This is my first one shot so be nice… maybe?
I was inspired while writing my next project (teaser later on) I wanted to get a few chapters done before I start posting though because I tend to suck at multichapter stories, because I loose inspiration so at least if I get a few chapters done, I'll get into the swing of things and know what to do etc and how the story will go. I plan for that story to be more successful than previous ones. This is also my first The Waking Dead story so… Who knows?
Anyway, that's enough with me, on with Sophia's story…
The little girl sits, beneath the shelter of the tree, her trembling hands clutching the bark, every rustle of leaf or snap of twig keeping her on edge as she awaits her fate. Slowly, the woods quieten down, the world at rest around her, calming her adrenaline fuelled senses. She timidly moves one foot to the floor beneath her, her sneakers treading down the marshy grass. This foot is followed by it's counterpart as she hoists her slim frame into a reproachful stance, observing the area around her.
What was it Rick had told her to do again? Stay here, she thought, I have to stay here and wait for him to come back. She waits a while, slowly beginning to question whether or not Rick is coming back for her. Whilst her head told her to do as he had asked, her heart quarrelled with her understanding. Why must she sit here, waiting, ready to be picked off by a maggot infested corpse when she could walk back to her momma, who would surely greet her with open arms? Deciding upon the latter, she shakily stepped out of her alcove in the trees, peering around her as she did so. Coyly, she reaches down to grip onto a large stick protruding from the ground, reasoning with herself that she needs to defend herself against those… those… things. She doesn't want to end up like her Daddy.
Which way to go now? Rick had run the way she was facing, through the long grass. She can't go that way in case he had been overpowered by one or more walkers; she would be walking into a death trap. That only leaves behind her, or to either side. In all of the confusion and panic she forgets which way she came, forgets which way Rick had told her to go. She decides upon going left, certain that the trail will lead her to where her momma sits, arms opened widely, awaiting her return.
With her stick in one hand and her doll in the other, she turns in the direction she believes she came, determined to find her mother. What she doesn't realise in all of her panic is that the way she goes is not the way she came, it is the way Daryl later tracks her going, further into the forest, thicker into the brush.
It feels as though she has been walking for hours, she does not understand how she has not yet reached the others. Worry strikes as the dark begins to take over the light, true fear stealing her breath. She needs to find somewhere to hide from the walkers, somewhere she may be safe. She sees a tree, a tree she could climb. It takes several attempts to hoist herself up onto the branch but she makes it, just, glad for the many times she had defied her parents by climbing the old oak tree in their garden back home. This is where Daryl loses her trail.
Her grip on the trunk tightens as the branch she had been standing on snaps beneath her feet. She begins to slide down, her elbows scraping on the harsh wood, causing a thin trail of blood to snake down to her wrist. She continues to pull herself up, her goal being to reach the thick branch just an arm's reach away from her. She, with strength she never knew she could muster, manages to scuffle upwards towards her target and- No, it's no use, she can't reach. If only she could step onto the vines which tumbled down the tree and use them jump sideways onto the larger branch ahead. The plan works, she is up.
What to do now? She wonders, dejectedly slouching against the tree and observing the grazes on her elbows and knees.
Before this, before all of this, back before any of this walker business ever happened, if she grazed her knee, momma would clean the dirt off of it with a damp cloth, and it would sting, but she would know that it would help her bumps get better. She thinks back, back to the time she fell off of her bike when her momma wasn't watching. She had cried and cried but her momma was there to patch it all up. She got a band aid and she automatically felt better. Momma had let her have ice cream that night, because she had been such a brave girl, before daddy got back. She could hear him hurting momma in the kitchen, telling her she was a terrible mother, but she knew better. Her momma was great, no matter what daddy said. She wished for him to leave, to never hurt her momma again. She didn't ever have ice cream after that.
She wishes she could do that now, she would take it all back. No matter how bad daddy was back then, it was better than having Walkers everywhere. She blames herself. If only she hadn't wished for her daddy to go, to leave somehow, no one would have died, or come back to life, everyone would be safe. She did this to the world; she knows it, just as she knows momma will be searching for her right now.
Salty tears leave a trail down her face, rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the doll she clutches to her face as she draws her knees up to her chin. The sight of her mother, sadness etched on her face, floods into her vision. She doesn't want her to worry; she wishes she could somehow tell her that she is safe, for now. But she can't. All she knows is she needs to find her. She does not understand how she is not back at the road yet; she had been walking for hours before climbing this tree. Had she taken the wrong turning somewhere? Perhaps back at the place Rick had left her? She'd gone the right way, she was so sure of it, perhaps not as much so now.
