Musings
Rated: K
Summary: While on watch, Daryl thinks about his favourite part life before the outbreak.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead.
Daryl shivered in his wet clothes as he kept watch over the yard. It was late in the afternoon and the weather had been a mix of hot and cold, torrential rain and suffocating humidity. Pair all of that with unusually dark, almost green skies, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to get a tornado.
He figured if they had to go through that, it was probably just as well that they were in a prison.
He pulled his coat tighter around him. The leather did little to warm his chilled frame. His leg began bobbing up and down of its own volition – his body's crude attempt to keep the blood flowing, to gain some kind of heat from within.
He thought about going inside, giving up, telling folks to hunker down for the weather.
He thought about hiding.
All he really wanted to do today was hide – run away from everything. Run from the thunder in the distance, from the cold he definitely felt coming on (note to self: get cough medicine on the next supply run), from the eeriness of the skies, from the hordes of old people in the prison.
He huffed a small, irritated sigh and leaned back into the chair.
He wouldn't run. Couldn't.
But if he did, where would he go?
He thought about what he used to do, before everything went to shit. He'd never been the brightest guy, so he hadn't gone to university, and he'd never been one for the beach. He and Merle would occasionally go to football games in the stadium to heckle the players, but sports had never been much of an interest for him.
He grinned lightly, remembering something. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but the old cafe in town was one of his favourite haunts. It wasn't the coffee, it was the food. Filled to the brim with salt and ketchup, it was like the worst, most awesome food he'd ever found anywhere.
His mouth began to water as he thought about it. He chuckled, remembering the bib the old cafe owner would make all of the patrons wear. She was about 78 years old, rough, crude and cranky, and Daryl absolutely loved her. She was like the grandma he never had, only she didn't make him eat his greens (come to think of it, salad hadn't even been a menu option, had it?), or try to force him into any weird religion. She didn't get after him about his hygiene, or the fact that he only ever ordered powder milk rather than the real stuff. She just let Daryl be Daryl, and he loved her for it.
He smiled a little, thinking of that old woman. Maisey was her name. Maisey Montgomery. He figured in another life she'd probably been quite the pretty little girl, but it was hard to tell through the hard won wrinkles and dusting of white hair atop her perfectly round head. She'd smile at him, a giant, nearly-toothless grin, and he wouldn't be able to help but smile back. He knew Maisey was long gone, but for some reason he wasn't sad about it. She'd had a good, long life. He just hoped she went peacefully in her sleep one night. He pretended she did.
He wondered if she'd be proud of him for the way he'd pulled it together in the days, months, years following the outbreak. Pride wasn't something Daryl was accustomed to, but he thought maybe old Maisey would spare some for him.
He looked out at the sky and frowned as another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
No sense staying put, he figured. He grabbed his crossbow and headed for the cell block. Least they could do was board up some windows in case a twister came tearin' through.
End
Sometimes when I've had writers block for a while, I'll go to a random word generator and get 20 or so words to use in a piece, and let them guide me through. This is the result of these words: University, Stadium, Beach, Hygiene, Religion, Powder, Pride, Giant, Cough medicine, Weather, Tornado, Thunder Coat, Leg, Cafe, Salad, Salt, Ketchup, Bib.
Hope you liked it. Let me know!