like one of those chestbursters in Alien vs. Predators. "Oi vey.." I say when I get out, the scent still imprinted in my mind.

"GAIL?!"

I whip around, finding a very Asian, very familiar face. I light up almost immediately, tackling him in a tight hug.

"OH MY GOD, Glenn!" I clutch him tighter, glad that one of my closest friends is alive and well. "You two know each other?" Shane's voice cut through our happy reunion, and Glenn pulled away, taking my hand in his. "Yeah, we worked together," he said, plastering a huge, happy smile. The others looked at us as if we weren't happy all our lives and being happy is a fucking crime. "Yeah. At a pizza parlor, actually." I lie, patting the younger man's head. Shane looks at us like were convicts, before taking a seat beside T-Dog.

"Glenn, my God! Before Blue Fire, I thought you were deported!" I gush, sitting down on the steps of the RV. He leans against the side of the RV, smiling fondly "Yeah, I was supposed to be. But I just.. got away," he said, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair, before putting the cap on my own head. "Peter put me up in Drifts, got to challenge Distai," I say smugly, adjusting the cap on my head. "Really? How much?" His brown eyes twinkled in delight, and I put up both of my hands, flipping it twice, a shit-eating smirk plastered on my face as his mouth opened to a perfect 'o' gasping unbelievably. "TWENTY THOUSAND GRAND?! You're shitting me!"

"For real, sausage boy," I tease, remembering his fascination with anything sausage-related. "Damn, if it wasn't the apocalypse right now, we'd be smoking weed near 7-11," he nodded, pulling me up. "I really am glad, finding you here," he pulled me in a soft, warm hug, and I eagerly accepted, pressing my body close to his. "Yeah," I pull away, kissing him on the cheek and going back to Amy, ignoring the somersaults my stomach was doing as Daryl watched me from the side of the RV, sitting there on his own, almost hidden in the darkness as he cleaned his crossbow meticulously, his eyes flickering in time with the embers. I turn back to Amy, biting the piece of jerky she handed me almost harshly, my eyebrows furrowed with annoyance.

I had it bad.

I growl lowly, and Amy shot me a questioning look, her stories stopping. "What is wrong with you?" she says, and I immediately plaster on a gritted smile, looking at her, feeling my hand tingle as it glowed a faint orange. I tucked it into my hoodie, looking at her through blank eyes. "I'm fine." I say, but I knew it wasn't true.

A/N: THANKS SO MUCH TO deanandjo4ever1 for being my beta. Leave a favorite and review if you liked it, and I do know it has a long ass name. But fuck it, whatevah. And oh yeah, I will try to upload right away, please, for the love of god, help this story strive. THANKSSSSSSSSSS. (Re-edited shi–)

-that guy