She looks around the area, tries to see if she recognises anything from her run down here. Everything seems the same, it all blends together, each tree fading into another. There are no landmarks for her to observe, nothing for her to check as to whether or not she is on the right track. For tonight at least, she will stay here, perched on this tree branch, until she is awoken by the morning sun.
The night is restless. She wakes from her slumber multiple times throughout, every last twitch in the trees awakening her senses. Several walkers mull by, groaning in their wake. She holds her breath each time for fear of alerting them to her presence. Being in the tree's gives her an advantage, they cannot see, hear or smell her where she is. Dawn is a blessing as the sunlight emerges through the cracks between the leaves. First checking that the coast is clear, she slowly climbs down from her position in the tree. Her stomach aches with hunger, her mouth parched from the lack of water, she desperately needs food and drink, fast. She argues that she will have both when she finally reaches her momma.
Stumbling past uprooted trees and rocks, she continues her trek into the unknown. Birds sing a sorrowful tune, reiterating the omnipresent feeling of helplessness she feels as she plunders on down the trail.
Shortly after, she comes across a gap in the trees. Pushing through the branches, she expects to have finally reached the road her momma and their companions had been travelling along. It is not as she expected. In front of her is a bank, leading down to a river. A river? How could she have come to a river, when on her way to her hiding place there she had not touched the river at all? She sighs. She had, as she had feared, been going the wrong way all this time. She must turn back the way she came, follow the path, find the place Rick had told her to stay and retrace her steps back to the cars, she decides. Before doing so, she walks to the edge of the water, scoops some of the cool liquid into her hands and drinks as much as she needs, taking in deep, refreshing gulps.
When she is done, she straightens up and looks around her. The embankment she stands on begins to crumble beneath her feet and she slides before regaining her footing, making the back of her clothes dirty. Her doll drops into the stream and is whisked away by the current of the water, away from her grasp. It is a mile downstream from where Sophia ever is before Daryl finds it, days later.
"No!" She shouts, before covering her mouth with her hand. How could she be so stupid? Surely she has just told every walker around the position to which she is. She grips her trusted stick even tighter, raising it above her head as she walks back the way she came.
It seems as though she has been on the trail for five minutes before she hears the groans. It rattles her nerves; she begins to feel uneasy as she stumbles through the undergrowth. The groans grow louder, more frequent, there may be more than one Walker on her trail. She gathers pace, jogging and then running through the undergrowth. It persists, constant, loud groaning resonating through her ears. She cannot deal with it, she sprints, as fast as she can right into the body of-
One of them.
It used to be an old woman, she can tell by the skirt, the blouse and the shoes. She imagines she used to be the kind old woman next door, the woman who would give you candy at Halloween and cookies in winter and would occasionally babysit you if momma and daddy went out. It scares her even more, the fact that she may become one of these.
The Walker grabs her, its deathly teeth snapping as it opens and closes its jaw, teeth grazing her face. She pushes away from it, kicking and squealing. Sophia struggles out of its grasp, pulling with all of the strength she has before finally freeing her arm. She, as an afterthought, remembers the stick in her hand. As she thrusts it up and through the Walkers skull, distress takes its toll. This is the first walker she has ever killed. There had always been adults there to help her out previously; she had never once been forced to kill, and that prospect scared her. With a force, she pulls the stake out of the walker, and the old woman slumps to the ground, Sophia going with her.
She cries. She cries for the life she had. She cries for the loss of innocence in that single moment. She cries for the old woman, for her life, for her family, for the end of the world.
Slowly and sadly, she picks herself up off the ground. She wipes away her tears and cleans the stake off on her clothes. She takes off; she runs through the forest whichever way she can go, just to escape the woman. She runs for what seems like an age, into a clearing. A farmhouse is situated there, but she cannot bring herself to seek refuge there. Sophia never enters the house Daryl finds, days later.
She drops to her knees, tears staining her cheeks. All she wants is to go back to the group, the ones who she missed. Back to her momma, to Rick, Carl, Lori, Dale, T-Dog, Andrea, Glen, everybody who cared for her or helped her. She even missed Daryl and Shane, as distant as they were to her. She knew they would be looking, her momma would never give up, but she just couldn't take it any longer. She just wanted it to be over. She prayed to God to allow it to be over, for everything to be over.
As though Jesus has answered her prayers, her left shoulder burns with a painful, fiery sensation. A gunshot rips the air and a body falls beside her. The walker had been a child before it died, about seven or eight years old. He wears blue overalls and a striped shirt which Sophia imagines would be cute, if he hadn't just bitten her. It is his face that haunts her the most. A porcelain-doll, a round face, a mothers dream, disfigured by a large gash down one side of his face. He had been a beautiful little boy before death claimed him. He has been recently bitten, she could tell, for he does not smell as bad as the old woman, nor did he look as ragged. This is the child who had been hiding out in the old farmhouse Daryl finds days later.
