So, this is how it ends, huh?
Never thought dying would hurt this much. He knew trying to staunch the wound was pointless. The world around him seemed to be focusing and fading out with each remaining breath.
They say ya see yer life flash before yer eyes…I suppose I ain't got a life worth seein'.
Merle coughed, unable to move from the spot where he'd fallen. He fought to keep breathing, he wouldn't die without making it clear to the Reaper he'd die when he was ready.
"Merle?"
He had to be seeing things. A little boy, maybe 8 years old and that damned angel-winged vest stood at his side.
Daryl…?
"Ya gotta get up, Merle. Yer gonna be okay," Daryl said. The boy took Merle's mangled hand, though the dying man couldn't feel it.
Not…not this time, little brother…
The pain was fading now. He wasn't cold anymore. Merle closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to open them again. Daryl was gone. It was Michonne who stood beside him now.
Ah Christ no…don't do this to me…Why do you have to be the last thing I ever see…?
He could never tell her how he felt. He was too proud for that and he was too stubborn to even admit it to himself. Michonne put a hand to the wound in his chest.
"Go to sleep," she told him. "It's all right now."
In a gentleness that the dying man considered the real woman incapable of, Michonne leaned down and kissed his cheek.
With that, his pain was gone and he knew no more.