My very first Walking Dead fiction. I hope you enjoy!

~Lovestoryfreak

Light as a feather, I thought as I stepped in the forest. Light as a feather.

Snap! A twig beneath my foot snapped from my weight.

"Damn woman! How 'bout you try to not step on every fucking branch on the ground, huh? Now you best be quiet!" a masculine voice drawled angrily.

Daryl Dixon. Correction: Daryl don't-mess-with-me-and-my-bad-attitude Dixon.

"Sorry, if I known the world was gonna go to shit I would've practiced my wood-quietness skills," I laughed awkwardly and looked at Daryl. I noticed that his ever-present scowl was trained on me.

"Sorry, bad joke, I guess. I've never been really funny. Most people used to describe me as awkward and weird, I guess that's because I ramble a lot-"

"Shut the hell up!" He turned around quickly and got close to my face, I recoiled from the closeness.

"Sorr-"

"No! Shut up, no more talkin' alright? Don' even see why ya came with me, all you're good for is scarin' off game attractin' damn walkers." Now that stung. I knew I wasn't useful before the world went to shit, but still now after most of the world was dead or undead, I was still useless.

"Useless. Useless. Useless." Clint's words echoed in my mind.

Daryl scowled at me for a second longer before twirling around and continuing his hunt. I stayed frozen in my spot. Why had I come with him? Oh right, to get away from Lori, Shane, and Carl. Alright, mostly Lori and Shane. I just couldn't believe that nobody besides me could tell that something was going on between them. It was painfully obvious. And, well, the reason I wanted to get away from Carl was because of how much he resembled my older brother.

Rick, just thinking of my brother's name made my eyes burn and my throat choke up. I would not cry though, no matter what Shane said I refuse to believe that my brother was dead. If only he was here. I swallowed the lump in my throat and went after Daryl.

After catching up to him I said nothing, just followed silently behind him. The only acknowledgement he gave that I was still alive was every time he shot a squirrel he would wordlessly hand it to me without even turning around.

Well at least I'm good at carrying things.

"No you're not, and that's your own damn fault." Clint replied in my head. I was having trouble blocking out his comment, so I didn't notice that Daryl had crouched down to check out some animal tracks he had found. I just kept walking, my head hurting from the concentration I was putting into blocking Clint out. Suddenly I found myself tripping over his crouched form and face planting into the animal tracks.

"Mother fuck!" I yelled at the pain radiating from my right arm. When I fell I put my arm to shield my face and ended up just causing more damage. I can't even fall down properly. I rolled over, cradling my injured arm to my chest and looked at the hunter. He was beyond livid.

"I'm sorr-" I tried to apologize but he held up his hand to silence me. This was an action I was familiar with, so my mouth clamped shut. Daryl stood and released hot air from nostrils and turned back towards what I'm guessing as camp and started walking. I sat up but move to stand up, instead I moved my arm in a range of motion, confirming that it was just sprained. The tanned hunter noticed my lack of movement and paused, he then turned slight toward me, his bright blue eyes piercing my brown orbs.

"Well? Ya just gonna sit there all day or what?" And before waiting for a reply he turned back around and kept stalking toward camp.

Daryl Dixon. Correction: Daryl don't-mess-with-me-and-my-bad-attitude-or-my-insanely-blue-eyes Dixon.

TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD

After trekking back through the forest we made it back to the string of cans that marked the area of the camp. Daryl, of course, caused the cans to stay silent. I, on the other hand, got my foot caught on the string and as I pulled myself free, all the cans shook from my clumsiness.

hahaha! I heard Clint's once sweet laughter in my head, his chuckles like knives as he found my lack of grace hilarious. Pushing his guffaws to the back of my mind, I finally looked up and was met with Shane, Dale, T-Dog, Morales, and Glenn wielding various blunt force objects, ready to attack.

"Whoa, easy there guys! It's just me!" I said evenly.

"Damn, Marci," said Glenn as he and the others lowered their weapons. "We could've killed you! You gotta be more quiet!"

"Sorry guys." There I go again, using my favorite word. I bowed my head and handed Daryl's squirrels to Glenn. "Can you give these to Daryl for me, I would do it myself but I don't think he's happy with me right now." Glenn took the squirrels with a small look of distaste and said he would. I left the guys to go to my camp for a much needed nap. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Shane jogging to catch up to me.

"Hey Marci, what happened out there with Dixon? Why are you holding your arm? You alright?"

"Look Shane, I'm 25 not 5. I'm fine, Daryl just got mad at me because I was making too much noise in the forest. And my arm is sprained because I fell down." Shane eyed me carefully, probably wondering why I wasn't being too friendly with him.

"You know I'm looking out for because it's what Rick would have wanted." Tears burned in the corners of my eyes. I looked at him with a glare that could rival Daryl's.

"Don't bother Shane. I can take care of myself." Then I went off to my tent.

"No you can't Marci," taunted Clint.

No, not Clint. Clint isn't alive anymore. He can't hurt me. I'll call this figment of Clint that had festered its way into my head Brain-Clint. Man, I'm losing it. Finally I made it back to my tent and immediately stripped off my shirt and jeans so all I had covering my pale skin was a light pink tank top and boy cut underwear. I burrowed myself into the comfy recesses of my sleeping bag and turned to lay on my side. Staring at the floor of the tent, I thought of what Shane and Brain-Clint had said. Only now did I allow myself to cry. I was never one to cry quietly, so I put my hand in my mouth to muffle the sounds of my agony. I hoped no one would hear. The people around camp already pitied me because I didn't fit in anywhere. Despite having a cop for a brother I didn't know how to shoot, so I couldn't help with security. The mothers didn't want me around their children because I was known for my foul mouth. I was shit when it came to cooking, and cleaning, and everything basically. The only thing I was good at was drawing, and nobody could use a damn drawing to kill a walker or heat up a can of beans. Useless, just like Brain-Clint (and actual Clint) had said. The muffled sobs wracked through my body as I realized he was right about everything. After an hour or so (who knows anymore, except for maybe Dale) I finally stopped crying and fell asleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I doubt it.

Please let me know what you think and if you want me to continue it or not! Constructive criticism only please!

~Lovestoryfreak