"Are you ok?" A large man blunders over, comes into view. He bends down towards her. His face is kind and Sophia finally feels safe. Now that he is close, she can see what he looks like. He is rather plump with a round stomach and rosy cheeks. A shotgun is slung over his shoulder as he crouches, breathless from the run towards her. She shakes her head, tears escaping once again, as she indicates her shoulder. His face is sad, he wishes he had acted sooner, but he had been preoccupied with hunting.
"My name is Otis, what's yours?" He asks, kindly soothing her.
"Sophia," She chokes through tears. "M-My momma, she's- she's out there, somewhere-" She points towards the forest, in a state of hysterics. Otis looks, but he knows there is no one in the woods. He assumes she means one of the walkers in the woods.
"Alright, Girlie, You come with me and we'll be back for your momma," He says, she nods. Helping her up, Otis escorts her towards Hershel's farm. She cringes as he touches her shoulder, the pain burns her entire body as the wildfire spreads.
They walk for forty minutes, occasionally saying one word to each other.
Sophia grits her teeth the entire way as the pain spreads throughout her body from her shoulder.
Forty minutes.
That's how long it takes for the fever to set in.
She crumples to the floor, her face contorting with the pain of the deadly infection spreading throughout her system. Her body is small; it doesn't take long for the effects to take place.
"Come on girly, we're about five minutes from Hershels!" Otis almost yells in desperation. He picks her up into a cradle and carries her to the farm, half running towards the farmyard.
By the time he gets there, Sophia intakes her last breath.
"Momma," she whispers, in pain no more.
Blackness.
Her heart stops.
Here's a 343 word teaser for my next project. I have not decided upon the final name for it yet, but it will be something along the lines of 'dead' or perhaps 'This Is War' considering that song inspired me to write it? (it's by 30Seconds to Mars) (Any name/plot/character suggestions would be great!) If you would like to read more, I am planning for it to be released within the next few days, so simply follow me and you'll get an alert on the story.
There, I sat, in the basement of a house I could never afford, my lone companions, Bear, a four year to old black Labrador who was currently drooling in his sleep all over my favourite pair of Levi jeans, and Alice, My two year old daughter who was also asleep, leaning onto Bear, using his body to cushion her head, waiting for the apocalypse to end. Everything I loved was lost. In my pocket was a photograph of me, years ago, with my family, the day of my engagement. I had been so happy then. It was crazy to think that had only been three years ago, before my entire world had crumbled around me. Those were the days where if I made a list of everything I loved and everything I wanted, the two would be identical. I thought of my brother, his son and his wife. I wondered how they had fared in the few years since I had seen them, wondered how the end of the world had treated them. My mind wandered to lost summer days and my life so many years ago. How was it that so much had changed, yet my memories were as vivid and as haunting as ever?
I know what it is by the smile on his face. He is my best friend; I can tell what he is thinking even when he himself does not. It is exactly what I have wanted for years, wrapped perfectly in pink foil and tied with a neat bow.
I jump on him and hug him with a mixture gratitude and adrenaline. It becomes, as always, a wrestling match between the two of us. We playfully fight, laughing as he overcomes my strength. I squirm under his body weight as he pins me down, his arms holding mine to the ground, his knees on either side of my hips. Our faces are so close, I can almost taste his breath on me, feel the wanting, the ache for the inevitable. He leans in close, our faces touching.
Sadly, it may not be updated as often as I would like as I am just finishing up my exams atm and then after exams I am going on holiday for two weeks, so may write pool side but will be unable to update, sadly. After the 5th of July, I will update either weekly or twice weekly as I will no longer have exams or other commitments. (btw, atm I am using fanfiction as 'English Language revision')
This extract isn't brilliant tbh I just wanted to get this updated ASAP so I pieced a few things together to give you a feel on what it'll be like.
I just need a few suggestions on a few things, if you don't mind helping me?
Should she have a daughter (will it complicate things too much?)
What should she be introduced to the whole TWD story (must be when Shane is still around… I've got plans for him. Should it be a) when shane and andrea go to look for Sophia on that housing estate b) at the start at the quarry or c) on the way to the cdc?)
What do you think of her being called Tate?
Thanks if you help, doesn't matter if you don't, I love you for spending time to read my story.
As always, please review/follow/favourite if you enjoy my work, or don't, either way, constructive criticism is great too!
-Chlo xxxx